Playlist 9

I'm a bit late getting this month's playlist up but it has just crept in under the wire.  It starts scary, drives around a bit then ends with some real Italian beauty.  Sorry, - no clips this time.  Copyright issues stymied the ones I wanted but I'm sure you all know the way to You Tube.


'Beaster’, Sugar

Do You Get The Feeling This Might Not Be A Mellow Listen?

Playing Husker Du last month put me in mind of Bob Mould’s output after that band split.  Following two solo albums, he formed Sugar and released the ‘Copper Blue’ album with it’s perfect blend of hard Rock and Pop melody.  ‘Beaster’ contains six more tracks from those sessions but feels like ‘C.B.’s evil twin.  It’s the most intimidating material Mould has recorded and seems to soundtrack a complete psychic meltdown or profound religious crisis.

Following the mantra-like opener ‘Come Around’, is a sequence of songs that evoke terrifying degrees of frustration and rage.  Within impenetrable walls of guitar and frenetic drumming, Mould resembles a man trying to sing Byrds songs from the heart of a tornado.  At the album’s core, ‘J.C. Auto’ sounds like the living end and, truly, there’s nowhere left to go from there.  It’s succeeded by ‘Feeling Better’, which suggests at least the possibility of catharsis for the listener, if not the singer.  ‘Walking Away’ concludes the album with waves of wobbling, churchy organ, implying Mould might feel able to stagger from the wreckage, if not towards any state of grace.

'Landcruising', Carl Craig

Carl Craig Opens The Door Of His Invisible Car

Whilst reviewing Burial's new tracks recently, I considered how often he has evoked the sense of a reflective journey through darkened city environs and how often electronic music in general engages with the idea of movement through a built environment. 'Landcruising' is a classic slice of Detroit Techno from one of its acknowledged masters. Recorded in 1995, it’s aged remarkably well and provides an excellent soundtrack to any nocturnal drive around city streets.

Appropriately, the album starts and ends with car door sounds and a sense of forward progress through different neighbourhoods is maintained throughout.  Although more futuristic in outlook and less introspectively melancholy than Burial's work, Craig still captures a variety of moods, including the eeriness and isolating effects of urban environments under sodium light, and the misplaced utopianism of Modernism in general.  It's also impossible not to imagine the desolation of contemporary Detroit - a city built on old-school automobile manufacturing.

‘Autobahn’, Kraftwerk

When contemplating automotive-themed electronica, it seems only natural to revisit what is effectively the Grandaddy of it all. It was probably the first 'proper' electronic record I was really aware of, listening to Radio Luxembourg in bed as a boy.

If Burial made his name while staring through window of the London night bus and Carl Craig surveyed decaying Detroit from the wheel of his Landcruiser, back in 1974 it was still possible to jump into a VW or Merc. and head optimistically for a technological future somewhere on the post-war European horizon. The Doppler effect of passing vehicles and simulated car horns may sound quaint but a fashion for treated vocals endures to the present and there's a surprising, stately, timelessness about this piece of self-conscious futurism.  "Fun, fun, fun of the autobahn", indeed.

'Always Crashing In The Same Car', David Bowie

David Bowie: Berlin Gaze

Sometimes a mental thread just keeps unwinding. Bowie's return this month provoked a flurry of media adulation, (including a Radio 4 exclusive!), but, whilst his new single sounds pleasant enough, comparisons with his impressive Berlin/Eno recordings seem over-ambitious. This fragment was always a highlight of 1977’s ‘Low’ album for me and continues the motor vehicle theme, although more metaphorically. Bowie’s music of this period was clearly influenced by the Kraftwerk aesthetic and the song has a great title too.

'Present From Nancy', Supersister

Dutch Prog. Band Splits

My love of Dutch Prog from the Golden Age, (1960/70s, not 17th Century) prevails. There are definite connections between the sound of Supersister and that of Solution and indeed, Focus. This is their debut album and it includes plenty of Soft Machine-style European Jazz Fusion along with experimental Rock and Pop typical of the era.  Palpable connections with the Canterbury Prog. of S.M. and their British contemporaries abound, including the heavy fuzz effects, barmy humour and Avant-garde aspirations colouring various tracks. There's plenty of flute too, which is exactly as it should be.

'Six', Soft Machine

Soft Machine went through numerous personal and associated stylistic changes during its eighteen-year existence. By 1973 it had abandoned the quirky, psychedelic Rock and Pop of founders Daevid Allen, Kevin Ayres and Robert Wyatt and matured into an accomplished Jazz-Rock act. The sixth album also saw the band move away from the free-blowing approach of recently departed reeds player Elton Dean towards a more riff-orientated style, driven by his replacement Karl Jenkins and dynamic drummer John Marshall.

BBC footage of the quartet performing 'Gesolreut' shows Jenkins switching between sax and keyboards and a considerable degree of studious interaction between band members.  We might laugh at their threads and 'taches but it's a delight to revisit an era when musicians could be seriously experimental and still aspire to a mainstream career.

  

‘Blueprint’, Keith Tippett

Bristolian pianist Tippett is first and last an experimental Jazz musician, who made his name in the late 60s and 70s.  In the spirit of that era, he collaborated with many of its more fusion-minded musicians and several members of his own combos also turned up in Soft Machine at various times.  Though quieter and more meditative than some of his other records, ‘Blueprint’ still demonstrates Tippett’s uncompromising approach and shows a willingness to venture far into Free Improv. territory.

‘Theoretically Pure Anterograde Amnesia’, The Caretaker

Leyland Kirby: Feeling Blue

Leyland Kirby has used his Caretaker alias to produce an extensive catalogue of work around the theme of failing recollection and haunted memory.  I downloaded these 84 tracks when he still offered them for free and, amazingly; I find I can happily play the whole thing from beginning to end.  Existing largely within the realm of abstract ambience, the ‘Memories’ resemble sound files that have been subjected to varying degrees of erasure and distortion.  Occasionally, recognisable, ghostly refrains are heard as though from a distant ballroom of the mind.  It becomes even spookier when one learns of Kirby’s fascination with  Stanley Kubrik’s psychological horror film ‘The Shining’.

Heaven Or Las Vegas', The Cocteau Twins

This made January's list because I got to hear the whole thing twice on a tortuous, snowy commute home one night, (everything's about driving this month).  It normally takes twenty minutes but this time I had over ninety to remember how much I like 'H.O.L.V.'  Released in 1990, it's my favourite of their three last 'mature' albums.  Undoubtedly, things are somewhat less anguished and more formally conventional than before but it's full of their signature shimmering, layered sound; nuanced production and glorious, swooning melodies.  I sat stationary in driving snow as the lights changed from red to green and back again to red and The Cocteaus made it all strangely evocative.

‘Monteverdi Madrigali’, Claudio Monteverdi, Performed: Anthony Rooley/Consort of Musicke

Bernardo Strozzi, 'Claudio Monteverdi', 1640

Given my interest in Renaissance and Baroque music, it’s surprising I haven’t paid much attention to Monteverdi before now.  He essentially bridges the two periods, originally composing polyphonic choral music before moving into a typically Baroque monadic style later in his career.  In addition to numerous books of madrigals, and his well-known vespers, the composer is also regarded as an originator of the opera form.  As a Monteverdi virgin, it seemed only natural to start with the early madrigals on this massive compilation, and very lovely they are too.

Robert Smithson: The Psychogeography Of New Jersey

I'm doing quite a lot of reading in the midst of my current phase of research and creative meditation.  Paintbrushes are being wielded on a small scale but in reality, most of my current activity is taking place between computer screens, camera lenses and the pages of sketchbooks and literature.

One book that's already making an impression, despite my being only part way in, is 'Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings' , edited by Jack Flam. [1.]  It was recommended to me by Andy Smith when we exhibited in Birmingham last November and my good friend Suzie was kind enough to buy me a copy for Christmas.  Thanks to them both; it's already providing plenty of food for thought.

Smithson With 'Spiral Jetty' Work In Progress.
Photograph: Gianfranco Gorgoni, 1970

Film Still From: Robert Smithson, 'Spiral Jetty', 1970

I knew Smithson as a leading light of the 1960s and 70s American Land Art movement and for his 'Spiral Jetty' constructed in Utah's Great Salt Lake but hadn't really considered the conceptual and philosophical underpinnings of his practice.  As the writings demonstrate, a wide range of serious and original thought lay behind his Minimalist Sculpture and later interventions in the physical landscape.  So far, two pieces have really chimed with my own interests, reflecting, as they do, an identifiably American Psychogeographical attitude to specific locations.

Robert Smithson, 'Untitled', Mirrored Plastic & Steel, 1964

'The Crystal Land' [2.] is Smithson's account of a geological expedition to the quarries of his native New Jersey, made with the Minimalist artist Donald Judd and their wives in 1966.  It fascinates me how Smithson switches focus between microscopic, macroscopic and personal spaces and between factual descriptions of the area's mineralogy; reflections on the aesthetics and mood of the region; anecdotes about the day's events and a meditation on the inconsequential details of their car's interior.  In one paragraph he describes excavating quartz crystals; in the next he discusses the area's middle-income housing developments, listing pretentious names and cheesy colour schemes, then explains how,

"The highways crisscross through towns and become man-made geological networks of concrete.  In fact, the entire landscape has a mineral presence.  From the shiny chrome diners to glass windows of shopping centres, a sense of the crystalline prevails." [3.]

A subsequent account of their ice cream break quickly becomes a discussion of the structure of ice crystals before Smithson embarks on the following description,

"My eyes glanced over the dashboard, it became a complex of chrome fixed into an embankment of steel.  A glass disc covered the clock.  The speedometer was broken.  Cigarettes were packed into the ashtray.  Faint reflections slid over the windshield.  Out of sight in the glove compartment was a silver flashlight and an Esso map of Vermont.  Under the radio dial (55-7-9-11-14-16) was a row of five plastic buttons in the shape of cantilevered cubes.  The rearview mirror dislocated the road behind us.  While listening to the radio some of us read the Sunday newspapers.  The pages made slight noises as they turned; each sheet folded over their laps forming temporary geographies of paper.  A valley of print or a ridge of photographs might come and go in an instant." [4.]

Robert Smithson, 'Untitled', Mirrored Plastic & Steel, 1965

Everything before that beautiful, pivotal paragraph relates to the theme of crystals, whilst everything after involves the dismal qualities of the wider landscape.  Slag heaps; quarry equipment; pylons; railways and fences predominate over "partially demolished" [5.] vegetation.  A neighbouring region of swamps, motels and garbage fires suggests a Martian film location.  Finally, the image of mineral structure returns as they re-enter New York City amongst the repeating square tiles of the Lincoln Tunnel.

Robert Smithson, 1962.  Photographer Unknown

The second document 'A Tour Of The Monuments Of Passaic, New Jersey (1967)' [6.] describes a later, solo expedition into the artist's home state and opens with him boarding a bus and perusing newspaper surveys of New York galleries and a S.F. novel by Brian Aldiss, (Entitled 'Earthworks') appropriately enough.

'The Bridge Monument Showing Wooden Sidewalks,'
Photograph: Robert Smithson, 1967

'Monument With Pontoons: The Pumping Derrick',
Photograph: Robert Smithson, 1967

'The Great Pipe Monument',  Photograph: Robert Smithson, 1967

The 'monuments' that that Smithson visits in Passaic are of the most mundane variety.  The first is a river swing bridge of seemingly utilitarian design that he photographs repeatedly with his cheap camera.  I'm instantly reminded of my own current habit of standing in the cold to photograph railway bridges and cement hoppers with a thoroughness verging on obsession.  Then follows an investigation of a pumping derrick, pipeline and a water outfall system in which Smithson suddenly shifts from factual description to sexual metaphor and wild free association.

'The Fountain Monument, Birdseye View',
Photograph: Robert Smithson, 1967

'The Fountain Monument, Side View', 
Photograph: Robert Smithson, 1967

I'm struck by how dazzling sunlight affects the photographer Smithson's relationship to his surroundings and,

"…cinema-ized the subject, turning the bridge and the river into an over exposed picture.  Photographing it…was like photographing a photograph.  The sun became a monstrous light-bulb that projected a detached series of 'stills' through my Instamatic into my eye." [7.]

The ways in which our experience of reality's continuum is modified once we interpose a lens between it and our eye is something that always fascinates me during my own photographic forays.

And so the piece progresses, through workaday streets and the sublime vacancy of car lots; amongst suburbs and an urban centre that actually feels very uncentered.  At each step the most conventionally unpromising of material provides the stimulus for associative thought, ideas generation and philosophical discourse.  Viewing a partially constructed road triggers a meditation on how suburbs grow, constructing a supposedly utopian future without any historical foundation.  He starts to see the future as,

"…lost somewhere in the dumps of the non-historical past;" [8.],

and observes that,

"…Time turns metaphors into things and stacks them up in cold rooms or places them in the celestial play-grounds of the suburbs." [9.]

Passaic appears full of holes to the artist, - spread thin in comparison with the density of urban New York.  These qualities of insubstantiality and anti-historical, vacant neutrality are, I think, a recognisable quality of those transitional zones often called 'Edgelands' today [10.].  Smithson's impressions of Passaic's lack of substance leads him to re-imagine it as a map of itself with himself standing on cardboard, not earth. 

Robert Smithson, 'Negative Map Showing Region Of The Monuments
Along The Passaic River', 1967

The piece ends with an almost metaphysical discussion of the nature of entropy, - itself triggered by his observation of the final monument, - a simple sand pit that he likens to a "model dessert" [11.].  It becomes the hypothetical arena for an experiment to prove his theory on the subject.

'The Sandbox Monument', Phtograph: Robert Smithson, 1967

I love these pieces, not least for the quality of Smithson's writing, but also because they seem to validate my own habitual view of the world and, (to others - possibly baffling), behaviour.  He exhibits an approach that is simultaneously intelligent, intuitive and imaginative and I applaud his ability to find visual delight and profound significance in the most overlooked of subject matter.  I'm inspired by his example to write more creatively in accompaniment of the photographs from my own expeditions.

[1.]:  Robert Smithson, Jack Flam (Ed.), ‘Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings’, Berkeley, University Of California Press, 1996

[2.] - [5.]:  Robert Smithson, ‘The Crystal Land’, 1966, In: Robert Smithson, Jack Flam (Ed.), ‘Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings’, Berkeley, University Of California Press, 1996

[6.] - [11.]:  Robert Smithson, ‘A Tour Of The Monuments Of Passaic, New Jersey’, 1967, In: Robert Smithson, Jack Flam (Ed.), ‘Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings’, Berkeley, University Of California Press, 1996

Winterlude 2013

Transformations, - sometimes it’s all about transformations.  Sometimes I feel like I’m lazily wandering around the same square mile and repeatedly photographing the same things.  Then I remember that’s kind of the point really and that a significant part of my whole creative practice is to observe and record the processes of perpetual alteration, (both major and minor), within the environments I pass through.  So, whilst I’m always on the lookout for stimulating new locations, revisiting the same sites repeatedly over time is also a perfectly valid strategy for documenting those changes, even if they are simply climatic.

Please Tell Me No One Sleeps In Here

I was planning a trip over to Birmingham with the camera this weekend in an attempt to expand my horizons but as the white stuff fell from the sky, making driving and walking major challenges, I decided to just keep it local instead.  Rather than exploring texts, physical changes and general entropy in a different town, I found myself documenting my local neighbourhood in snowy conditions all over again.

Last year, I did this regular walk in crisp, clean snow and bright sunlight and the whole experience was quite uplifting.  This time, the scene was cast in flat, grey light with a hint of dull yellow in the sky that speaks of more snow to come.  There was a partial thaw with a lot of grimy slush, dripping water and a general atmosphere of gloom and despondency around the place.  Somehow, it all seemed too much like a reflection of the general national mood at present, (or is it just mine?).  The sound-muffling effects of the snow and reduced traffic levels suggested frustrated human activity and my walk was heralded by distant sirens as people broke their hips and played bumper cars in the background.

My photos became all about bleakness and, just as I began to suspect I was over-romanticizing it all into a big Cold War/Eastern European cliche, I found an old Trabant laid-up in a breaker’s yard.  Reality will bite you on the bum every time!

Completed 'Risk Assessment 1 & 2'

At the start of the year, I find myself between creative projects with different ideas occupying my mind and vying for attention.  The start of the new school term means my day job now claims much of my waking time and energy again after the luxury of the holidays, just as I'd love to be putting more hours into unraveling some of those mental strands.

'Risk Assessment 1: Break Your Bones', Acrylics & Paper
Collage on Paper, 60 cm X 45 cm, 2013

The main thing is to recognize that these periods of seeking visual stimuli, contemplating possibilities and generally sorting wheat from chaff are all part of the creative process.  Freed from any concerns that I might be losing overall momentum, as once might have happened, I now understand it's important to put in the spade work of research and experimentation on the understanding that eventually a coherent plan of attack will emerge.  Last time I felt this way I remembered the importance of compartmentalizing everything into identifiable motivations, specific visual triggers and discrete themes, to have something clearly defined to pursue, and to understand where the connections and over-laps might exist.  At such times I often find myself filling the pages of a pocket sketchbook with spidery written notes and lists whilst juggling images.

Lincoln, December 2012 

Lincoln, December 2012

Lincoln, December 2012 

Lincoln, December 2012

Something I have done since Christmas is to take lots of photographs.  Amongst these are numerous examples of Heath & Safety signage and, in particular, hazard stripe graphics.  I posted some recently and include more here, including one or two that demonstrate my current desire to get a wider range of expressive qualities into my photography, both in-camera and through post production.  At present, they seem to be pointing towards an overall theme that I'm provisionally titling 'Risk Assessment' or maybe 'Take Good Care' in order to ring fence it mentally.

Tollerton, Nottinghamshire, January 2013

Tollerton, Nottinghamshire, January 2013 

Tollerton, Nottinghamshire, January 2013

Leicester, December 2012

I've also produced a couple of paper-based pieces that may become part of a small series of experiments around the theme.  These are quite uncompromising in their textual component and feel like an attempt to vent the angry frustrations that clouded my own mundane existence a few weeks ago and which emerge whenever I tune to the radio news.  They point towards a juxtaposition of the risk/responsibility-aversion of H&S culture with the real and terrifying existential crises revealed through daily news bulletins.  No one ever writes a document entitled 'Risk of Civil War', Risk of Religious Fanaticism’ or 'Risk of Inability to Afford Basic Needs In An Uncaring Society'.  They're more like a crude reaction than a thoroughly considered final statement but sometimes it's healthier to externalize stuff than to let it fester.

'Risk Assessment 2: Cut Your Throat', Acrylics & Paper
Collage on Paper, 60 cm X 45 cm, 2013

Several other identifiable ideas are beginning to coalesce in my mind, camera and sketchbook and which, hopefully, I'll discuss here once I’ve made a little more sense of them.

Grantham, Lincolnshire, January 2013 

Grantham, Lincolnshire, January 2013

Grantham, Lincolnshire, January 2013

Grantham, Lincolnshire, January 2013