Nakid HHV Records 5 Items

goat (jp) are renowned for two albums released in 2013 and 2015 that took Kraftwerk’s man-machine concept back to its roots with swingeing, inch-tight drums, bass and guitar patterns that needed to be heard to be believed. For their long-in-the-making new album ‘Joy In Fear’, band leader Koshiro Hino (ypy, Kakuhan) describes the process as “90 percent pain” - and we can well believe it - few other records we can think of transmute DAW-composed rhythmic precision into such an expressive instrumental performance. It really is a feat of determination, skill and execution that seems to defy human dexterity. Make no mistake - an academic exercise it ain’t - in the most visceral sense, goat (jp) make Body music, for dancing, flailing, for losing yourself in completely. As usual, Hino plays guitar, backed by bassist Atsumi Tagami, while Akihiko Ando joins on saxophone, while Takafumi Okada and Rai Tateishi step in to handle percussion, with the latter moonlighting on flute. Every sound is sculpted into a fragment of cadence: guitar and bass prangs alternately echo and dance between the drums, and Ando’s sax is mutated into a respiratory slobber of guttural smacks and phantom breaths. In some respects, it’s tempting to label it jazz, but the kind of jazz that Miles Davis spearheaded on the game-changing ‘On The Corner’, the blueprint for so much post-punk, electronic music and avant rock. goat (jp) take that raw alloy and sharpen it like a blade, mangling the template with the knotty metrics of Autechre or Ryoji Ikeda. The accuracy is galvanic; it’s almost impossible to comprehend each player keeping a mental note of the mathematical time signatures, and yet they floss them out with trills and icy stutters that seem to evaporate around the thick, taiko-like thuds. They practically get our teeth gnashing with the bruxist rictus chatter of ‘iii I Iiii Iii’ , before ‘Cold Heat’ introduces subtly harmonised, new aspects to their sound with slivers of Hassellian flute and ringing overtones of their percussion, while the winding sensuality of ‘Warped’ slips down very nicely. Their links to OG no-wavers like Glenn Branca & Wharton Tiers’ Theoretical Girls - is manifest in the 8 mins of chipping stop/start pulse and parry to ‘Modal Flower’, while a total left turn into Mark Fell-meets-Ligeti-esque messed up metronomics in ‘gmf’ ties it off with a properly beguiling flourish.

Keith Fullerton Whitman brings his 3-part Generators series for Japan’s Nakid label to a close with a third and final instalment that ravishes the senses with hybrid analogue/digital systems tekkerz. Hazing into a solemn start of floating organ and slurred drums, the first part fizzes into action with pranging irregularities, tentatively allowing the system to voice varying pitches and nimble rhythms that resemble balletic footwork plies as much as classically-trained instrumentalist flurries. It’s deeply trance-inducing, meditative gear that over the course of 25 minutes slowly gains momentium and complexity, first adding robust arps to complicate the structure, treading the finest line of chaos and discipline. In time, those arps turn themselves into a rhythm track, landing somewhere between Whitman’s earliest junglist works as Hrvatski and a sort of plucked rhythmic minimalism that reminds us of Mark Fell’s Sensate Focus, gliding on natural, brownian motion and flux of texture, punctuated by what sound likes a plucking of a drum machine from the inside-out. In part 2 the mood pools and diffracts in slow-fast meter, bristling ruptures of atonality that send limbs flailing one way and then another, adding subs for a dimensional shift that’s rhythmically fractured but always grounded at the low registers. The wavy embroidery of Whitman’s machines trigger each other in endlessly fascinating forms of gyring workshop ballistics and dub reverberations. A special bonus piece ‘Meakusma (Generators, Soundcheck)’ is the most curious of the lot, with a lone clarinet heard in the air, perhaps a serendipitous inclusion form someone else’s soundcheck, lending an enchanting depth perception to his frolicking bleeps.

Nakid presents the first album in years from Max Loderbauer (Sun Electric) and Tobias Freund’s cult Non Standard Institute. Delving deep into the aether with a double LP - almost an hour and a half in length - featuring ruined, vaporous and engrossing ambient variations on a theme.

Planing axes between iridescent new age ambient, sublime folk and avant-classical, to miasmic drone and plangent shoegaze; ‘A Day or Two’ charts the Non Standard Institute’s first actions in 6 years and serves as a compelling reminder of their intuitive work in abundance. Expanding and contracting their sound across 18 parts, they arc from heaving, oddly-tuned drones to smoggy, surreal soundscapes, bringing a wealth of fine-tuned instincts to the table. With Max Loderbauer’s 35+ years as Berlin ambient pioneer with Sun Electric, jams with Villalobos, and roles in Vladislav Delay Quintet and the Moritz von Oswald Trio, he’s matched by Freund’s 40 years of deep engineering expertise embedded in the experimental industrial and techno trenches.

The melancholy, Satie-laced piano meditations that grounded 2018's '5863' are gone, and the human touch that's been present since their very first collaborations is placed under the microscope, enhanced by their use of the Haken Continuum Fingerboard, a gestural synth that was developed to open up new modes of playing. Loderbauer's experience with the piano helps him make the most of the instrument's touch-sensitive 3D surface, while Freund uses two multi-channel loopers, piping the sounds through his arsenal of pedals.

The 18 tracks are billed as "unplanned atmospheres" that arc from sombre, drone-heavy material to humid, tape-saturated imaginary-island jams such as 'Listening To Cells' and 'Are You One Of Them'. On the latter, the duo work patiently, letting dusted string plucks tumble across each other while warbling pads hum below, bending like flutes. On 'Unlikely Events', anxious didgeridoo-like wails are ruptured by environmental rattles, before ominous voices lead us into a pocket of industrialised resonance. In time, the skies open up and the sounds morph into pastoral song, the drone blurring into hopeful pads almost as lucid and eloquent as AFX's 'saw Vol. II', with sonorous synths that float over formless strings. Reflective, cinematic arrangements for flute and silvery ambient give way to diffusions of denser, resonant polychromatics and pucker up in outernational, alien ambient impulses recalling Connor Camburn jamming with dirashe folk pipes.

Infoldings / Diffractions combines synthesis and acoustic percussion in unpredictable, pointillist
arrangements where Guthrie plays against patterns derived from Max MSP patches by Fell. The
album’s four longform expositions are in this sense different to the man-machine concept of
Fell’s acclaimed ‘Intra’ album, where he triggered performances by Portugal’s Drumming Grupo
De Percussão to play a metallophone designed by Iannis Xenakis. Here, the pair find common and
sometimes contrasting purpose in a probing of rhythmic signatures, with groundbreaking results.
Recorded at HFG, Karlsruhe (where Fell is guest professor), and finished later in respective
isolation, the pieces were edited from iterations of call-and-response between Fell’s rhythmic
patterns and Guthrie’s overdubs. They effectively propose beguiling solutions to electronic music’s
problems with grid-lock, using generative processing to make physical actions seem unfeasibly
effortless, while melting the computer’s clock to a real-time, free-hand syncopation.
Taking the influence of gamelan and fusing it with the fractal computer music that Fell has
obsessively picked-at over the last four decades, the duo zoom into a sound that’s completely
captivating; mutating into polyrhythmic outer-realms and eerie universes of microtonality that
are hard to fathom in a single sitting.
There are trace echoes of free jazz hanging from the rafters, the post-everything chatter of
Humcrush and Food drummer Thomas Strønen’s mind-expanding solo material or even Autechre
at their most confounding. The genius here is that just as you convince yourself that the music
could only possibly have been generated by a computer, Guthrie’s unmistakably human flex edges
into focus - playing with perception and expectation in the most wild, liquid way imaginable.