Room40

A Note from Lawrence English TripleAkuma is the third in a series of essential live documents from Merzbow. The stage and the studio are not the same place, and Merzbow has an acute understanding of this juxtaposition. Whilst the sheer density of the music might be maintained across both spheres, the live experience of Merzbow is truly something that exists as profoundly physical and moreover, overtly performative. Merzbow’s live methodologies draw not just from a saturation of frequency at all levels, but a recognition of how frequency can be used to affect the body. Working at the extremes of both low and high sonic energies, he creates a situation within which the fullness of the body can be tested; the aural body, that of our ears (and importantly our mind’s ear), and the physical one (after all, the body itself is an ear). TripleAkuma, recorded in his hometown of Tokyo, captures a particularly fierce and free performance. There’s a morphic and lava-like quality to the sounds he creates here and the very room itself bares into the recording, adding a certain excessive intensity to the way the sounds carry in space, and time. There is no one exposure that could capture the true force and presence of Merzbow live, but each capture, like this one, deepens our understanding of his truly unique and provocative sonic universe.

Masami Akita is one of the most influential noise artists of our time. Known as Merzbow, Akita has developed a recognisable sound with his harsh, confrontational and abrasive sonic emittance. Lawrence English is a curator of sound, vision and thought. As the founder of Room40, English has released countless records and has worked alongside some of the most notable and adorned sound pioneers of our time – in turn becoming one himself. To coincide with Akita and English’s involvement in issue 02, English compiled a Merzbow Mixtape of hidden gems from Merzbow’s expansive archive.

Roping in Pierre Bastien and Mark Cunningham to provide brass, Mike Cooper turns in his most kaleidoscopic fourth world dream sequence to date, drawing on dub and exotica to harmonise with Andrew Pekler's marooned soundscapes... Cooper admits in the liner notes that although he's often compared with Jon Hassell, it's German painter Mati Klarwein fantastical album covers that always reminded him exactly why he was doing what he was doing. Because Cooper makes music for imaginary places, not tangible soundtracks but half dreamed, half lived experiences that course through his catalog of experiments. And his process has never been quite so vivid as it is on 'Stochastic Parrot', a suite of vertiginous reverberations that are struck through with Cooper's "real and virtual" lap steel twangs, collaged together from samples and field recordings that wobble like heat haze. Different pockets of rhythm bash into each other on 'ARCHAEOPTERYX', accompanied by Bastien and Cunningham's spiraling brass improvisations. And Cooper holds the sounds together with his lulling repeated phrases; the hand drums might sound as if they're in conflict with the cycling drum machine crashes, but that's the point - it's not like channeling a dream so much as it's like being subjected to three or four dreams simultaneously. It's the ghosts of jazz fusion being raked over coals at midnight: just tune into 'SUMATRA SAMPHIRE', with its distant animalistic wails and popcorn drums, or the granulized 'HAT YAI', that sounds like the prelude to a druggy ritual.

A note from Olivier I was waiting for the bus to arrive at the stop when the rain started pouring. I quickly escaped into a chapel nearby, and that’s where the idea of this album came to be. Inside the chapel, I was reminded of the scent of Mauritius, where my father was from, and the pillars of dampen woods mixed with the ritualistic frankincense. The rain continued to hit violently on the metallic church roof as the road outside grew overwhelmed with angry drivers, honking their way through, their frustrations echoing through streets of skyscrapers in Hong Kong. They sounded like a piece of nostalgic happening, infusing sounds that I was most familiar with in this sacred architecture. This was when I decided to compose a series of work, featuring eclectic sounds of my city. Also inspired by the late Ryuichi Sakamoto, whom I revere, his exercise of restraint and Eastern philosophy led me to explore the ambience that made up my daily life, experimenting and reconstructing them with familiar instrumentations. In “Tropical Church", you will experience music composed of piano, ambient electronics, shakuhachi, Chinese yuan, guzheng and spoken words, which I think represent my feelings for home — Hong Kong. And to me, home is an old church that harbours a myriad of unspoken emotions, flowing from the West to East. Complex history hidden within the dampen pillars, the sounds of the city and the footsteps of the everyday people that liven up the streets. Most notably in the first track, “I am afraid of”, voice recordings of anonymous strangers were collected describing their deepest fears. I’m most touched by the answers as they’ve shown me the same fears of death, love and being alone we all share.

Through the eye of the pinkish gate... Soft lights... cool evening breezes, toxic fumes, burnt champagne and supper for one... love and longing...disenchantment... and the murky meanderings of Pinkcourtesyphone. It is impossible for us to supply all the recipe ingredients needed for this, the sounds of soured romance, but we can at least dish up the musical setting on a deluxe digital porcelain platter (with a just few hairline cracks)... but only for an hour. A gourmet offering befitting a pall party without compare. Attempts have been made in this collection of recordings, obdurate and diegetic, to express anxiety, always, often, and sometimes. 'Arise in Sinking Feelings', an unmistakable pinkcourtesy mood, simply combinations of magic and memory that spin out within moments before our delighted senses... a fanciful flight of neurosis. No one who is anyone has heard it and even they were met with incomprehension. "A Stunning Blandness!" read the headlines. This album includes a printed insert of inspiration. Use it to gain maximum benefits from your study of Pinkcourtesyphone. Read and imbibe the insert while you listen to the recording. The Room40 Media Institute recommends the ‘Double Sensory’ method of absorbing sonic information. Its consistent use will greatly increase your powers of concentration and retention. Let your feelings sink as you let Pinkcourtesyphone sink in... its secret can destroy you in its unyielding grasp.

"Shaking off the uneasy depths of Lapsed Gasps took a minute (those mix sessions were intense!). Oliver and I knew we’d like the record that followed to let in some light. Not much light, but enough to differently illuminate the darkened corners Push For Night prefers to inhabit. So we shifted the stone slab covering the conceptual entrance to the sarcophagal room that contains the idea of PFN, just a little, and the crepuscular light inside the room changed. The shadows behaved differently, sounded differently. The textures, sizes, shapes, and acoustics of our weird space altered. How can we interpret the shadows’ song and dance differently this time? In these subtle changes in perception there lies a wealth of things to investigate, to peer into, to be afraid of, to be excited by… That said, our writing process doesn’t involve too much premeditated verbal back and forth. We tend to start lobbing sessions at each other and a path inevitably clears. In this case, and in no small part, the clearing of the path of That Porous Line begins with the contributions of my longtime sonic comrade David Daniell. The two pieces Oliver and I made with David are the earliest in the sessions that would become this record. He brought, for lack of a better word, a beauty - a gentle, organic beauty - that ultimately reoriented PFN toward a sense of the melodic and of spontaneity. We moved away from programming sequences, generative patches, and atomizing every sound source via heavy processing. We lightened the gloom a bit. It might sound naive, but we touched instruments again; we played guitars and basses and keyboards and percussion, fingers on metal wire and wood. We reveled in less-than-perfect real time performance, and documented it as such. There is a certain lightness to that. Don’t get me wrong, That Porous Line is absolutely a collaged, flickering, chaotic, electro-acoustic record. The project is the project after all. Although our tomb-room isn’t fully hermetic (what is?), I think it is a place PFN will always reside. A total escape outside into harshly lit reality without mystery is fairly unappealing, for us anyway. Inside is personal, guarded from too much light; a dark terrarium of weird ghosts and peculiar shadows ripe for conjuring and harnessing in order to make them kick and howl in a way pleasing to us. Or at least be near enough to them to try and hear what they sing. That’s the motive. We decorate the cave, invite the specters to reveal a message, and try to capture something. Inside, cocooned in the semi-dark of our uncommon space, we bang our heads against the act of interpreting these shifty, chimeric, hidden sonic shadows. How big is it in here? How much further down can we go? Did something move in that corner over there? Can it touch us? Can we catch it? That’s where the fear is. That’s where the fun happens. That’s why we listen. That’s why we play."

A note from Hasegawa... The first LP by the Taj Mahal Travellers was recorded at Sogetsu Hall in Tokyo on July 15, 1972, which became the title of the work and was released the same year by CBS Sony Records. A live performance celebrating the 50th anniversary of this album was held on July 15, 2022. The only original members of the Taj Mahal Travellers who attended were myself and Seiji Nagai. This is because two of the six members passed away, two are religiously active and they can not play music according to their belief, and the last one has lost touch with us. Therefore, young musicians were recruited to perform with us. This performance was a spark of improvisation that broke 50 years of my silence. Let me recall a little about the day of the concert. The venue was a live house called Forestlimit Hatagaya, about 20 minutes by car from Shibuya. In the pouring rain, we ended up entering a narrow alley from where it was impossible to reach the place by car, so after unloading my instruments, we had to head back to a wider road and find another route. The venue was small and located on the basement floor. Among performers and stuff members we were more than 10 people, and including the audience, in total about 60 people gathered on that day. Indeed, the place felt packed like a crowded train in Tokyo. Many of the performers were meeting each other for the first time, and not only the audience but the participating musicians themselves could not imagine what the performance would be like. For this live performance, I asked my friends to perform stone, shadow, bamboo, and gorilla.

1982 by Yui Onodera In Wishlist view x Share Tweet Share on Tumblr Embed this albumsmall medium large Email supported by NxT Village Records thumbnail teeth dreams thumbnail Bruce Christensen thumbnail Jonathan Herweg thumbnail Simon Burdett thumbnail diane~marie thumbnail wiley soule thumbnail davdawid thumbnail KottonKrown thumbnail Jeramboquai thumbnail Fetafunk thumbnail williegarvin99 thumbnail Haunted Hymns thumbnail Timothée Comte thumbnail Adam Aronson thumbnail Samuel Reggio thumbnail Kyohei Kudo thumbnail Scott Moore thumbnail mgpeters thumbnail CH thumbnail leksand thumbnail Petr Studeny thumbnail coserju thumbnail John Battema thumbnail kanekofumiko thumbnail Ryan thumbnail Franetta McMillian thumbnail Dan Stark thumbnail leethu thumbnail Dan Shoebridge thumbnail Jeffrey Capshew thumbnail lawrence english thumbnail criticalpath thumbnail caigera thumbnail Joseph Gelfand thumbnail richardautry thumbnail Kseif thumbnail iit thumbnail legal_bizzle thumbnail kalmykov0615 thumbnail kastauyra thumbnail dan ichinose thumbnail 1982 III 00:00 / 01:42 Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album package image Matte laminate, monochrome printed and embossed sleeve with insert card. Includes digital pre-order of 1982. You get 2 tracks now (streaming via the free Bandcamp app and also available as a high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more), plus the complete album the moment it’s released. shipping out on or around August 23, 2024 $12 USD or more Streaming + Download Pre-order of 1982. You get 2 tracks now (streaming via the free Bandcamp app and also available as a high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more), plus the complete album the moment it’s released. releases August 23, 2024 $9 USD or more 1. 1982 I 2. 1982 II 3. 1982 III 01:42 4. 1982 IV 5. 1982 V 6. 1982 VI 7. 1982 VII 04:09 8. 1982 VIII 9. 1982 IX 10. 1982 X about A note from Yui I stayed in Iwate, where I was born, for a few days and created some sound materials using limited materials and old media. Over ten years ago, Iwate was devastated by the Great East Japan earthquake. Many old things that remained in my memory became rubble, dismantled, and new scenery was there. I bounced every song from “1982” straight onto an old tape recorder. This album that comes out of my interest in sonic "degradation and rebuilding". I treated the guitar and synthesiser in a lot of new ways, so using a lot of tape recorders and/or pedal effects. I wanted the guitar to be an extension of the ambient textures rather than technology and imperfection. The raw and the processed. We benefited greatly from the evolution and democratization of computer and audio technology in the early '00s. I was fascinated by sounds that could not be created by humans, such as real-time audio synthesis and granular synthesis. Now, 20-odd years later, I am fascinated by sounds that cannot be created with a computer. It was a unique acoustic texture created by deterioration and wear, including accidental wear, due to old technology that is disappearing. It's like a memory of my old days in Iwate.　

Akira Kosemura’s Polaroid Piano is a record that is very close to my heart. In fact, it is Akira’s work that was one of the drivers for Someone Good, one of the Room40 sibling labels, to be founded. Polaroid Piano marks the beginning of what would later become known as felt piano music, an approach to the piano which was picked up by numerous artists across subsequent years. It captures an essential and intimate rendering of the piano at close proximity, but it does more than that, it allows the piano to breathe within the places around it. Structurally, the record is a collection of piano-led vignettes. Each piece is a microcosm of lived in music, which is porous, and opens themselves outward, inviting a sense of time and ’the present’ to seep into the music. They feel instantly intimate and evocative, melodies imprinted with the world around them. In some of the recordings a siren calls out from beyond the immediate acoustic space of the studio, whilst in others birds seep in and the rustling of Akira’s clothing folds into the music itself. When we first discussed the recording, Akira had invited me to offer some sounds that might act as a leaping off point for the compositions. I collected a series of field recordings which were offered as simple and suggestive prompts, and as a means of imagining ‘other’ environments which might be simultaneously in orbit of the places Akira was recording in. Some of those field recordings are captured in the record, like a memory being recounted at a distance of time. Polaroid Piano is a unique record for many reasons. One is it manages to manifest an acoustic transcription of that ‘momentary' quality of its photographic namesake. The pieces are auditory snapshots and reflect a certain quality of harmonic light and timbral exposure that is unquestionably tethered to the aesthetics of the polaroid format. It is a record that celebrates the body of the instrument as a sound source and invites us to be proximate to the resonation, and the living qualities of sound, that make music so utterly profound, and gratifying.

Keiji Haino is, without question, one of the truly iconic artists to rise beyond the dusk of the 20th century. An artist focused singularly of the beautiful visceral promise of music, his practice is a many headed beast taking in movements from the gentlest of guitar play, through free improvisation and noise. As divergent as the work might be, it is held tightly by his unique way in sound, one that exists moment to moment with a force like no other. 20 years since its first release, Black Blues remains one of his most provocative recordings - a collection of 6 songs, recorded twice over. On version Violent, the other Soft; and the differences could not be more radical. Black Blues exists at both margins of Haino’s sonic spectrum. At the Violent end, each piece is delivered with a sense of tangible intensity. In some moments it is as if we are inside Haino, his voice completely consuming all it comes in contact with. The guitar, carving a path that is part rhythm, part harmony, its tenderness cradling his voice with a determination and generosity. By contrast the Soft versions are almost lullabies, all be it ones that carry a mournful and anguish ladened atmosphere. Here the guitar splays out into clouds of reverb that shimmer at the edges, housing a voice which is constantly seeking a deeper resolution within the songs. Gentle but never settled. Black Blues captures the dynamic form of Keiji Haino’s work in its most raw form; voice and guitar. The songs encapsulate a very particular portrait of an artist whose work only continues to grow deeper in is wonder and profundity.

In 1979, Akio Suzuki recorded a performance, ¡ÇNew Sense Of Hearing¡Ç, at the Nagoya American Centre. During the performance, Suzuki used voice, turntables, glass harmonica and his self-designed instrument the Analapos to create a series of improvised pieces that effectively charted out his sonic investigations for the proceeding decades. In 1980 these recordings were issued by ALM records as Analapos, the first work made publicly available by Akio Suzuki. For going on six decades now, Akio Suzuki has been responsible for creating amongst the most otherworldly, yet deeply affective sound works of his generation. As a musician, sculptor and sound artist, Suzuki¡Çs work threads an important linkage between Eastern and Western sound art practices. His approaches, that focus primarily on intense states of listening, ¡Çthrowing and following¡Ç and a relentless sense of open curiosity, have allowed him to continuously deepen his work. Originally published in an edition of just 200 copies in 1980, Analapos has been out of print literally since its release. Clocking in an over an hour, the original pressing of the recordings to a single LP, presented some technical limitations. This 40th anniversary edition of Analapos is entirely remastered and is published with a booklet that includes a long form interview with Akio Suzuki conducted by sound artist and collaborator Aki Onda, plus extensive photographic documentation of the development of the Analapos. The publication of this edition is announced in conjunction with the Sense Of Ekō retrospective exhibition which opens at The Substation in Melbourne late January.

super high quality, and thick tote, double strike silver print on black by the legends at 7th Disaster.

Akio Suzuki has always been an artist in search of unexpected sound, and curiosity has been his guiding principle. Whether that be curiosity for objects, spaces or places, his work has been guided by a porousness and pliability which has allowed him to explore an enormous sonic terrain. This freedom has also allowed him to develop a language in sound that remains utterly his own. Nowhere is this more evident than in his approach to instrument creation. During the 1970s Akio Suzuki devised a series of instruments that would become his sonic signatures. The Analapos and De Koolmees are perhaps his most readily identifiable instruments and it is these two that make up the core of material from which Soundsphere is created. Soundsphere, recorded in 1990 at Hut Apollphuis in Eindhoven, captures Suzuki at the height of his powers. It is a document of his music shaped by patience and dynamism, in equal measure. Few other recordings capture both the tenderness and the presence of Suzuki’s ways of discovering sound in his instruments. On pieces such as Analapos A: Voice, he creates a wavering oceanic vocal drone that echoes up and down, tracing the coils of the Analapos’ springs. The results are simultaneously minimal and expansive, reminding us that sound exists in the vertical and well as horizontal planes. Similarly his performance on De Koolmees: Suzuki Type - Glass Harmonica shares this intensity of focus. Suzuki’s strikes and strokes on the glass tubes, creating an endlessly evolving array of tonal inflections and pulses. Soundsphere, which is celebrating its 45th anniversary, is an essential capture of the ways in sound Akio Suzuki has developed over his now six decades of practice.

With concentration, or elevated tension as he has called it, Akio Suzuki enters completely into the substance of sound, its emergence and its passing. What he does with sound may propose a rarefied world to many people, and yet it possesses a persuasive quality of rightness. One of the most difficult aspects of music and soundwork to explain is the concept of ‘right action’. How is that music can be evaluated almost immediately, just as quickly as a fire alarm or a baby’s cry? When Akio performs, certain qualities (grace, warmth, a quiet authority of mind and action, an engagement with the vessel of nothingness through which sound can emerge) are evident as presences, as soon as he begins. He begins from a state we call silence, by listening, yet at the same time raises questions about our ideas of what this silence might be. Time passes; fixity gives way to destruction; visual perfection is relinquished within the faintest of sound fields. As for the work, this ceremony returns us to nothing, ‘to the feeling of not knowing exactly what is before us’, so to the uncanny, to the shell-like ear found by the sea, the ‘ungraspable phantom of life’, the record of a haunting, time regained. The sound is a parabola, a finger tracing on skin, a brush point, bird in flight.

In May 1984 I appeared at a German festival called Pro
Musica Nova, organized by Radio Bremen. I then travelled to
Berlin by car with Rolf Langebertels, the owner of Galerie
Giannozzo who had driven to Bremen to hear me perform. I still
remember very vividly the experience of passing through the
checkpoint to enter West Berlin, a city that floated like an island
in the middle of the still socialist GDR. I had previously visited
Berlin in 1982 to perform at Kunstlerhaus Bethanien at an event
that Rolf had organized. This time too Rolf had organized a
concert for me at the Technische Universitat. Playing off the title
of the piece (“Study Time”) I had performed at Pro Musica
Nova, I titled the piece for this concert “Zeitstudie”.

I owe Rolf a great deal of gratitude, as it was him who
encouraged me by releasing my very first cassette tape,
“Zeitstudie von Akio Suzuki”. In recent years it has become
difficult for me to carry heavy instruments around with me, and
I have started to do simpler performances with objects
assembled on site. So it feels wonderful to have the sound of
the battery of instruments I used back then to be returned to the
light of day.

On “Zeitstudie von A.S.” I used an ANALAPOS, the echo
instrument I invented in 1970, and the Suzuki-type glass
harmonica that I created in 1975. The ANALAPOS resembles the
tin-can telephone that children used to play with: two metal
cans, open at one end and connected by a coil spring. You
play it by stretching out the spring horizonally and then
projecting your voice into the open end of one of the
cylinders. The second piece features a variation, where I
would suspend several ANALAPOS vertically and play them like
a percussion instrument.

The Suzuki-type glass harmonica is in a simpler form than the
pre-existing glass harmonica, and consists of five long glass
tubes of varying diameters suspended horizontally in a metal
frame. As well as rubbing the tubes with wet hands, I developed
my own style of playing it using sticks. Once when I was
practicing with it in the Netherlands, outside the window I was
surprised to hear a bird imitating my sounds. However, later I
discovered that the bird always sang that way, and as a token
of my regret for having ever doubted it, I borrowed the bird’s
Dutch name, De Koolmees, and I s till use it for my instrument.
Recently, as I listened back to the cassette of “Zeitstudie von
A.S.”, one of Hiromi Miyakita’s drawings was lying in front of me.
There was a sympathetic resonance between the sounds and the
drawing, so I decided to use it on the cover. This is a joyful music.