Sagome

Skyapnea’s Giovanni Marco Civitenga - spar of Giuseppe Ielasi as Rain Text - tacks to a sort of illbient dub as Detraex Corp on a fragged-out trip going like a cruddy Wolf Eyes on a hazed jolly.

‘Live at Pompeii’ arrives on the Sagome label after scuzzy aces from The Dengie Hundred and Ssiege with a suitably groggy set of sloshing log drums and briny textures riddled with mycelia-like lines of crooked blooz and jazz. Meditative but not boring, it finds Civitenga hitting a new sort of hobbled stride on nine asymmetric, peg-legged grooves that may take a minute to lock into, but once you’re in there it flows with a naturally offbeat, downtempo quality that's really a mark for seekers of a certain grungy sound.

It’s a grotty pleasure to follow this one for stumbling rhythms and laid-back styles of no-wave steez in procession from the gasping lurch of ‘Tykes of’, thru the squashed drums and 4th world wooze of ‘Myth Prism Strip’, to the squirming jazz spectres on ‘Bullet Holes’, right down the rabbit hole into swilling skronk of ‘Channel 83’ and Werkbund-esue enigma of ‘Mount Point’.

Spacious, vibrant free jazz ecosystems sprout from London duo Exotic Sin’s debut studio jams with Swiss drummer Sartorius, uncoiling along vectors akin an unbuckled TLF Trio or The Necks and Don Cherry’s quieter communal jams.

‘In Session’ pairs the the duo of Kenichi Iwasa (known for work with Beatrice Dillon and more recently Ziúr on The Tapeworm) & Naima Karlsson (daughter of Neneh Cherry, half-sister of popstar Mabel) with the prolific Swiss percussionist regarded for work with everyone from Herbert to Valentina Magaletti and for ECM. Those credits should coordinate heads to the fine-tuned sensitivities and digits at work here, who take all the time needed to unravel keys and woodwind on slowly shifting, asymmetric beds of wooden drums and tickled metal with an unhurried quality and sublime tension.

The six pieces shimmer mirage-like with loose structures emerging that suggest the listener act on pareidolia-type senses to fill in the gaps, make sense of it in the imagination’s playground. With preternatural effortlessness they limn breezily open space in the opening path, and draw in closer with the tactile strikes and pings of of path 2, reserving the right to switch up into glorious free jazz clatter and scree on the 3rd path, and seemingly enact an impossible physics of melting and puckered pulses in path 4, before introducing a fizzing line of range-finding electronics that just about holds together a parting piece of elegant collapse and diffusion.

In the wrong hands this stuff could have been a difficult mess, but cool, quizzical heads and hands prevail on this one with exemplary results.

"Yesterday it started to rain… The smell of damp tarmac rising up through open windows, a smell which is uniquely evocative for us all depending on our individual histories: a suburban pavement, a school playground, a basketball court. The rain cut through a band of low pressure that had been lying over the city for days, pinging rhythmically off metal, causing rolling tyres to hiss and spit. The music that soundtracked this meteorological shift was the debut full length from Rain Text (Giuseppe Ielasi & Giovanni Civitenga), simply titled III. Scattered throughout the nameless eight tracks there are moments of low-end pressure relieved by the fizz and clatter of metallic rhythms; there is static, there is discord, there is release. The individuals comprising Rain Text have a long history of manipulating sounds for evocative ends, Giuseppe Ielasi has been making music as one half of Bellows for many years, each album stretching and destroying their sound in beautiful increments. He has also released reliably inspirational music either solo or in collaboration for the likes of Editions Mego, Shelter Press and Faitiche. His sensitive ears are also in high demand as a mastering engineer. It is worth perusing the 800+ releases he has technical credits for on Discogs: from classics of the avant-garde to the freshest faces of the Swedish underground, the chances are some of your favourite albums are included. Giovanni Civitenga helms the SKYAPNEA long-running NTS show. Joining him, you can enjoy the fruits of a lifetime of deep listening through shows that flit between the industrial and the devotional, a space that is fully explored on III. The album was recorded quickly over three fertile days in Ielasi’s studio in Monza, but of course results like this can only be achieved at such a pace by spending a lifetime obsessing over the mechanics and possibilities of sound. Those who are enamoured by the rain—who are returned by it to the surfaces, smells and sounds of a lost and idealised youth; who feel themselves restored—are known as ‘pluviophiles’. Their response to rain may well have a biological explanation: when rain hits tarmac negative ions are released into the air, which are thought to result in feelings of wellbeing and positivity. All the more reason, then, to return to the vivid ecosystem that Rain Text has so carefully cultivated for III." Words by The Dengie Hundred – August 2024

"I don’t keep photographs, old letters, keepsakes or memorabilia.

I have sound-files, thousands of them, un-used, un-heard: folders of field recordings; sonic sketches; experiments that failed but weren’t deleted. The files are saved on hard drives or the cards of obsolete pieces of equipment replaced – bit by dusty bit – with something new, clean and shiny.

A remnant is what’s left over when the greater part it once belonged to has been used up, removed, or destroyed. I think of my sound-files like this, the remains of ideas, of a time too.

Remnants.

The sound-files that became this album were recorded through a particular period in my life when I found myself in flux, between jobs, flats, geographical areas; after the end of one thing, but before

the next thing had started. The recordings felt restless too…

They were packed up in boxes and moved across town.

Finding them again years later was disorientating. Background sounds that had been hum-drum were suddenly, even sickeningly vivid. The chatter of the crew who would turn up each day to drink beer in the square behind my building, the crows that would rattle and click in the tree hanging over

my small roof terrace, the thrum of aeroplane engines which ebbed and flowed without end.

There were sounds from excursions too: the street preachers of Brixton; some untypically groovy Hari Krishnas in Ramsgate; an orchestra tuning up in a church. There was something vertiginous and nauseous about the nostalgia I felt on the first listen, but I soon fell into a process of “fixing” all the loops and sketches, tugging them into shape, threading them into a whole tapestry.

Once this process came to an end they were put away once again…

Things have their time. I dug the project out for a late-night listening session with an old friend who’d known that place and that period in my life. Hearing them with him changed them. They were no longer the sonic equivalent of those old photos and letters I never wanted to keep; they became something else, more communal.

An album.

We hold on to all kinds of memories – bits and pieces, fragments, remnants we so rarely think to share.

Here are some of mine." - The Dengie Hundred