

"The impenetrable Nicholas Szczepanik suggests that his album ‘Astilbe Rubra’ is a “collection of ideas/directions I plan to study and explore.” While this suggests some sort of work in progress, the album appears much more complete than many other noise discs of his cohort. The shrill mechanism of the opening strain on “Tire” tease the ear into preparing for a harsh noise experiment in the Whitehouse tradition, though this soon subsides into an admittedly disturbing yet passive doom like some Miklos Rosza score; as if sucked, in the end the frequency distorts until it blinks out, leading to the clatter of “Bringer”, an atmospheric soufflé of room noise and a brooding, heavily-reverberated guitar, sci-fi effects strangely fitted to a graceful sustain. Including his email address in the scant liner notes, Szczepanik invites listeners to inquire about his indeterminate methodology. While it is no secret that popular noise releases need no raison d’être (nor do many have one beyond the sound itself), this seems a reasonable, if not necessary presentation, as there is something strangely awry on this disc, as though some secret pattern is illustrating itself. In fact, the disc relies almost entirely on aesthetics, as the radioed chatter of “Convivencia” bleeds into a stunning drone, then water sounds and field recordings of birds, wind, and children: there is no motive or motif to be easily deigned – a sticking point hard to accomplish in a genre so heavily indebted to malaise. Like the Half Makeshift disc, the clarity of production here is incredible, most notably in the shower of glass on “Echoes”, leading to a beam of diamond cut vibration which leaps from even the flattest speaker to numb yr spine. As a fine reprieve, the pure drone of the expressive “Merci Manu & Sophie” clears the palette before the motley sculpture “Delays – Interference”, a piece of manipulations and concrète sounds turned out behind a last minute veil of transistor fury. “Shimmer” closes the disc pitting a mid-paced blast of guitar feedback over a dubby plod of imaginary piano, a Zen repetition replying calm beneath the chaos. The disc comes labeled with a fancy, cut paper sleeve (Small Doses never disappoints with their packages); limited to 104 pieces. Recommended for those in search of a challenge."
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