Consecration of the Whipstain
INDIGNANT SENILITY
Consecration of the Whipstain
Boomkat Product Review:
Pat Maher has left an indelible mark on our listening habits over the last few years - from the ketamine techno fractals of his Diamond Catalog alias to the cough syrup-laced chopped and screwed productions as DJ Yo Yo Dieting, the guy just seems to have furrowed his own unique path situating him somewhere between the films of David Lynch, the aesthetic of the Tri Angle label and the mindset of the most experimental end of the U.S. underground movement.
But by far the deepest impression Maher has made has been left by the unforgettable degenerations of his Indignant Senility project. 18 months have passed since the release of 'Plays Wagner' (his debut proper), in which time he's become scarily familiar with his technique of decaying and manipulating found sound and sampled detritus. Like some arcane alchemist perfecting his magick, or a Victor Frankenstein of thrift shop wax, on 'Consecration Of The Whipstain' he's resuscitated acousmatic fragments of f*ck-knows-what into a supernatural collage of symphonic ambient space and cold, metal-on-shellac texture.
But most importantly it's the channels between the gauzy layers, in the cracks of the dulled ceramic glaze, where the ghoulish drafts circulate more freely and chill to the bone with an intravenous sense of movement which wasn't quite there previously, despite always being hinted at. Like the best of his work, there's an unpredictability to the (de)composition of his occult sonics which, like the most memorable horror films (or their soundtracks), sustains the suspension of disbelief without you ever noticing, always holding back more than it gives away.
And to further the celluloid analogy, it's handled with a masterful attention to the lighting of each scene, allowing certain looming objects and apparitions just enough light to elicit deeply instinctive responses from the listener/viewer. There's a list ranging from Xennakis to The Caretaker, Bellows to Lustmord and Kevin Drumm who could be more or less compared to this sound, but ultimately there's something genuinely, quietly demented about it which should be approached with caution by anyone of a nervous disposition. It's just hugely recommended to everyone else.
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Boomkat Product Review:
Pat Maher has left an indelible mark on our listening habits over the last few years - from the ketamine techno fractals of his Diamond Catalog alias to the cough syrup-laced chopped and screwed productions as DJ Yo Yo Dieting, the guy just seems to have furrowed his own unique path situating him somewhere between the films of David Lynch, the aesthetic of the Tri Angle label and the mindset of the most experimental end of the U.S. underground movement.
But by far the deepest impression Maher has made has been left by the unforgettable degenerations of his Indignant Senility project. 18 months have passed since the release of 'Plays Wagner' (his debut proper), in which time he's become scarily familiar with his technique of decaying and manipulating found sound and sampled detritus. Like some arcane alchemist perfecting his magick, or a Victor Frankenstein of thrift shop wax, on 'Consecration Of The Whipstain' he's resuscitated acousmatic fragments of f*ck-knows-what into a supernatural collage of symphonic ambient space and cold, metal-on-shellac texture.
But most importantly it's the channels between the gauzy layers, in the cracks of the dulled ceramic glaze, where the ghoulish drafts circulate more freely and chill to the bone with an intravenous sense of movement which wasn't quite there previously, despite always being hinted at. Like the best of his work, there's an unpredictability to the (de)composition of his occult sonics which, like the most memorable horror films (or their soundtracks), sustains the suspension of disbelief without you ever noticing, always holding back more than it gives away.
And to further the celluloid analogy, it's handled with a masterful attention to the lighting of each scene, allowing certain looming objects and apparitions just enough light to elicit deeply instinctive responses from the listener/viewer. There's a list ranging from Xennakis to The Caretaker, Bellows to Lustmord and Kevin Drumm who could be more or less compared to this sound, but ultimately there's something genuinely, quietly demented about it which should be approached with caution by anyone of a nervous disposition. It's just hugely recommended to everyone else.
Boomkat Product Review:
Pat Maher has left an indelible mark on our listening habits over the last few years - from the ketamine techno fractals of his Diamond Catalog alias to the cough syrup-laced chopped and screwed productions as DJ Yo Yo Dieting, the guy just seems to have furrowed his own unique path situating him somewhere between the films of David Lynch, the aesthetic of the Tri Angle label and the mindset of the most experimental end of the U.S. underground movement.
But by far the deepest impression Maher has made has been left by the unforgettable degenerations of his Indignant Senility project. 18 months have passed since the release of 'Plays Wagner' (his debut proper), in which time he's become scarily familiar with his technique of decaying and manipulating found sound and sampled detritus. Like some arcane alchemist perfecting his magick, or a Victor Frankenstein of thrift shop wax, on 'Consecration Of The Whipstain' he's resuscitated acousmatic fragments of f*ck-knows-what into a supernatural collage of symphonic ambient space and cold, metal-on-shellac texture.
But most importantly it's the channels between the gauzy layers, in the cracks of the dulled ceramic glaze, where the ghoulish drafts circulate more freely and chill to the bone with an intravenous sense of movement which wasn't quite there previously, despite always being hinted at. Like the best of his work, there's an unpredictability to the (de)composition of his occult sonics which, like the most memorable horror films (or their soundtracks), sustains the suspension of disbelief without you ever noticing, always holding back more than it gives away.
And to further the celluloid analogy, it's handled with a masterful attention to the lighting of each scene, allowing certain looming objects and apparitions just enough light to elicit deeply instinctive responses from the listener/viewer. There's a list ranging from Xennakis to The Caretaker, Bellows to Lustmord and Kevin Drumm who could be more or less compared to this sound, but ultimately there's something genuinely, quietly demented about it which should be approached with caution by anyone of a nervous disposition. It's just hugely recommended to everyone else.
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Boomkat Product Review:
Pat Maher has left an indelible mark on our listening habits over the last few years - from the ketamine techno fractals of his Diamond Catalog alias to the cough syrup-laced chopped and screwed productions as DJ Yo Yo Dieting, the guy just seems to have furrowed his own unique path situating him somewhere between the films of David Lynch, the aesthetic of the Tri Angle label and the mindset of the most experimental end of the U.S. underground movement.
But by far the deepest impression Maher has made has been left by the unforgettable degenerations of his Indignant Senility project. 18 months have passed since the release of 'Plays Wagner' (his debut proper), in which time he's become scarily familiar with his technique of decaying and manipulating found sound and sampled detritus. Like some arcane alchemist perfecting his magick, or a Victor Frankenstein of thrift shop wax, on 'Consecration Of The Whipstain' he's resuscitated acousmatic fragments of f*ck-knows-what into a supernatural collage of symphonic ambient space and cold, metal-on-shellac texture.
But most importantly it's the channels between the gauzy layers, in the cracks of the dulled ceramic glaze, where the ghoulish drafts circulate more freely and chill to the bone with an intravenous sense of movement which wasn't quite there previously, despite always being hinted at. Like the best of his work, there's an unpredictability to the (de)composition of his occult sonics which, like the most memorable horror films (or their soundtracks), sustains the suspension of disbelief without you ever noticing, always holding back more than it gives away.
And to further the celluloid analogy, it's handled with a masterful attention to the lighting of each scene, allowing certain looming objects and apparitions just enough light to elicit deeply instinctive responses from the listener/viewer. There's a list ranging from Xennakis to The Caretaker, Bellows to Lustmord and Kevin Drumm who could be more or less compared to this sound, but ultimately there's something genuinely, quietly demented about it which should be approached with caution by anyone of a nervous disposition. It's just hugely recommended to everyone else.
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