Góða Nótt
Finding themselves snowed in at their studio in Iceland - with no food or drink - BJ Nilsen and Stillippsteypa began to lose their grip on time, unsure whether they were sleeping for hours, days or even weeks at a time. To take their minds off the wretched situation, or at least to channel the experience into something worthwhile, they decided to do some recording: and so, pointing their most powerful microphones through the masses of snow, they sought out "any or little activity, whooshing noises, static bursts, buzzing melodies, even voices". Once the snow subsided and they were able to leave, the duo spent some time in Germany editing and honing the material they'd amassed - the result is what you hear on Goda Nott, two long pieces that give new meaning to the word Isolationism. Part One sounds like a Thomas Koner or Echospace production stripped of all its rhythmic momentum, the emphasis instead on the haunting, haunted periphery of the sound-field, a zone populated by distant howls, ominous rumbles, alien crackle. You could almost be listening to an Eric Zann or Kreng or Caretaker record - the overarching feeling is one of seance, of supernatural enquiry - the difference is, all the sounds on this record are real. Part 2 is a flatter dronescape, and it's even harder here not to wonder whether the melodic fanfares, voices and other sonic events that seem to present themselves from the other side of the fog are, in fact, figments of your aural imagination.
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Finding themselves snowed in at their studio in Iceland - with no food or drink - BJ Nilsen and Stillippsteypa began to lose their grip on time, unsure whether they were sleeping for hours, days or even weeks at a time. To take their minds off the wretched situation, or at least to channel the experience into something worthwhile, they decided to do some recording: and so, pointing their most powerful microphones through the masses of snow, they sought out "any or little activity, whooshing noises, static bursts, buzzing melodies, even voices". Once the snow subsided and they were able to leave, the duo spent some time in Germany editing and honing the material they'd amassed - the result is what you hear on Goda Nott, two long pieces that give new meaning to the word Isolationism. Part One sounds like a Thomas Koner or Echospace production stripped of all its rhythmic momentum, the emphasis instead on the haunting, haunted periphery of the sound-field, a zone populated by distant howls, ominous rumbles, alien crackle. You could almost be listening to an Eric Zann or Kreng or Caretaker record - the overarching feeling is one of seance, of supernatural enquiry - the difference is, all the sounds on this record are real. Part 2 is a flatter dronescape, and it's even harder here not to wonder whether the melodic fanfares, voices and other sonic events that seem to present themselves from the other side of the fog are, in fact, figments of your aural imagination.
Finding themselves snowed in at their studio in Iceland - with no food or drink - BJ Nilsen and Stillippsteypa began to lose their grip on time, unsure whether they were sleeping for hours, days or even weeks at a time. To take their minds off the wretched situation, or at least to channel the experience into something worthwhile, they decided to do some recording: and so, pointing their most powerful microphones through the masses of snow, they sought out "any or little activity, whooshing noises, static bursts, buzzing melodies, even voices". Once the snow subsided and they were able to leave, the duo spent some time in Germany editing and honing the material they'd amassed - the result is what you hear on Goda Nott, two long pieces that give new meaning to the word Isolationism. Part One sounds like a Thomas Koner or Echospace production stripped of all its rhythmic momentum, the emphasis instead on the haunting, haunted periphery of the sound-field, a zone populated by distant howls, ominous rumbles, alien crackle. You could almost be listening to an Eric Zann or Kreng or Caretaker record - the overarching feeling is one of seance, of supernatural enquiry - the difference is, all the sounds on this record are real. Part 2 is a flatter dronescape, and it's even harder here not to wonder whether the melodic fanfares, voices and other sonic events that seem to present themselves from the other side of the fog are, in fact, figments of your aural imagination.