So who knows Pan Sonic’s film ‘Kuvaputki’? Largely filmed in 1999, this little known obscurity finds Pan Sonic in pursuit of a synaesthetic visual allegory for their elemental electronics. Now, somehow, available again, in limited supply.
American digital artist Edward Quist hooked up with the mighty Pan Sonic for this, their first ever DVD release, developing accompanying imagery for the duo's monumental experiments in synthesis. The main feature is the forty-minute audiovisual album dating back to 1999, combining Quist's cathode ray visions with Pan Sonic's uncompromising electronic sound world. The black and white abstraction of the film ties into the extremes of the music - it's at once grounded in principals of self-restriction and minimalism but always encroaches on overwhelming the viewer/listener.
In its more frantic moments the strobing can be fairly terrorising, even hypnotic. Amongst the flashes of raw electricity and grainy waveforms you might find yourself surprised by the emergence of actual live performance footage from Vainio and Vaisanen, whose furtive performance looks positively surgical, in a setting that's somewhere between CCTV and a phantom broadcast from some distant, Hebridean outpost with a faulty transmitter. The music is predictably wonderful, revisiting the advanced sound designs of a time around Pansonic's album, A. The combined effect of the viewing and listening experience might be compared to an analogue approximation of Ryoji Ikeda's Formula DVD, albeit with wraith-like human shapes occasionally rising from the tangled circuitry, reminding you that this is in fact a tour documentary at heart.
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So who knows Pan Sonic’s film ‘Kuvaputki’? Largely filmed in 1999, this little known obscurity finds Pan Sonic in pursuit of a synaesthetic visual allegory for their elemental electronics. Now, somehow, available again, in limited supply.
American digital artist Edward Quist hooked up with the mighty Pan Sonic for this, their first ever DVD release, developing accompanying imagery for the duo's monumental experiments in synthesis. The main feature is the forty-minute audiovisual album dating back to 1999, combining Quist's cathode ray visions with Pan Sonic's uncompromising electronic sound world. The black and white abstraction of the film ties into the extremes of the music - it's at once grounded in principals of self-restriction and minimalism but always encroaches on overwhelming the viewer/listener.
In its more frantic moments the strobing can be fairly terrorising, even hypnotic. Amongst the flashes of raw electricity and grainy waveforms you might find yourself surprised by the emergence of actual live performance footage from Vainio and Vaisanen, whose furtive performance looks positively surgical, in a setting that's somewhere between CCTV and a phantom broadcast from some distant, Hebridean outpost with a faulty transmitter. The music is predictably wonderful, revisiting the advanced sound designs of a time around Pansonic's album, A. The combined effect of the viewing and listening experience might be compared to an analogue approximation of Ryoji Ikeda's Formula DVD, albeit with wraith-like human shapes occasionally rising from the tangled circuitry, reminding you that this is in fact a tour documentary at heart.