Recollection GRM excavate another vital batch from the archives, spotlighting Robert Cahen's forward-facing concrète and sound design experiments through a surreal sprawl of narrative-driven vignettes recorded between 1971-1974 and combining analogue techniques with advanced, investigative synthesis.
One of France's most celebrated video artists, Robert Cahen cut his teeth at Paris' fabled GRM studios, joining in 1972 and continuing to work alongside the group for decades, providing imagery for many of their releases. The pieces that comprise 'La nef des fous' (the ship of fools) were composed between 1971 and 1974 and showcase a depth of imagination coupled with considerable technical skill.
The album opens with visceral, spiky energy, offsetting shards of metallic sawtooth abrasions with quiet, swarming oscillations. Cahen lets his cogitations simmer a little, constructing pools of oily electronics that he cuts through with percussive hits and jagged, lightning bolt stabs. In the central section, a story begins to unfold as Cahen silhouettes a harsh, alien landscape with chiseled raw material that results in an electro-acoustic blur that reminds us of Daphne Oram at her most pathbreaking and remote.
'Masques 2' is even more dramatic, opening on a dissociated haze of fluorescent drones, sustained piano and supernatural voices before it veers into more outlandish territory. Mannered, brassy pulses scrape against concrète rushes, creating a seething whirl of sound that almost foreshadows deconstructed club music - almost. Instead, Cahen opts to strengthen the piece’s human components, propelling hoarse, breathy vocalisations to the surface and juxtaposing those sounds with drill whirrs and glassy tape scrubs.
‘Plurielles’ is the one for us though, revolving around what sounds like a slow, growling mentasm giving the sensation of listening to a jungle breakdown extended across 8 minutes of futuristic soundscaping shorn of the more "esoteric" components that have made us a bit weary of Radiophonic gear over the last few years. On 'Persona' he hits an even more ominous stride, filtering synthetic pulses into a sort of swarming sound not too dissimilar to Eliane Radigue’s feedback works. Then, the anthology grinds to a halt with the rubbery 'Passé composé', featuring five caliginous minutes of tactile scratches, white noise bursts and ratcheting machine noises that'll make you wonder why this material has been sat in a drawer somewhere for five decades.
Strong gear.
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Recollection GRM excavate another vital batch from the archives, spotlighting Robert Cahen's forward-facing concrète and sound design experiments through a surreal sprawl of narrative-driven vignettes recorded between 1971-1974 and combining analogue techniques with advanced, investigative synthesis.
One of France's most celebrated video artists, Robert Cahen cut his teeth at Paris' fabled GRM studios, joining in 1972 and continuing to work alongside the group for decades, providing imagery for many of their releases. The pieces that comprise 'La nef des fous' (the ship of fools) were composed between 1971 and 1974 and showcase a depth of imagination coupled with considerable technical skill.
The album opens with visceral, spiky energy, offsetting shards of metallic sawtooth abrasions with quiet, swarming oscillations. Cahen lets his cogitations simmer a little, constructing pools of oily electronics that he cuts through with percussive hits and jagged, lightning bolt stabs. In the central section, a story begins to unfold as Cahen silhouettes a harsh, alien landscape with chiseled raw material that results in an electro-acoustic blur that reminds us of Daphne Oram at her most pathbreaking and remote.
'Masques 2' is even more dramatic, opening on a dissociated haze of fluorescent drones, sustained piano and supernatural voices before it veers into more outlandish territory. Mannered, brassy pulses scrape against concrète rushes, creating a seething whirl of sound that almost foreshadows deconstructed club music - almost. Instead, Cahen opts to strengthen the piece’s human components, propelling hoarse, breathy vocalisations to the surface and juxtaposing those sounds with drill whirrs and glassy tape scrubs.
‘Plurielles’ is the one for us though, revolving around what sounds like a slow, growling mentasm giving the sensation of listening to a jungle breakdown extended across 8 minutes of futuristic soundscaping shorn of the more "esoteric" components that have made us a bit weary of Radiophonic gear over the last few years. On 'Persona' he hits an even more ominous stride, filtering synthetic pulses into a sort of swarming sound not too dissimilar to Eliane Radigue’s feedback works. Then, the anthology grinds to a halt with the rubbery 'Passé composé', featuring five caliginous minutes of tactile scratches, white noise bursts and ratcheting machine noises that'll make you wonder why this material has been sat in a drawer somewhere for five decades.
Strong gear.
Recollection GRM excavate another vital batch from the archives, spotlighting Robert Cahen's forward-facing concrète and sound design experiments through a surreal sprawl of narrative-driven vignettes recorded between 1971-1974 and combining analogue techniques with advanced, investigative synthesis.
One of France's most celebrated video artists, Robert Cahen cut his teeth at Paris' fabled GRM studios, joining in 1972 and continuing to work alongside the group for decades, providing imagery for many of their releases. The pieces that comprise 'La nef des fous' (the ship of fools) were composed between 1971 and 1974 and showcase a depth of imagination coupled with considerable technical skill.
The album opens with visceral, spiky energy, offsetting shards of metallic sawtooth abrasions with quiet, swarming oscillations. Cahen lets his cogitations simmer a little, constructing pools of oily electronics that he cuts through with percussive hits and jagged, lightning bolt stabs. In the central section, a story begins to unfold as Cahen silhouettes a harsh, alien landscape with chiseled raw material that results in an electro-acoustic blur that reminds us of Daphne Oram at her most pathbreaking and remote.
'Masques 2' is even more dramatic, opening on a dissociated haze of fluorescent drones, sustained piano and supernatural voices before it veers into more outlandish territory. Mannered, brassy pulses scrape against concrète rushes, creating a seething whirl of sound that almost foreshadows deconstructed club music - almost. Instead, Cahen opts to strengthen the piece’s human components, propelling hoarse, breathy vocalisations to the surface and juxtaposing those sounds with drill whirrs and glassy tape scrubs.
‘Plurielles’ is the one for us though, revolving around what sounds like a slow, growling mentasm giving the sensation of listening to a jungle breakdown extended across 8 minutes of futuristic soundscaping shorn of the more "esoteric" components that have made us a bit weary of Radiophonic gear over the last few years. On 'Persona' he hits an even more ominous stride, filtering synthetic pulses into a sort of swarming sound not too dissimilar to Eliane Radigue’s feedback works. Then, the anthology grinds to a halt with the rubbery 'Passé composé', featuring five caliginous minutes of tactile scratches, white noise bursts and ratcheting machine noises that'll make you wonder why this material has been sat in a drawer somewhere for five decades.
Strong gear.
Recollection GRM excavate another vital batch from the archives, spotlighting Robert Cahen's forward-facing concrète and sound design experiments through a surreal sprawl of narrative-driven vignettes recorded between 1971-1974 and combining analogue techniques with advanced, investigative synthesis.
One of France's most celebrated video artists, Robert Cahen cut his teeth at Paris' fabled GRM studios, joining in 1972 and continuing to work alongside the group for decades, providing imagery for many of their releases. The pieces that comprise 'La nef des fous' (the ship of fools) were composed between 1971 and 1974 and showcase a depth of imagination coupled with considerable technical skill.
The album opens with visceral, spiky energy, offsetting shards of metallic sawtooth abrasions with quiet, swarming oscillations. Cahen lets his cogitations simmer a little, constructing pools of oily electronics that he cuts through with percussive hits and jagged, lightning bolt stabs. In the central section, a story begins to unfold as Cahen silhouettes a harsh, alien landscape with chiseled raw material that results in an electro-acoustic blur that reminds us of Daphne Oram at her most pathbreaking and remote.
'Masques 2' is even more dramatic, opening on a dissociated haze of fluorescent drones, sustained piano and supernatural voices before it veers into more outlandish territory. Mannered, brassy pulses scrape against concrète rushes, creating a seething whirl of sound that almost foreshadows deconstructed club music - almost. Instead, Cahen opts to strengthen the piece’s human components, propelling hoarse, breathy vocalisations to the surface and juxtaposing those sounds with drill whirrs and glassy tape scrubs.
‘Plurielles’ is the one for us though, revolving around what sounds like a slow, growling mentasm giving the sensation of listening to a jungle breakdown extended across 8 minutes of futuristic soundscaping shorn of the more "esoteric" components that have made us a bit weary of Radiophonic gear over the last few years. On 'Persona' he hits an even more ominous stride, filtering synthetic pulses into a sort of swarming sound not too dissimilar to Eliane Radigue’s feedback works. Then, the anthology grinds to a halt with the rubbery 'Passé composé', featuring five caliginous minutes of tactile scratches, white noise bursts and ratcheting machine noises that'll make you wonder why this material has been sat in a drawer somewhere for five decades.
Strong gear.
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Vinyl includes a download of the album dropped to your account. Mastered by Giuseppe Ielasi, cut by Andreas Kauffelt at Schnittstelle, Berlin, May 2023/ Layout: Stephen O’Malley, photos: Laszlo Ruszka
Recollection GRM excavate another vital batch from the archives, spotlighting Robert Cahen's forward-facing concrète and sound design experiments through a surreal sprawl of narrative-driven vignettes recorded between 1971-1974 and combining analogue techniques with advanced, investigative synthesis.
One of France's most celebrated video artists, Robert Cahen cut his teeth at Paris' fabled GRM studios, joining in 1972 and continuing to work alongside the group for decades, providing imagery for many of their releases. The pieces that comprise 'La nef des fous' (the ship of fools) were composed between 1971 and 1974 and showcase a depth of imagination coupled with considerable technical skill.
The album opens with visceral, spiky energy, offsetting shards of metallic sawtooth abrasions with quiet, swarming oscillations. Cahen lets his cogitations simmer a little, constructing pools of oily electronics that he cuts through with percussive hits and jagged, lightning bolt stabs. In the central section, a story begins to unfold as Cahen silhouettes a harsh, alien landscape with chiseled raw material that results in an electro-acoustic blur that reminds us of Daphne Oram at her most pathbreaking and remote.
'Masques 2' is even more dramatic, opening on a dissociated haze of fluorescent drones, sustained piano and supernatural voices before it veers into more outlandish territory. Mannered, brassy pulses scrape against concrète rushes, creating a seething whirl of sound that almost foreshadows deconstructed club music - almost. Instead, Cahen opts to strengthen the piece’s human components, propelling hoarse, breathy vocalisations to the surface and juxtaposing those sounds with drill whirrs and glassy tape scrubs.
‘Plurielles’ is the one for us though, revolving around what sounds like a slow, growling mentasm giving the sensation of listening to a jungle breakdown extended across 8 minutes of futuristic soundscaping shorn of the more "esoteric" components that have made us a bit weary of Radiophonic gear over the last few years. On 'Persona' he hits an even more ominous stride, filtering synthetic pulses into a sort of swarming sound not too dissimilar to Eliane Radigue’s feedback works. Then, the anthology grinds to a halt with the rubbery 'Passé composé', featuring five caliginous minutes of tactile scratches, white noise bursts and ratcheting machine noises that'll make you wonder why this material has been sat in a drawer somewhere for five decades.
Strong gear.