Music For A Bellowing Room
Moments after her career-best last full-length, we're treated to a proper release of Sarah Davachi's 2023 MoMA commission 'Music For A Bellowing Room', a three-hour acousmatic composition that was originally presented alongside visuals from filmmaker Dicky Bahto. Made using tape loops, synth and delay, it's a hypnotic durational drone piece that'll be essential listening for fans of the brilliant 'Vergers'.
You need patience and concentration for this one. Davachi splits the lengthy piece into three parts, opening with tape-dubbed string loops that she almost imperceptibly intermingles with woolly, wavering synth drones. Train your ears into the small changes, and 'Music For A Bellowing Room' starts to reveal itself. It's music that's made for the deepest possible listening, following in the stead of work by Pauline Oliveros, or arch minimalists Éliane Radigue and Phil Niblock. And although we've not seen Bahto's accompanying film, the sound gives us at least some indication of its direction: slow, secretive and ineffably elegant. Over the course of an hour, the first part delicately progresses, absorbing different tones and textures as it grows. The solemn strings eventually disappear completely, and barely audible organ phrases appear in the far distance, suspended beneath Davachi's almost choral drones.
The second act is even more haunted, initially a soft-edged palpitation made from lower-case oscillations that twists and turns, heaving into the breathy middle section where Davachi introduces brassier, more hypnotic sounds. Warmed up by tape-y saturation, the pliant drones beat and throb with microscopic complexity, taking their time to excite quieted rhythms that only emerge after a listen or two. Eventually, the moody string loops that appeared at the beginning of the first segment seem to make a slight return, warbling into the foggy synths. And it's these grazed, ferric murmurs that introduce us to 'Part III', in time joined by giddy resonant whirrs that almost overrun the entire spectrum. Davachi offers obscured callbacks to the rest of the piece throughout, while retaining our attention with swooning mesmeric tweaks and textures. In the central section, she almost creates an orchestral swell from her minimal electronic setup, and by its conclusion, drifts the composition towards the heavens with nebulous celestial wails.
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Moments after her career-best last full-length, we're treated to a proper release of Sarah Davachi's 2023 MoMA commission 'Music For A Bellowing Room', a three-hour acousmatic composition that was originally presented alongside visuals from filmmaker Dicky Bahto. Made using tape loops, synth and delay, it's a hypnotic durational drone piece that'll be essential listening for fans of the brilliant 'Vergers'.
You need patience and concentration for this one. Davachi splits the lengthy piece into three parts, opening with tape-dubbed string loops that she almost imperceptibly intermingles with woolly, wavering synth drones. Train your ears into the small changes, and 'Music For A Bellowing Room' starts to reveal itself. It's music that's made for the deepest possible listening, following in the stead of work by Pauline Oliveros, or arch minimalists Éliane Radigue and Phil Niblock. And although we've not seen Bahto's accompanying film, the sound gives us at least some indication of its direction: slow, secretive and ineffably elegant. Over the course of an hour, the first part delicately progresses, absorbing different tones and textures as it grows. The solemn strings eventually disappear completely, and barely audible organ phrases appear in the far distance, suspended beneath Davachi's almost choral drones.
The second act is even more haunted, initially a soft-edged palpitation made from lower-case oscillations that twists and turns, heaving into the breathy middle section where Davachi introduces brassier, more hypnotic sounds. Warmed up by tape-y saturation, the pliant drones beat and throb with microscopic complexity, taking their time to excite quieted rhythms that only emerge after a listen or two. Eventually, the moody string loops that appeared at the beginning of the first segment seem to make a slight return, warbling into the foggy synths. And it's these grazed, ferric murmurs that introduce us to 'Part III', in time joined by giddy resonant whirrs that almost overrun the entire spectrum. Davachi offers obscured callbacks to the rest of the piece throughout, while retaining our attention with swooning mesmeric tweaks and textures. In the central section, she almost creates an orchestral swell from her minimal electronic setup, and by its conclusion, drifts the composition towards the heavens with nebulous celestial wails.
Moments after her career-best last full-length, we're treated to a proper release of Sarah Davachi's 2023 MoMA commission 'Music For A Bellowing Room', a three-hour acousmatic composition that was originally presented alongside visuals from filmmaker Dicky Bahto. Made using tape loops, synth and delay, it's a hypnotic durational drone piece that'll be essential listening for fans of the brilliant 'Vergers'.
You need patience and concentration for this one. Davachi splits the lengthy piece into three parts, opening with tape-dubbed string loops that she almost imperceptibly intermingles with woolly, wavering synth drones. Train your ears into the small changes, and 'Music For A Bellowing Room' starts to reveal itself. It's music that's made for the deepest possible listening, following in the stead of work by Pauline Oliveros, or arch minimalists Éliane Radigue and Phil Niblock. And although we've not seen Bahto's accompanying film, the sound gives us at least some indication of its direction: slow, secretive and ineffably elegant. Over the course of an hour, the first part delicately progresses, absorbing different tones and textures as it grows. The solemn strings eventually disappear completely, and barely audible organ phrases appear in the far distance, suspended beneath Davachi's almost choral drones.
The second act is even more haunted, initially a soft-edged palpitation made from lower-case oscillations that twists and turns, heaving into the breathy middle section where Davachi introduces brassier, more hypnotic sounds. Warmed up by tape-y saturation, the pliant drones beat and throb with microscopic complexity, taking their time to excite quieted rhythms that only emerge after a listen or two. Eventually, the moody string loops that appeared at the beginning of the first segment seem to make a slight return, warbling into the foggy synths. And it's these grazed, ferric murmurs that introduce us to 'Part III', in time joined by giddy resonant whirrs that almost overrun the entire spectrum. Davachi offers obscured callbacks to the rest of the piece throughout, while retaining our attention with swooning mesmeric tweaks and textures. In the central section, she almost creates an orchestral swell from her minimal electronic setup, and by its conclusion, drifts the composition towards the heavens with nebulous celestial wails.
Moments after her career-best last full-length, we're treated to a proper release of Sarah Davachi's 2023 MoMA commission 'Music For A Bellowing Room', a three-hour acousmatic composition that was originally presented alongside visuals from filmmaker Dicky Bahto. Made using tape loops, synth and delay, it's a hypnotic durational drone piece that'll be essential listening for fans of the brilliant 'Vergers'.
You need patience and concentration for this one. Davachi splits the lengthy piece into three parts, opening with tape-dubbed string loops that she almost imperceptibly intermingles with woolly, wavering synth drones. Train your ears into the small changes, and 'Music For A Bellowing Room' starts to reveal itself. It's music that's made for the deepest possible listening, following in the stead of work by Pauline Oliveros, or arch minimalists Éliane Radigue and Phil Niblock. And although we've not seen Bahto's accompanying film, the sound gives us at least some indication of its direction: slow, secretive and ineffably elegant. Over the course of an hour, the first part delicately progresses, absorbing different tones and textures as it grows. The solemn strings eventually disappear completely, and barely audible organ phrases appear in the far distance, suspended beneath Davachi's almost choral drones.
The second act is even more haunted, initially a soft-edged palpitation made from lower-case oscillations that twists and turns, heaving into the breathy middle section where Davachi introduces brassier, more hypnotic sounds. Warmed up by tape-y saturation, the pliant drones beat and throb with microscopic complexity, taking their time to excite quieted rhythms that only emerge after a listen or two. Eventually, the moody string loops that appeared at the beginning of the first segment seem to make a slight return, warbling into the foggy synths. And it's these grazed, ferric murmurs that introduce us to 'Part III', in time joined by giddy resonant whirrs that almost overrun the entire spectrum. Davachi offers obscured callbacks to the rest of the piece throughout, while retaining our attention with swooning mesmeric tweaks and textures. In the central section, she almost creates an orchestral swell from her minimal electronic setup, and by its conclusion, drifts the composition towards the heavens with nebulous celestial wails.