Originally released in 1997, 'splint (the soul of wood)' is a meditation on the sound of furniture, with every sound made from interacting with a plywood leg splint designed by industrial designer Charles Eames.
"The Eames splint has always been considered an icon of ingenuity and modern design," explains Roden. "After appreciating its visual qualities for a few months as it hung on our living room wall, I decided to take it down and try to explore it as an 'instrument'". And Roden does exactly that, bowing the splint and using mallets, brushes and his hands to extract every possible sound from the object, recording them to tape or manipulating and processing them electronically. It's a novel way to approach an item that's part of a room, but generally considered to be silent; Roden's music often extracts a sonic signature from unlikely elements, and he makes the wood sing, turning scrapes and taps into chorus of crackling vibrations on 'Corner.Wood.Fuzz.'.
'The Name of the Thing Itself' is even more unlikely. If its predecessor at least felt like wood, this one abstracts the sound into stifled twangs and offworld rhythmic taps that sound almost metallic. And on 'A Head of Bees', Roden extracts rumbling bass notes and organ-like wheezes, bowing the splint until it hums, sputters and cries.
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Originally released in 1997, 'splint (the soul of wood)' is a meditation on the sound of furniture, with every sound made from interacting with a plywood leg splint designed by industrial designer Charles Eames.
"The Eames splint has always been considered an icon of ingenuity and modern design," explains Roden. "After appreciating its visual qualities for a few months as it hung on our living room wall, I decided to take it down and try to explore it as an 'instrument'". And Roden does exactly that, bowing the splint and using mallets, brushes and his hands to extract every possible sound from the object, recording them to tape or manipulating and processing them electronically. It's a novel way to approach an item that's part of a room, but generally considered to be silent; Roden's music often extracts a sonic signature from unlikely elements, and he makes the wood sing, turning scrapes and taps into chorus of crackling vibrations on 'Corner.Wood.Fuzz.'.
'The Name of the Thing Itself' is even more unlikely. If its predecessor at least felt like wood, this one abstracts the sound into stifled twangs and offworld rhythmic taps that sound almost metallic. And on 'A Head of Bees', Roden extracts rumbling bass notes and organ-like wheezes, bowing the splint until it hums, sputters and cries.
Originally released in 1997, 'splint (the soul of wood)' is a meditation on the sound of furniture, with every sound made from interacting with a plywood leg splint designed by industrial designer Charles Eames.
"The Eames splint has always been considered an icon of ingenuity and modern design," explains Roden. "After appreciating its visual qualities for a few months as it hung on our living room wall, I decided to take it down and try to explore it as an 'instrument'". And Roden does exactly that, bowing the splint and using mallets, brushes and his hands to extract every possible sound from the object, recording them to tape or manipulating and processing them electronically. It's a novel way to approach an item that's part of a room, but generally considered to be silent; Roden's music often extracts a sonic signature from unlikely elements, and he makes the wood sing, turning scrapes and taps into chorus of crackling vibrations on 'Corner.Wood.Fuzz.'.
'The Name of the Thing Itself' is even more unlikely. If its predecessor at least felt like wood, this one abstracts the sound into stifled twangs and offworld rhythmic taps that sound almost metallic. And on 'A Head of Bees', Roden extracts rumbling bass notes and organ-like wheezes, bowing the splint until it hums, sputters and cries.
Originally released in 1997, 'splint (the soul of wood)' is a meditation on the sound of furniture, with every sound made from interacting with a plywood leg splint designed by industrial designer Charles Eames.
"The Eames splint has always been considered an icon of ingenuity and modern design," explains Roden. "After appreciating its visual qualities for a few months as it hung on our living room wall, I decided to take it down and try to explore it as an 'instrument'". And Roden does exactly that, bowing the splint and using mallets, brushes and his hands to extract every possible sound from the object, recording them to tape or manipulating and processing them electronically. It's a novel way to approach an item that's part of a room, but generally considered to be silent; Roden's music often extracts a sonic signature from unlikely elements, and he makes the wood sing, turning scrapes and taps into chorus of crackling vibrations on 'Corner.Wood.Fuzz.'.
'The Name of the Thing Itself' is even more unlikely. If its predecessor at least felt like wood, this one abstracts the sound into stifled twangs and offworld rhythmic taps that sound almost metallic. And on 'A Head of Bees', Roden extracts rumbling bass notes and organ-like wheezes, bowing the splint until it hums, sputters and cries.