Flora Yin Wong, Sebastien Roux
Trigram For Earth / 50 Frequency And Amplitude Modulated Sine Waves Describing A Landscape
Flora Yin Wong outdoes herself on her latest side for GRM, sonically replicating the trigrams that surround traditional pakua mirrors by juxtaposing disorienting, reverb-drenched tones, voices and concrète scrapes with dissociated rhythms and ghostly bell sounds. Sébastian Roux handles the flip, painting a teeming natural landscape with algorithmically controlled sine tones.
You've probably come across a pakua (or bagua) mirror before; the eight-sided object is a protective amulet that, in the feng shui tradition, is supposed to ward off sha qi (negative chi) generated by sharp objects or distressing areas that might be close to an exterior doorway. Around the edges of the mirror are a complex sequence of eight trigrams, three line sets of divination symbols that balance the yin and yang, according to the I Ching. Yin Wong uses this concept to drive 'Trigram for Earth', imagining a pakua mirror that reflects the true nature of earth itself. And she begins the piece fittingly by cleansing the space with bells that tangle themselves into complex knots as the other discreet elements begin to emerge. Over the course of 20 minutes, she illustrates a layered, cryptic balance of her inner and outer realities, smudging environmental recordings with echoing instrumental vamps and splicing ugly noise into thickets of decayed orchestrals. It's satisfying, weighty material that neatly follows on from last year's open-ended tome 'Cold Reading'. If that album was chasing a dream, 'Trigram for Earth' attempts to chart more corporeal architectures, using mutable, sensual sonics to trigger memories and emotions.
Roux's side, meanwhile, is an observation of the natural world rendered artifically. He draws us in with the familiar sound of the sea, that oscillates until it mutates into a sludgy, subterranean radio buzz. It's as if Roux is guiding us through an alien landscape - or at least showing us the shrouded details we might not recognize at first. The harsh, garbled noises eventually cede to purer tones, that Roux forms into an oddly tuned mass of sharp, high-pitched drones and bubbling bleeps. It's not clear initially where it's going, but before you know it, the artificial whistles begin to take a more recognisable form, turning into animalistic chirps.
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Flora Yin Wong outdoes herself on her latest side for GRM, sonically replicating the trigrams that surround traditional pakua mirrors by juxtaposing disorienting, reverb-drenched tones, voices and concrète scrapes with dissociated rhythms and ghostly bell sounds. Sébastian Roux handles the flip, painting a teeming natural landscape with algorithmically controlled sine tones.
You've probably come across a pakua (or bagua) mirror before; the eight-sided object is a protective amulet that, in the feng shui tradition, is supposed to ward off sha qi (negative chi) generated by sharp objects or distressing areas that might be close to an exterior doorway. Around the edges of the mirror are a complex sequence of eight trigrams, three line sets of divination symbols that balance the yin and yang, according to the I Ching. Yin Wong uses this concept to drive 'Trigram for Earth', imagining a pakua mirror that reflects the true nature of earth itself. And she begins the piece fittingly by cleansing the space with bells that tangle themselves into complex knots as the other discreet elements begin to emerge. Over the course of 20 minutes, she illustrates a layered, cryptic balance of her inner and outer realities, smudging environmental recordings with echoing instrumental vamps and splicing ugly noise into thickets of decayed orchestrals. It's satisfying, weighty material that neatly follows on from last year's open-ended tome 'Cold Reading'. If that album was chasing a dream, 'Trigram for Earth' attempts to chart more corporeal architectures, using mutable, sensual sonics to trigger memories and emotions.
Roux's side, meanwhile, is an observation of the natural world rendered artifically. He draws us in with the familiar sound of the sea, that oscillates until it mutates into a sludgy, subterranean radio buzz. It's as if Roux is guiding us through an alien landscape - or at least showing us the shrouded details we might not recognize at first. The harsh, garbled noises eventually cede to purer tones, that Roux forms into an oddly tuned mass of sharp, high-pitched drones and bubbling bleeps. It's not clear initially where it's going, but before you know it, the artificial whistles begin to take a more recognisable form, turning into animalistic chirps.
Flora Yin Wong outdoes herself on her latest side for GRM, sonically replicating the trigrams that surround traditional pakua mirrors by juxtaposing disorienting, reverb-drenched tones, voices and concrète scrapes with dissociated rhythms and ghostly bell sounds. Sébastian Roux handles the flip, painting a teeming natural landscape with algorithmically controlled sine tones.
You've probably come across a pakua (or bagua) mirror before; the eight-sided object is a protective amulet that, in the feng shui tradition, is supposed to ward off sha qi (negative chi) generated by sharp objects or distressing areas that might be close to an exterior doorway. Around the edges of the mirror are a complex sequence of eight trigrams, three line sets of divination symbols that balance the yin and yang, according to the I Ching. Yin Wong uses this concept to drive 'Trigram for Earth', imagining a pakua mirror that reflects the true nature of earth itself. And she begins the piece fittingly by cleansing the space with bells that tangle themselves into complex knots as the other discreet elements begin to emerge. Over the course of 20 minutes, she illustrates a layered, cryptic balance of her inner and outer realities, smudging environmental recordings with echoing instrumental vamps and splicing ugly noise into thickets of decayed orchestrals. It's satisfying, weighty material that neatly follows on from last year's open-ended tome 'Cold Reading'. If that album was chasing a dream, 'Trigram for Earth' attempts to chart more corporeal architectures, using mutable, sensual sonics to trigger memories and emotions.
Roux's side, meanwhile, is an observation of the natural world rendered artifically. He draws us in with the familiar sound of the sea, that oscillates until it mutates into a sludgy, subterranean radio buzz. It's as if Roux is guiding us through an alien landscape - or at least showing us the shrouded details we might not recognize at first. The harsh, garbled noises eventually cede to purer tones, that Roux forms into an oddly tuned mass of sharp, high-pitched drones and bubbling bleeps. It's not clear initially where it's going, but before you know it, the artificial whistles begin to take a more recognisable form, turning into animalistic chirps.
Flora Yin Wong outdoes herself on her latest side for GRM, sonically replicating the trigrams that surround traditional pakua mirrors by juxtaposing disorienting, reverb-drenched tones, voices and concrète scrapes with dissociated rhythms and ghostly bell sounds. Sébastian Roux handles the flip, painting a teeming natural landscape with algorithmically controlled sine tones.
You've probably come across a pakua (or bagua) mirror before; the eight-sided object is a protective amulet that, in the feng shui tradition, is supposed to ward off sha qi (negative chi) generated by sharp objects or distressing areas that might be close to an exterior doorway. Around the edges of the mirror are a complex sequence of eight trigrams, three line sets of divination symbols that balance the yin and yang, according to the I Ching. Yin Wong uses this concept to drive 'Trigram for Earth', imagining a pakua mirror that reflects the true nature of earth itself. And she begins the piece fittingly by cleansing the space with bells that tangle themselves into complex knots as the other discreet elements begin to emerge. Over the course of 20 minutes, she illustrates a layered, cryptic balance of her inner and outer realities, smudging environmental recordings with echoing instrumental vamps and splicing ugly noise into thickets of decayed orchestrals. It's satisfying, weighty material that neatly follows on from last year's open-ended tome 'Cold Reading'. If that album was chasing a dream, 'Trigram for Earth' attempts to chart more corporeal architectures, using mutable, sensual sonics to trigger memories and emotions.
Roux's side, meanwhile, is an observation of the natural world rendered artifically. He draws us in with the familiar sound of the sea, that oscillates until it mutates into a sludgy, subterranean radio buzz. It's as if Roux is guiding us through an alien landscape - or at least showing us the shrouded details we might not recognize at first. The harsh, garbled noises eventually cede to purer tones, that Roux forms into an oddly tuned mass of sharp, high-pitched drones and bubbling bleeps. It's not clear initially where it's going, but before you know it, the artificial whistles begin to take a more recognisable form, turning into animalistic chirps.
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Flora Yin Wong outdoes herself on her latest side for GRM, sonically replicating the trigrams that surround traditional pakua mirrors by juxtaposing disorienting, reverb-drenched tones, voices and concrète scrapes with dissociated rhythms and ghostly bell sounds. Sébastian Roux handles the flip, painting a teeming natural landscape with algorithmically controlled sine tones.
You've probably come across a pakua (or bagua) mirror before; the eight-sided object is a protective amulet that, in the feng shui tradition, is supposed to ward off sha qi (negative chi) generated by sharp objects or distressing areas that might be close to an exterior doorway. Around the edges of the mirror are a complex sequence of eight trigrams, three line sets of divination symbols that balance the yin and yang, according to the I Ching. Yin Wong uses this concept to drive 'Trigram for Earth', imagining a pakua mirror that reflects the true nature of earth itself. And she begins the piece fittingly by cleansing the space with bells that tangle themselves into complex knots as the other discreet elements begin to emerge. Over the course of 20 minutes, she illustrates a layered, cryptic balance of her inner and outer realities, smudging environmental recordings with echoing instrumental vamps and splicing ugly noise into thickets of decayed orchestrals. It's satisfying, weighty material that neatly follows on from last year's open-ended tome 'Cold Reading'. If that album was chasing a dream, 'Trigram for Earth' attempts to chart more corporeal architectures, using mutable, sensual sonics to trigger memories and emotions.
Roux's side, meanwhile, is an observation of the natural world rendered artifically. He draws us in with the familiar sound of the sea, that oscillates until it mutates into a sludgy, subterranean radio buzz. It's as if Roux is guiding us through an alien landscape - or at least showing us the shrouded details we might not recognize at first. The harsh, garbled noises eventually cede to purer tones, that Roux forms into an oddly tuned mass of sharp, high-pitched drones and bubbling bleeps. It's not clear initially where it's going, but before you know it, the artificial whistles begin to take a more recognisable form, turning into animalistic chirps.