The Out Door

The Out Door on Youtube

Wed, 23 Jan 2013 11:20:24 -0500

All of The Out Door video interviews are on Youtube now, courtesy of Pitchfork TV. Check out our chats with Jason Urick, Eugene Chadbourne, Wrnlrd, and Foot Village here.

Closing the Doors on 2012

Thu, 20 Dec 2012 13:00:00 -0500

Closing the Doors on 2012:

Our final edition of 2012 features Marc’s profiles of his favorite labels of 2012— Spectrum Spools, PAN, and Experimedia. Plus Marc catches up with ex-Yellow Swan Gabriel Saloman (pictured above), and Grayson charts the journey of Nathan Bowles (Black Twig Pickers/Pelt) and premiers the new album by Cultus Sabbati. Check it out here.

Best of 2012: The Big Four

Thu, 20 Dec 2012 11:02:47 -0500

[by Marc Masters]

If you follow men’s professional tennis, you probably know that for a while now that sport has had a “Big Four”— four players who are clearly the best. In each of the past few years, one usually had a better season than the other three. But this year, you could make a convincing case for any of them, since each won one of the four major pro tournaments, aka “Grand Slams”.

I felt similarly about experimental releases in 2012. There were four that I kept coming back to, and at various points I thought each was the best album of the year. And they all felt like culminations of each artist’s work so far— big events in their discographies, as their respective methods and ideas peaked, creating something more accomplished and awe-inspiring than anything they’d done before. I think of them as 2012’s experimental Grand Slam champs.

Maybe not all four albums were intended as culminations, but AARON DILLOWAY’s Modern Jester was. As he told me in May, “I wanted to make a record that included a lot of different aspects of what I’d been doing over the past few years.” He even withheld some of his best recordings from previous releases so he could eventually include them in this daunting work. The planning paid off— Modern Jester spans the peaks of everything Dilloway’s done since he left Wolf Eyes in 2005.

But what’s even more impressive is that Modern Jester doesn’t sound like a best-of compilation. Dilloway’s hour-plus of rolling, rattling, hyper-active sound is hypnotically coherent and continuous. Nothing sounds pieced together, and many of his loops, rhtyhms, and noises echo each other like rhyming lines in an epic poem. You can hear the rushing energy that made his contributions to Wolf Eyes so electric, but in this setting the focus is shaprer and the vision is more singular. The result is the rare kind of noise album where you can zone out to the repetition and let it mush your mind, or you can focus hard on the details as if they were chemicals reacting in a test tube. Most importantly, you can actually do both at once. Because on Modern Jester Aaron Dilloway sets his sights for heads and guts, and hits both targets every time.

Like Modern Jester, JASON LESCALLEET’s Songs About Nothing is a double album, but for Lescalleet internal coherence was not as important— at least not when he first started making it. As he explained to me in September, the album’s two parts— a 13-track disc called Trophy Tape and a one-track disc dubbed Road Test— were initially composed and recorded separately, and united only when Erstwhile label head Jon Abbey offered to release them together. But the pair turn out to be perfect companions, with Trophy Tape serving as a diverse suite of pieces that slyly reference Big Black’s Songs About Fucking (check out Ben Ratliff’s excellent review to see how), while Trophy Tape fuses uncannily similar moves, shifts, and divergences into a 43-minute journey that’s just as eventful.

For me, Songs About Nothing’s coherence isn’t as important is its unpredictability and indefinability. Lescalleet has always made sound that feels both narrative and formless, fully engaging yet never falling into easy patterns or comfortable paths. But here he’s taken that to a new level. No matter how many times I listen to Songs About Nothing, it continues to surprise me, in ways that make me question my own powers of memory. That’s especially impressive given that most of the album is subtle and even subdued; almost nothing jolts or shocks or screams for your attention, yet it still all dodges my expectations. Maybe that’s what the album title really means: these may be songs, and they’re definitely about something, but try to fit them into a box and they suddenly disappear.

By contrast, MOTION SICKNESS OF TIME TRAVEL’s self-titled double album isn’t something I’d call unpredictable— but that’s part of its charm. The sounds and techniques Rachel Evans uses to build her long pieces— each lasting over 20 minutes and occupying an LP side— have been used before, both by her and other artists (as I mentioned in my review, I hear a Emeralds, Windy & Carl, and Terry Riley, just for starters). Yet there’s not a moment devoid of Evans’ particular musical personality, and the way she can sound both relaxed and momentous, both meditative and riveting. It’s especially noticeable when she adds her mesmerizing voice, but every part of Motion Sickness of Time Travel has a bold confidence that makes it enthralling.

That confidence sets it apart from Evans’ previous efforts. Those were impressive on their own, but here she’s in a real zone, where even the seemingly toughest feats are easily within her calm grasp. Maybe that’s why her sound is sometimes cleaner and more accessible than before. Evans is unafraid of losing mystery or power by making everything clearer, nor does she worry that softer sounds might come off sentimental or simplistic. And she’s right— Motion Sickness of Time Travel is often languid, gentle, and soothing, but it’s never banal, dull, or anything but compelling. All its sounds and moods flow like a river, steady enough to transfix yet kinetic enough to excite.

A river might even be a better metaphor for DUANE PITRE’s Feel Free. The album’s slow-building drone feels like nature winding its inevitable path through time, and the accents from PItre’s ensemble— especially the harp and hammered dulcimer— mimic outdoor sounds like the lapping of waves and the rustle of wind in leaves. Such descriptions might tempt you to dismiss Feel Free as sonic wallpaper, the kind of thing that would quietly play in a New Age store without distracting you from the goods.

That would never work, though, because once Feel Free is on, it commands your attention. There’s a vibrating core to Pitre’s composition— and his ensemble’s execution— that makes all five sections practically shake with insistence. That’s perhaps due to his unique methodology. As he explained to Grayson in 2010, he centered Feel Free on harmonics played by guitars tuned in Just Intonation, then instructed his ensemble to accompany those harmonics by sticking within parameters but also adding some improvisation (i.e. space to “feel free”).

You might not hear all those detailed concepts on Feel Free, but you do hear forceful, unwavering sounds weaved into a single strand of musical thought. It’s simplicity forged from complexity, intricate layers that together deliver gut-level thrust. Zoom in and the individual elements can be parsed out, but the beauty of Feel Free is that its voices are all singing the same powerful song.

The Out Door

Mon, 10 Sep 2012 15:23:09 -0400

The Out Door:

interstate808:

New Out Door column with some interesting thoughts on duration, improvisation and black metal.

I find myself struggling with the idea of improvisation more and more these days, even as I get technically better at it. I first started doing it properly around this time last year as an attempt to break out of old,stifling habits which I’d built up over years that I felt were getting in the way of creation. These days, it’s all about trying to find a balance between honouring the moment of creation and a developed editing ear, without relying on old ways of doing things.

That links up with what Jason Lescaleet talks about in relation to making music with a purpose, not just sound for the sake of it. That’s a very easy trap to fall into with generative, noise or ambient work which is mostly what I’m doing at the minute. It has to be more than aesthetically pleasing, has to do more than tick external boxes. Keeping the inspiration fresh is vital.

How this all links to duration is another element to consider. Long-form drone is absolutely one of my favourite types of music to listen to but making it throws up all sorts of questions linked to the topics above. If its purpose is to be ignorable, how do I judge it? It requires a very different language than most musics and that’s something I’ve been trying to get at both in making music and writing about it. Always on my mind as I set into reviewing another ambient or noise record that essentially - on the surface - sounds much the same as a hundred other ambient or noise records. Do you get into supposed inspirations, resurrecting the author in the process? Or do you get into personal feelings, the death knell of the academic?

In short, this is a really good set of four articles, linked somewhere under the surface. Read it.

Directions in Drone: Full Transcripts

Fri, 27 Jul 2012 11:51:00 -0400

For this month’s edition of The Out Door, we explore directions in drone by asking four drone-based musicians three questions about what the word means to them. Here are their full answers.

JOHN KOLODIJ aka HIGH AURA’D

What does “drone” mean to you, both in general as a listener, and  specifically in terms of your own work? What about it appeals to you?

Drone, to me, is as specific a term as “indie”, just a catch-all descriptor. With my work, I try to get into a place of deep listening; an immersive, glamored state where sound is suggestive, even if overblown and loud. Long tones help lay a foundation, but the details, the layers, are what attract me – overtones and decay.

One of my favorite things to work up is loops (I use pedals, no computers), and to just bathe in the sound. After I’ve played, I let them further crumble and fold into each other then let them run for half an hour and think over them, imagining further treatment. I’ve come to this from EARTH andUstad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, MBV and Spectrum, Fripp & Eno, Work/Death and Eliane Radigue, for a few examples.

I love the freedom, the space, and the liminal, often ethereal quality of most “drone.” It’s often slow music, and like most noble rot, it takes some attention and patience to truly enjoy and appreciate it; wine, beer, cheese, cured meats, pickled vegetables — these take time as well and are infinitely more enjoyable than a Big Mac or Slurpee.

 What challenges and limitations do “drone”put on your music-making, and/or how does it free up your  creative process?

I don’t feel any limitations apply, but the challenge is to be honest to myself and to write pieces that are singular, that are there for everyone. There is, of course, like any genre, a glut of work that seems not up–to-par, and derivative rather than original.

So, again, like all “ART”, the challenge is to represent yourself honestly and truthfully; how many E minor pads can one welcome? Is birdsong really cliché?

I have huge listening/seasonal swings, and my work is reflective of this always/ Lots of dub, hip-hop and techno in warmer months, country & dark ambient stuff in the cold spells, but with so many staples that fill in these swings year-round. So, if I want to incorporate something in my work, I do it in my style; it may be broken, or overly complicated and redundant, but always in my way.

What were your specific goals, if any, on your new record (Sanguine Futures)?

I set out to document clearly a few pieces I’d been working on since last year. Mooncusser (on Ydlmier/Los Discos Enfantasmes) was a sort of rough sketch for Sanguine Futures — but I wanted Mooncusser to be raw and blackened. I recorded it with my friend Ken Linehan in Providence, and I think it’s held up (at least it has for me).

John Twells and I went deeper, challenging each other, pushing each otherand having fun. I wanted Sanguine Futures to be more distilled, and clarified, and dense. I also wanted it to be the best, biggest thing I’d ever done; heavy enough to float – I was thinking glacially, and dreaming of tectonic grind.

JIMMY BILLINGHAM aka TIDAL

What does “drone” mean to you, both in general as a listener, and  specifically in terms of your own work? What about it appeals to you?

What I take to be the defining feature of drone, with regards to describing a certain type of music, is the merging and blending of individual notes not only vertically in simultaneous combinations but also horizontally in time, so that beginnings and ends merge to produce a mass of gradually shifting tones. As both a listener and player/producer, I like sounds that emerge and fade slowly, where there is a sense of definite progression but indeterminate stages. Having the drone as a body of sound means that to an extent specific sounds get lost and take on a kind of collective identity, and trying to listen to these individual elements means that your ear gets drawn in - drone is therefore a very involving type of music, for me.

There is a historical link between drone music and altered states, and outside of any brain chemistry/neurological explanations, there is a definite tendency of drone music to stimulate feelings of escapism and transcendence (whatever spiritual significance may be attached to this). During a period when I was studying a lot, alone in front of my computer, I found that I couldn’t focus properly listening to a lot of music that I like, apart from ambient-drone (I like the airy/environmental connotations of this term), which was not only tolerable whilst working, but seemed to actually focus my mind in the right way. I really feel there is a unique psychological significance attached to this type of music, and something that I feel has completely absorbed me in many ways.

 What challenges and limitations do “drone”put on your music-making, and/or how does it free up your  creative process?

I don’t feel challenged by any historical precedents or formal constraints, but do feel that there is a definite lineage that both making and listening to drone music taps into - the functionalism was perhaps overplayed in New Age’s appropriation of drone, but the essence of this continues in tape ambient, beyond/despite any crude irony. There is a reverence for the form and signifiers that is entirely sincere, yet simultaneously playful, which is brilliant.

Drone is an open form, by definition, both in terms of listening and playing - I feel it really opens up the listening experience almost in a spatial sense and I do feel that in making tracks I am creating certain tonal atmospheres in the environmental sense; an open expanse to be explored during listening. Drone is also a very free and welcoming form because it can be incredibly minimal - one note can be a drone - as well as maximal, with tones washing about all over the place, and it can be lo-fi or hi-fi without diminishing the power (I often find lo-fi to be even more absorbing).

Making this type of music definitely frees up the creative process in some ways, because you’re not constrained by as many formal, structural or technical conventions as with other types of music (although working within constraints can also be conducive to creativity). But for me the concern is not merely with being creatively free - with the drone as a useful ‘carrier’ - but with creating a certain tone and affect that only drone music can provide; where the drone and the melodic content work as one to produce quite a specific emotional content. This is what I find appealing, and what I look for as both a listener and a creator.

What were your specific goals, if any, on your new record (split 12” w/Rambutan)?

Well I don’t really think of my tracks as having particular goals, and it’s actually quite difficult trying to rationalize what I set out to achieve, as it’s more a case of each track being its own particular goal, with every track sharing the goal of being involving and affecting music. In terms of habits and tendencies I recognize, I find I like working at particular thresholds and pushing things right out to the edge, almost out of reach. For example, using sounds that are on the fringes of being audible, recognizable or harmonic, or treating them so that they become so. I like things to float in and out of the thresholds of perception. “Sounds of the Future” has lots of samples buried in it that you can barely hear (and more samples than I normally use in Tidal tracks), and I really like obscuring things in this way - like it feels a bit more special if you can only just make something out, as if you’ve uncovered it. Too much is too easy in this world - I like to have to work a bit, and to feel rewarded.

DEREK ROGERS

What does “drone” mean to you, both in general as a listener, and  specifically in terms of your own work? What about it appeals to you?

Initially, I discovered drone music had a unique quality to entrance the listener into a lulled relaxation of sorts. Sometimes phrases or sustained tones that churned in an engrossing repetition offered a completely different experience than other music I’d heard previously. Through artists such as William Basinski, Gavin Bryars, or Brian Eno’s ambient works, I discovered that — though you knew what was coming next in the “loop,” so to speak — this specific attention offered a chance to recontextualize the phrase by hearing subtle overtones and patterns that previously had been hidden. I don’t think my own work holds a candle to those artists, but it’s definitely something I’m constantly striving for.

 What challenges and limitations do “drone”put on your music-making, and/or how does it free up your  creative process?

In my own work I know I’m limited by my inability to really play guitar or piano. I can’t play a scale to save my life but I know what tones or notes fit together to create a specific mood or feeling, and my real strength has always been my ear. I played the oboe for about seven years or so in middle/high school, so I have a basic understanding of musical form. I’ve always been drawn to a “less is more” approach, and creating the most with minimal means necessary. I’ve also been somewhat limited financially, and every piece of gear I own was purchased second-hand from either pawn shops or Craigslist. At some point I just got tired of absorbing all of these amazing records and not being able to express my own ideas, so I just started obsessively recording and playing shows.

What were your specific goals, if any, on the new record (Saturations)?

“Saturations” marked the first and only time I’ve allowed anyone else to have any concrete input on my work. I met Christopher Hughes about ten years ago at an audio engineering school we both attended in Dallas and we’ve floated in and out of each others’ lives ever since. When he moved back to Denton, TX from Brooklyn a few years ago, we reconnected and I learned that he had acquired a substantial amount of professional recording gear with aspirations to open his own studio. I knew my wife and I were going to be soon leaving Austin for Los Angeles, so I felt it was an appropriate way to mark the occasion and spend a few days with and old friend.

The record also marks the first and only time anyone else had played on a solo release of mine. Growing up, I was a ridiculously huge fan of Regina Chellew and her band Captain Audio back in Dallas, so having the opportunity to finally meet with her and have her play trumpet on my debut vinyl LP was a pretty huge deal for me. I met Petra Kelly through Chris, and had the chance to see her play violin with his project, The Calmative, and was overwhelmed with the beauty of her playing. To me, she represented the lush musical history of Denton, TX that I wanted to show on this record. I also have an enormous respect for James Plotkin’s mastering work, specifically his ability to flesh-out the low end and clarify huge distortions. When I learned he was affordable, I knew he was a perfect fit.

In a way, I think “Saturations” serves as both a snapshot of a very specific time in my life; the feelings of anxious excitement associated with a huge cross-country move and fear of what the future holds, and the innate desire to represent the present while also giving a nod to the past.

LEE NOBLE

What does “drone” mean to you, both in general as a listener, and  specifically in terms of your own work? What about it appeals to you?

It is un-regimented, open, non-oppressive music. I’m being simple but… in a phrase, anti-beat. Pop music tells you how to move, it puts actual physical demands on the listener or it tells you a story the lyricist wants you to understand… Telling is an egocentric act in this little… theoretical exercise. A beat commands. So I’m interested in making music that is close-lipped and open to interpretation; a photo, not a sentence. Hinting at things. I could say that you are being enslaved when you listen to EDM, for instance. Whipped, dancing zombies. Or you’re being preached to. But I don’t need to go that far. Right now, I’m just interested in emphasis on the stillness of thought and less on physical movement. Slow instead of fast. I think there’s a need for more boring moments in life. I hate the rush of life and I just want to be slow. All this isn’t to say I don’t like rhythm or lyrics, obviously I do, I often use them in my own music, but thinking about it this way is a nice jumping off point for me. Practically, I usually don’t like going into total abstraction either. Someone, I forget who, maybe Alex Twomey, said drone/noise music isn’t something you play or do, it’s something you tap into. That’s nice too.

 What challenges and limitations do “drone”put on your music-making, and/or how does it free up your  creative process?

Sometimes the right feeling is hard to capture. It can fall apart and turn to a mess. But I don’t really perceive the limitations of staying within this genre, that’s why sometimes I just write a song or do something else. There are always tropes you can fall into when recording music. But I don’t know, I try to just do what I like. More often I experience technical limitations / time / recording / ability / equipment. I guess a lot of this sort of music is really about subtle expertise, of say, performing with a modular synthesizer, and I do find it hard to be subtle with things, and I’m certainly not a technical master, so I’m definitely not a part of that aspect of it. I leave a lot of it up to half broken instruments and gear ineptitude. But I always feel like I can work on whatever I want.

What were your specific goals, if any, on your new record (split 12” w/Ensemble Economique)?

It’s a split, so I needed to make something that would pair with Brian Pyle’s side in some way. And I’ve never tried to specifically work on a counterpoint to someone else’s music before, so I hope it has worked OK! He finished his tracks first and I thought they were so beautiful. I hoped to have some kind of movement going as you listened to the whole record. I think a review said that my side sounded like it was recorded under the bed or something and Brian’s side hovered into the air, but honestly I think that’s a fine way for the record to move, starting buried under the bed and going out through the window and into the night air, over about 35 minutes.

Interview Transcript: Dylan Ettinger

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 11:34:00 -0500

Our latest column features a profile of synth wizard Dylan Ettinger. Here’s the full, unedited transcript of our conversation with him.

The Out Door: What made you shift to the synth-pop style of Lifetime of Romance?

Dylan Ettinger: I wanted to do something drastically different from New Age Outlaws. I’m a huge fan of classic synth-pop, so it just felt right for me to start moving in that direction. Also, my live shows have always been more song-oriented, with shorter, more concise pieces. So I wanted to write songs that I could perform live, which I wasn’t able to do with New Age Outlaws and some of the early tapes because they were more spacious and difficult to reproduce. Once I decided I wanted to write more pop songs, the thematic elements fell into place. I took some of the aesthetic I’d established with New Age Outlaws, the kind of wonky synth, and having everything be slightly incorrect or off. I guess I shifted that over to a new structural framework.

The Out Door: You played these songs live for a while before recording them?

DE: Yeah, I pretty much performed the songs as I wrote the record. Usually, if I’m working on a song and I have a show coming up, I’ll try to get the song finished so I can play it at the show, and then perfect it gradually over the next few shows. That went on for a few months until I had a decent set of songs to record.

The Out Door: And you basically perform the songs live when you’re recording them?

DE: Yeah, I perform everything except the pre-recorded drum beats. Those are based on 4 or 8-bar loops that I perform along with. So when we recorded, we started with the drum loop and then overdubbed everything, and I played everything by hand. I want the songs on the record to represent how I play the song. I don’t want it to be pristine and perfect. I want it to have some life to it. That’s why I don’t sequence or use arpeggiators very often. I think playing everything by hand gives it a more organic feel. You can hear spots where I mess up, and I don’t correct it. I think it sounds more human and relatable.

The Out Door: How do you put together a song?

DE: I start in a few different places. Sometimes I’ll come up with a melody first, and then find some kind of counter melody, and then work on the beat. Sometimes I’ll start with a synth patch— some sort of sound I like— and play with that until I come up with a melody. But if I come up with a melody first, I’ll develop the structure and then pick out the patches that match how I want the song to sound. If work from patches first, it has a different feel, but they all end up in somewhat of the same place.

The Out Door: Why did you decide to sing more on this record?

DE: Well, I’ve always used vocals more when I play live, because I only have two hands I can play instruments with. So when I started out doing more free-form psychedelic stuff, I would hold a microphone in my mouth with my teeth, and make strange noises into the microphone and put it through effects to go along with the synthesizers. Over the years, that became more melodic. I went into this record knowing I was going to write pop songs, and you can’t have a pop song without lyrics and vocals. So I made a more conscious effort to flesh out vocal melodies and write lyrics that actually tell stories. It was a natural progression, but also a conscious decision.

The Out Door: Lifetime of Romance is about failed relationships and lost love— how did that theme affect the music?

DE: Usually the title is what kicks things off for me. I had the name New Age Outlaws weeks before I started recording. So once I knew I wanted to call this Lifetime of Romance, I wanted to write songs…well, not traditional love songs, not Spandau Ballet or new romantic sounding, but I’m a huge fan of Depeche Mode and New Order. Those bands have always written love songs that were honest and also not entirely sappy. They always had their own brooding, depressive style. And at the time I was involved in this really weird pseudo-relationship with a girl, and that was pissing me off and frustrating me real bad, so I just took those pissed-off feelings and channeled them into fucked-up love songs. I had 22 years of being an awkward nerd as subject material.

The Out Door: Were you worried about moving in a more pop direction?

DE: Oh, I’m still on the fence. I still don’t know if it was the right direction to go in (laughs). I’ve been writing pop songs since I was in high school. It’s always been something I’ve done in the background and been interested in doing more. So it wasn’t that big of a step for me personally. But since New Age Outlaws is such a weird, massive record, I wondered if people who liked it were going to be into 3-to-5 minute pop songs. But I went with it because that’s what I wanted to do.

I’m used to not having any audience, so if that happens, I’m just back to where I was before. I hope people like it, but if they don’t, it’s too late (laughs). I’m using the same equipment in the same way, and I’m still the same person making the music. I hope I’ve developed enough of a style over the past years that even though this is a change, people can hear that it’s still the same dude making the music.

The Out Door: What is your setup?

DE: I use an Alesis Micron that I got for my birthday when I was in high school. And I have a Moog Rogue, which is a tiny analog synthesizer. It’s so simple to use live and it’s compact and easy to take around with me. I also have a Dave Smith Prophet ‘08. And I loop everything with a Boss RC-20 looping pedal. I have my beats stored on it, so I don’t have to recreate them. The way I make my beats is messed up. I could never recreate any of them. So I’ll have that pedal and I’ll bring in a beat and start looping over that. That’s the way I perform the song, write the song, and record the song. Those processes are so interconnected. It’s all based on what gear I have and how I use it. If someone gave me a pile of different gear, it would take me like a year to figure out how to use it to make my songs.

The Out Door: What attracts you to synthesizers?

DE: What drew me to them in the first place was the aesthetic of electronic music. Growing up watching old sci-fi movies and hearing Theremins and synths in the background, I always associated synths with the future and space and sci-fi. When I was in high school I tried playing guitar, but something about it didn’t attract me.

When I got the Micron, at first it was like, cool, there’s all these sounds programmed into it, but later I started getting into programming it, which is a huge pain in the ass. You have to spend like an hour menu-diving to get through all the parameters and get things the way you want. But that’s how I learned about synthesis. Once I figured out the process, I was hooked.

There’s a whole aspect to making music on a synthesizer that you don’t get on any other instrument. It’s like sculpting. You get to create how the instrument sounds yourself. With guitar there’s a basic sound and you can work with that. But on a synth, you’re in complete control of how it sounds. So that aspect really drew me to synths. The only limitations are my imagination and how much work I’m going to put into the patch. It’s basically all up to me and what I can come up with. Plus I just think they sound badass.

The Out Door: Were synths a rarity when you started playing?

DE: Oh, yeah. I went to high school in a small town in northern Indiana called Warsaw. There weren’t even many people making music in my high school, and the kids who were made terrible Christian hardcore or bad indie rock. It was totally depressing. So one of my goals when I started playing on my own was to be against everything around me. I would play these shows in parking lots outside of churches, or in my friend’s basements. And we would just go crazy, make as much noise and be as ridiculous as possible, just to spite all these uptight Christian kids.

I went to college in Bloomington at Indiana University, and I met more people who were into experimental music. But it’s still a guitar-based, indie-rock dominated environment. There was almost no one making electronic music. The people making weird experimental music are more academic, more clinical. I went into it as an 18-year old kid and everything felt really stiff to me. I wanted to do my own thing, and there wasn’t really any scene involving anything I was interested in, so I just worked on my own in private for years, before I started playing out in Bloomington.

The Out Door: What do you like being solo and doing it all yourself?

DE: I can be a control freak with the music. Everything I want to do, no one’s telling me I can’t or I shouldn’t. I can take as much time as I need to finish something. The only deadlines are the ones I set for myself. I also like the fact that if something goes wrong or isn’t happening, I can take responsibility for it. It’s a motivational thing. If I had to rely on other people, maybe it wouldn’t get done quick enough, and I’d get frustrated.

Sometimes it does help to have some feedback, or just a different pair of ears to help give you some direction. I obsess over a song, and I end up not knowing if it sounds good or not. Once you spend a certain amount of time performing a song and listening to it over and over again, you don’t really like it anymore (laughs). Just because of the repetitious aspect. Working alone I don’t have anyone to tell me along that process whether it’s sounding cool or not. So that’s a challenge.

The Out Door: Did you ever think of playing under a name?

DE: Actually, when I started playing I used the name Disparager, which is now a name for one of the songs on Lifetime of Romance. But playing in a small town and seeing people I had known since kindergarten, everybody just called me Dylan. “We’re going to see Dylan play.” So the name didn’t stick, and eventually, I thought, screw it, I’m Dylan Ettinger. Also I figured if I used a name that wasn’t aesthetically tied to the music, I had more freedom as to where I could go with it. It’s not like, ‘Crap, I named my band Bonesplitter, so now I can’t do a really sweet sounding record. I’m stuck with doing brutal shit.’ (laughs)

The Out Door: What’s good about being in a place that’s not scene heavy? It seems like you might be less susceptible to trends or influences.

DE: Yeah, and that comes from the attitude I had back when I started playing in high school. I didn’t like anything going on around me or most of the music I was hearing, so I just did what I wanted. And still, today…I mean, Lifetime of Romance doesn’t sound like anything Not Not Fun has done before. I’m not trying to brag by saying that, it’s just drastically different than 90% of the music they’ve put out. I’ve seen a lot of the people involved with the label moving in the 100% Silk direction, making more dance and house music, and I think it’s all awesome. I love Ital and Xander Harris— I think they’re excellent. But it’s not what I want to be working on. So even within the small community of musicians involved with that label, I still feel a bit like an outsider. I’m just doing my own thing. And I’m comfortable with that— I don’t feel like I should be the same as all of them.

The Out Door: It must feel weird to get lumped into Hypnagogic.

DE: Yeah, definitely. There was some Wire article where they called New Age Outlaws a Hypnagogic something or other. I don’t even know what that word means. I recorded that album in an empty house in Warsaw, Indiana. I don’t understand what Hypnagogic has to do with anything I’m doing. I’ve never met James Ferraro. So being lumped in with that based on a few recordings felt kind of strange. But there are worse things to be compared to.

The Out Door: Do you think of your music evoking any particular time periods?

DE: Well, to deny that I’m influenced by synth music from the 70’s and 80’s would be false. That’s the kind of music I love. It’s the kind that’s always motivated me to play music. I realize by making a synth pop record, it’s going to be compared with artists from the 80’s. So I’m working within the framework of synth pop, but I’m actively avoiding trying to sound like anyone specific. I think there’s enough going on with Lifetime of Romance to set it apart from what was happening in the early 80’s, so that if someone hears it now they won’t be confused about what time it comes from. I’m trying to take it some place new.

The Out Door: Tell me about “Sport and Superstition.”

DE: That song is about being frustrated to the point where you’re asking yourself, is it worth all the trouble to put the work into being in a relationship? It’s basically questioning whether it’s worth it to play the game. Like most of the songs, it’s bitter, and unsure of itself. And there was this sense of urgency when I was writing and recording it. I just wanted to get straight to the point, get in and out and make it pretty quick and simple.

The Out Door: How about “18”?

DE: For that song, I was really interested in using a sequencer in a rhythmic way, to the point where I didn’t need any drum sounds in the song. So the day I started working on it, I woke up really early and was listening to a bunch of Burial records. And I sat down with the synth and thought, I really like what he does with his beats, I’m going to see if I can come up with something that’s a little more…not as 4/4 or straightforward. Because with a lot of the songs on Lifetime of Romance, the rhythms are pretty simple. I wanted to come up with something different. So I got this kind of cool minimal sequencer line, and just kept adding and taking things away in certain parts, and that’s how I came up with that jam.

The Out Door: What’s the idea behind “Arco Iris”?

DE: That one’s probably the most specific song, lyrically, as far as being about a certain person. Without getting into too many details, it’s about thinking you like someone, and then realizing they’re a completely different person than you initially thought. But the song is written from the standpoint of remembering the part before you realize the person isn’t who you expected. Looking back on the good part fondly, even though nothing came of the relationship. That one’s really fun to play, especially the solo at the end.

The Out Door: What do you think you’ll do next musically?

DE: Well, as far as tapes and singles go, all bets are off. To me, those don’t have to sound anything like what I’ve done before. I love the format so much and I love the freedom that comes along with being able to put out 20 or 30 minutes of music. But as far as the next album goes, I want to keep working with songs. I want to get better at songwriting. I want to improve every aspect of where I started to go with Lifetime of Romance, and make a record that’s a step up.

Sad to hear of the passing of composer and electronic pioneer...

Sat, 31 Dec 2011 13:25:09 -0500

Sad to hear of the passing of composer and electronic pioneer Richard Lainhart

downthestairsbackwards:

R.I.P. Richard Lainhart

above: live at Silent Barn, 02-18-2011

Richard Lainhart Concert Playlist (Arts Center of Capitol Region/@Rake) on Youtube

First Five Parts of Richard Lainhart’s “Advanced Synthesis” Tutorial

Lecture at BEAF, May 2011

Live at Handmade Music

The Out Door's Favorite Solo Guitar Records of 2011

Thu, 22 Dec 2011 12:05:00 -0500

In the two years we’ve been doing The Out Door, we’ve talked to, and about, a lot of solo guitar players. The ’90s resurgence of one of the most influential solo players ever, John Fahey, is still having a ripple effect— in fact, you could argue the effect is as great as it’s ever been, with more players (especially young ones) influenced by his mix of old blues, country, and classical. But, as we discussed in our June column, a lot of them are finding ways to move beyond simple Fahey echoes.

As we’ve listened to more and more of this new generation, and as we’ve read and contributed to year-end lists the past few weeks, we realized there are so many good solo guitar records lately that we could compile a very solid top 10 (sorry, make that 11!) just from this year. So we did, and here it is! (Click on names to hear samples from each, many courtesy of the excellent Experimedia).

EDIT: We were inexcusably remiss in forgetting Noveller’s Glacial Glow, one of the best 2011 LPs of any kind, solo guitar or otherwise. Consider it the floating, unnumbered entry in this list of 11 great solo guitar records— it’s as good as any of the others.

10. The Dove Azima - The Dove Azima (Oak Hill) Lonely Jandek-like ramblings from the mysterious Zachary Hay.

9. Dean McPhee - Son of the Black Peace (Blast First Petite) Aching electric guitar strains echoing Loren Connors at his most melodic.

8. Hallock Hill - The Union (Hundred Acre) Rural upstate New York musings that are as weighty as they are gentle.

7. Evan Caminiti - When California Falls Into the Sea (Handmade Birds) Dark, dense clouds of electric guitar meditation.

6. Sir Richard Bishop - Graviton Polarity Generator (Self-Released) An unpredictable set of eerie drones and chilling electric reverberations from the unclassifiable SRB.

5. Black Eagle Child - Lobelia (Preservation) This elegy to family life sometimes sounds like a full band record, but it’s primarily from the mind of the brilliant Michael Jantz.

4. Cian Nugent - Doubles (VHF) Two sidelong journeys into acoustic revery.

3. Chuck Johnson - A Struggle, Not a Thought (Strange Attractors) Remarkably thoughtful acoustic essays, perhaps his best yet.

2. Bill Orcutt - How the Thing Sings (eMego) The ex-Harry Pussy guitarist takes another leap forward in his singular reinvention of how to attack a guitar.

1. Glenn Jones - The Wanting (Thrill Jockey) The best solo acoustic guitar record of 2011 is filled with gripping stories, majestic melodies, and masterful playing.

Top 10 Out Door quotes of 2011

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 11:11:36 -0500

10. Eyvind Kang: “When you’re listening to music, you listen to it with a friend one day and it sounds one way. You listen to it with another friend the next day, and it sounds a little different. Sometimes the greatest pleasure of listening is not the music that you’re listening to; it’s the person that you’re listening to it with.”

9. Alessandro Bosetti: “Music by itself is mute. That’s one of the beautiful things about it. It just talks about itself. That’s also one of the things that scared me about it originally.”

8. Mikey of Burmese: “Everything [in our music] is structured, but there is room for… not necessarily improvisation, but improvement. It’s like when you put two magnets of opposite polarity against each other. We are definitely going for precision, but we rely on chaos in order to achieve that precision.”

7. Cultus Sabbati: “People arguing about what constitutes “black metal” are missing the point. Black metal doesn’t need to be talked about; it needs to be listened to.”

6. Christina Carter of Charalambides: “The whole concept that we’re trying to recreate a 1960s sound is completely false. Or the whole idea that we’re positing ourselves as rural musicians— we’ve always been an urban band. We’ve lived in Houston, Austin, San Francisco, New York. I don’t even know how to plant a garden!”

5. Foot Village: “If there’s anyone watching this that’s in the army and can get us some sort of guest pass to come on base and shoot a bazooka, that is a goal of a band. We’ll need to fire four at the same time because there are four of us.”

4. Pauline Oliveros: “Students always learn more from each other than they do from their professor. They learn by doing and not by trying to soak up information from one person…So I don’t say much in my classes. We just do things.”

3. Chris Watson: “I’d never lived inside [a train] or traveled with one in such a way. I was literally encapsulated by it. That process really hooked into me in the end, and I began to need to feel that source of power. Capturing it became a real objective for me because it’s really challenging— it’s just so fucking loud. You feel it as much as hear it.”

2. Chris Reifert of Autopsy: “If it entertains you, cool— read it, listen to it, watch it. But if it horrifies or disgusts you or scares you, then don’t listen to it. You can put the book down or turn the movie off or turn off the CD player. I think it’s funny when people get so freaked out, man. Well, who’s making you listen to this? Not me. I didn’t buy it for you.”

1. Eugene Chadbourne: “There’s something really great about completely clearing a room with music. Offending people just with sound. It’s easy to clear a room taking a shit on stage or doing something stupid like that. But to just get people out with music - that’s something that’s not to be sniffed at really.”