A Last​.FM free down­load once again. This time from my friend and res­pec­ted music maker Wixel other­wise known as Wim.

This track is called “A Decem­ber Goodbye” and is from the “Heart” release. It is 7 minu­tes of bliss and is one of my favou­ri­tes from the album:

8 tracks of melancho­lic acous­tic gui­tars and warm elec­tro­nics — a very per­so­nal and intros­pec­tive record that might remind you of bands like the not­wist, the remote vie­wer, xela, album leaf, de por­ta­bles; the cd comes in a car­ton box with a beau­ti­ful poster!

For latest release details and tour infor­ma­tion I sug­gest hea­ding over to the offi­cial Wixel site.

We have all suc­cum­bed to the exqui­site reso­nance of divine melody and rhythm and we have each reve­lled in its poig­nant effects. There is an unde­nia­ble calm­ness when smooth sinuous vocals meld with gra­ce­ful ensem­ble, a benign com­fort if you will. An equally power­ful and sup­po­sed oppo­site coe­xists. Dis­cor­dant beats that follow no recog­ni­sa­ble out­line force a men­tal agi­ta­tion. Hesi­tant underl­ying noise pro­vi­des an aural bat­te­ring that the brain endea­vours yet ulti­ma­tely fails to inter­pret. Now envi­sage a fault­less amal­ga­ma­tion of these two dis­si­mi­lar the­mes, an oxy­mo­ro­nic proposition?

I was intro­du­ced to a mix tape entit­led “Lis­ten with Xela” in August 2004. Xela, also known as John Twells, may be like­ned to the elec­tro­nic mas­ter­minds Four Tet and Fen­nesz. Boom­kat, an English inde­pen­dent music spe­cia­list issued this album as part of their ongoing mix collec­tion, gar­nished as follows:

“An out of focus world of modi­fied sympho­nies, alien sound­tracks and smo­key jazz base­ments […] — for late night love­li­ness, the selec­tion just doesn’t get any better……or more inspired.”

This was my first expe­rience of “dis­so­nant euphony”. I had dis­co­ve­red music that could utterly horrify me before effort­lessly brin­ging me to sere­nity. “Lis­ten with Xela” mer­ges the fear of the night with the won­der of the stars and remains an unsur­pas­sed mid­night soundtrack.

Time to say so long, it won’t be too long. Good Night

• 1.edward arte­miev — sola­ris part i (bach) (toei music)
• 2.carbon fra­me­work — krane (unreleased)
• 3.night of the living dead OST — dri­ve­way to the ceme­tary (varese saraband)
• 4.goblin — jane mirror theme (dagored)
• 5.goodiepal — flap nip­per main (skipp)
• 6.midaircondo — sere­nade (type)
• 7.kenji kawai — the ring (pony canyon)
• 8.julee cruise — up in fla­mes (war­ner bros.)
• 9.max rich­ter — ico­no­graphy (fatcat)
• 10.angelo bade­la­menti — gene­ri­que : mar­ce­llo (philips)
• 11.susanna and the magi­cal orches­tra — sweet devil (rune grammofon)
• 12.doris day — time to say goodnight
• 13.philip jeck — who­le­some (touch)
• 14.akira rabe­lais — buciu­meana (ritornell)
• 15.angelo bada­la­menti — mulho­lland drive (milan)
• 16.signer — night is blu­rred (involve/carpark)
• 17.julien neto — one (type)
• 18.svarte grei­ner — radar sound (unreleased)
• 19.fennesz — tran­sit (with david syl­vian) (touch)
• 20.carter bur­well — fargo, north dakota (tvt)
• 21.susumu yokota — lapus lazuli (leaf)
• 22.john car­pen­ter — dark star (varese)
• 23.porn sword tobacco — pinkys (city cen­tre offices)
• 24.cocteau twins — otter­ley (4ad)
• 25.david lynch and peter ivers — in hea­ven (lady in the radia­tor song) (IRS)
• 26.goldmund — sola­ris part i. (bach) (unreleased)

I dearly wish for this to come back into print.

Much like in the dis­co­very of the deca­ying Victorian-life films of Mitchell and Ken­yon, came the unearthing of a series of expe­ri­men­tal sounds by Halim El-Dabh recor­ded through 1944 to 1959. The par­ti­cu­lar elec­tro­nic con­coc­tion res­pon­si­ble for my wide eyed grin is the “Wire Recor­der Piece” (1944), a two minute para­nor­mal head-fuck (to be frank) that pre­da­tes the first known ‘techno’ track by two years, this is the track avai­la­ble above. A sur­mise of the ghostly atmosphere seems futile; it is the sound­track of an asy­lum; echoes of lost voi­ces rebound from cold ste­rile sur­fa­ces as if evo­ked by the dead. Indiana Jones has unvei­led the holy grail of noise; it is ghastly and awe-inspiring.

A collec­tion of these old tapes were relea­sed under the mis­gui­ding upbeat moni­ker of “Cros­sing into the Mag­ne­tic Elec­tro­nic”. The first nine tracks con­ti­nue in the same vein as the recor­der piece – an explo­ra­tion of the ins­ti­tute if you will. “Michael and the dra­gon” pas­ses an ope­ra­ting thea­tre tes­ting a new electro-shock-therapy pro­ce­dure – a deathly wail is detai­ned by the rever­be­ra­tions of alter­na­ting current that char­ges and con­demns; “Medi­ta­tion in White Sound” sees a pad­ded cell and straight jac­ket, a drug­ged out inva­lid ree­ling from wha­te­ver it is he is ree­ling from. “Pirouette” sees a rus­ted whee­led bed pass us com­plete with res­trai­ning cuffs and stai­ned sheets. The tall murky win­dows, high cei­lings and smell of disin­fec­tant are all too appa­rent in “Ele­ment, Being and Pri­me­val”. To say that I am pain­ting a pic­ture too bleak is to say that medi­cal holes in the trenches of The Great War lac­ked hygiene. “Elec­tro­nics and the word” is our final the­rapy ses­sion with the doc­tor before “Venice” sees our brief epiphany.

Volume 4 is the latest in the Antho­logy of Noise com­pi­la­tions, a series that reveals and narra­tes the hid­den tale of an ambi­guous Noise genre. This time it boasts a his­tory of noise that can be tra­ced back as far as 1937, a cer­tain track by Oli­vier Mes­siaen, a haun­ting seven minute Orai­son per­for­med by the Ensem­ble d’Ondes Mar­te­not de Montréal. This collec­tion is sig­ni­fi­cant for this track alone; to lis­ten to the sounds of a magi­cal long lost expe­ri­ment is hum­bling; for it would be deca­des before Messiaen’s piece found itself a home along­side the Basinski-like elec­tro­nic sounds­cape com­po­si­tions of what is now the 21st cen­tury. The usual com­ment “ahead of its time” would not do it jus­tice, this is motor cars in the time of cha­riots, this is the Wizard of Oz in full motion pic­ture colour before the advent of film.

You can find this track on the “Early Gurus of Elec­tro­nic Music” com­pi­la­tion that I also recommend.

Time for a trip down nos­tal­gia lane, here comes Alan Silvestri’s main title to the clas­sic 80s film “Flight of the Navi­ga­tor”. I get some strange kick seeing that dog catch the fris­bee as the music starts up and the movie begins.

Max: I crashed into elec­tri­cal towers and my star charts were era­sed. I need the ones in your head to com­plete my mis­sion.
David: So you need ME and my infe­rior brain to fly that thing?
Max: Correc­tion, I need the supe­rior infor­ma­tion in your infe­rior brain to fly this… thing.

See ya later, Navigator!