t.r. hand & Glauber K.S. | Suburban Solitude
Submarine Broadcasting Company (CD+BK/CD/DL)
Never judge a book by it’s cover (thanks to The G.o.B. Design Bureau who arranged the coverart) until you’ve peeled back the pages some as I’ve dived right into this lengthy new release by duo t.r. hand (UK) and Glauber K.S (Glauber Kiss de Souza of Brazil). Suburban Solitude is the first collab of unique drone for these young gents. It’s an amalgamation of field recordings, gravelly bass low rumbling, and various standard instruments. The mix is dingy and thick throughout Traffic Ritual with random voices talking, laughing. The guitar is slung low, humming, all reverb. The record seems a collage of disparate suburban fodder on two continents. At nearly fifteen minutes in by adding some space frequencies they shore up my interest.
On Interlude I they combine scratched vinyl with wild chirping birds, rubbed effects and a tangle of assorted percussion. The notes come slowly over and under the wiggly digital sequencing, but a sweet melody evolves into the mix which smoothly transitions into The Culture Working. The setting is like limbo, rustling winds howl, slow trickles and things go bump in the night. A moment of pause, broken meditation. The twenty minute un/composition rumbles and rambles with signs of intelligent life sparsely injected into an otherwise ghostly mix. Parts psychedelic, parts somewhat gothic, they’ve managed to piece together something that could potentially haunt houses, eventually becoming a decomposing mass towards the end.
Interlude II, fueled by the open grooves and crackle of an old vinyl, is met once again with an angelic piano melody, playing away in the background, but shifting with the microstatic to the fore. It ends with a gaggle of birds taking flight, a nice segue to the concluding Commercial Meditation. The setting is somewhere in the streets and on another layer, a muted but playful guitar and background vibes mix and mingle. The title makes me think of Muzak (er, elevator/mall thru-way music) for some odd reason, and some of ambience has just that type of stroke about it. Of course it has some in common with the assertions of mid 70s jazz fusions that drifted on and on into aural doodles.
This has the savvy to play on that without becoming it. After the first third of this piece plays out more street conversations are blended with an open mic on pavement, footsteps and then electronic waves are tuned in. And suddenly it’s a drunken, jazzy supper club once again. The piece shifts into a bit of a contorted cosmic symphony and one final time into a bluesy guitar riff with floating electronic flecks mixed into the gigantic soup pot they are stirring. Though it sounds like a split personality on paper, it plays like short vignettes that are interwoven with conjoining interludes. A strange and wild ride.