Inconclusive by Jim Haynes


Jim Haynes | Inconclusive
Audio. Visuals. Atmosphere. (CS/DL)

From Californian artist and curator Jim Haynes (The Helen Scarsdale Agency) comes the latest, Inconclusive. Consisting of five pieces, this is a work of gradations, starting with blotched. The immediacy of its industrial premise is unknown, which easily leads you into this noise collage blindfolded. It’s my best guess that this is a work that tenders a bit of the old mindmeld by way of channel shaping and a sort of aural transduction.  Along the way are unique pauses that shift the ear towards broken submissions that sound more like snowshoeing through open tundra than anything else, if such were an amplified exercise.

Suddenly the listener is tossed into a bubbly beat-laden vat that rattles and pulses on and then, theranos. And as the piece counts down at wide open intervals the space darkens and is spiked at the crossroads of subterranean techno, machine-made effects and a forward-moving rhythm. Sweet funky noise. It gets intensely fuzzier, buzzier on through diana’s stare. The listener gets an earful, and its got this raw, live garage aesthetic that is both infectious and somehow timeless. This could be something resurrected as recorded in the late 70’s if I didn’t know better – but Haynes has learned from the eons between, the era of hair bands, of grunge, punk, heck, there’s a hint of a nod to death metal built-in, however absent of the author’s intent. The way he grinds this up and down is impressive, and as serrated as it is, shows the ability to grasp the static and the ecstatic in one big bite. A great example of sound sculpting at its most outward bound.

My favorite track is the last piece, an isolated failure, mostly because it has this open sound that addresses not just variable textures, but silhouetted form. As this gyrates its way forward the hypnotic isolation of cyclical repetition creates a helix inducing vortex that is undeniable to the senses. When it lets go, the build-up of tension and drop in relief seems so tangible. Ending on a singular waveform is heady, doping. Though the short edition of fifty-five tapes from the Belgian imprint are sold out, this is worth downloading, especially if you need something to pick you up. It’s bold but not raucous, it’s fiesty but controlled, a perfect conundrum.

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