Here we have two new releases from the Swiss imprint, Copypasta Editions whose mission includes “particular attention in highlighting creations made by women, trans* and non-binary people.” This is my introduction to both these artists and the label, and it was an engaging listening session.
When I put this on I had to look behind me as the dimensional aspects of this recording are implicit, pronounced and ultimately you will feel as though you are in the room in which the actions are transpiring. A blend of enticing field recordings alongside buzzing, flexing effects make for many subtle layers that might otherwise seem disparate but Kokhlias (aka Olga Kokcharova) has somehow woven something palpable and organic.
She stretches the meaning of the medium, of the fusion between the sensory, nature, and the (inter)mediator. Buzztones are distilled with varying degrees of reverb and this seamlessly flows into an insect-like warp with tonal plateaus that tickle the eardrum. There are some incredible native passages toward the end of side a well worth sticking it out to the end of the twenty-three minute piece. The moods are patterned, modified languidly throughout.
And once flipped and the crickets face animated microsound scampering this shows its pure experimental side. It’s as though machine is mimicking nature live. It’s minimal and exciting – a rare combo. The pitch between transistor/satellite frequencies is muted, ascending/descending in a laudable anti-climax. While Mixotricha Paradoxa has its share of surreality to it, it veers away from getting too psychedelic, instead relying on various modes of technology transfer in its plugged-in messaging.
Anita‘s Trop Mûres is in a similar bent to that of Kokcharova in that its tone impulses are mostly below the line. But defining what that line exactly is is not rationale in this her contention. Her use of reverb as frequency, as modulated, is heady and absorbent. It’s like an incoming shot to the spinal column, definitive body music. And it’s also suspenseful as it drifts and drops.
What sounds like a scanner might only be residual ‘noise pollution’ from an amp or a mic. Though this sounds as much like improvisation as it does like a pack of wolves trying to communicate through difficult terrain. Her chords are perfectly ambiguous, and the sense of formlessness is akin to a watercolor not yet set.
There are as many airy passages here as there are those that have the distant linger of post-industrialism feedback hum. Anita is quickly attentive to each nth level detail here, this never gets stale or makes you want to turn your attention elsewhere. Those who enjoy complex listening experiences will be ear-locked for these entire forty-eight indulgent minutes, pitch, howl and all.