a r t i s t : Keith Fullerton Whitman
t i t l e : Lisbon
d a t e : 2006
l a b e l : Kranky
c a t : KRANK092
g e n r e : Avantgarde
r l s. d a t e : Mar/2006
t r a c k s : 01
b i t r a t e : VBRkbps
s i z e : 59,3 MB
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All art based in time has a trajectory. In music,
consideration of trajectory is most crucial during long
stretches of uninterrupted sound. Anything requiring attention
for 20, 30, 40 minutes or more-- a DJ set, say-- needs a
logical structure, a steady payout of inducements to encourage
the listener to maintain focus. Listening to Lisbon, which
documents an October 2005 performance at the Galeria ZΘ Dos
Bois in the Portuguese capitol, I get the idea Keith Whitman
has done some thinking about structure. Here he uses the tools
(guitar, processed via computer) and palette (an emphasis on
slowly shifting drone) first brought to bear on his 2002 album
Playthroughs, and extends them to suit a long-form piece.
The opening few minutes are close to "Track3a (2waynice)" from
Playthroughs, with clean tendrils of drone only marginally
more harmonically complex than a sine wave undulating in space
like a Chinese dragon kite. Whitman gradually folds in
additional layers and hints of counterpoint, from organ-like
chords, soft bells, and an assortment of subtle glitches. The
placid ramp upward lasts 13 minutes, and then harsh chords
creep in. From there it's a steady plow into dissonance, as
sheets of noise are piled on and most traces of pleasantness
are left behind. Had it started somewhere heavier, the knotty
bass (please don't listen on computer speakers) churning away
at the 20-minute mark would have long grown tiring. But after
the crystalline foundation of the piece's first quarter, the
snarling ugliness proceeds with an undercurrent of poignancy,
magnified emotionally through careful arrangement.
Heard loud, filling a room, Lisbon can be a little
overwhelming. The climax comes about three-fourths of the way
in, around 27 minutes, where the gritty outer layer has been
shed and the drone conjures images of a metaphysical ascension
through clouds. A minute later, the engines cut out and it
falls toward earth in a tumble of creaking furniture, blown
fuses, and bent sprockets. Apparently, Whitman had microphones
placed throughout the space to capture ambient noise, and he
devised a patch to process it and add it to the mix. After the
purely electronic immersion the live room sounds are jarring,
but the piece quickly reassembles itself for a noisy sprint to
the finish, with coarse sawtooth waves sparking fountains of
harmonics. A wispy finish gives the piece a circular quality,
ending very near the serene opening.
It's a 41-minute piece that, like Fennesz' Live in Japan,
doesn't make much sense cut into smaller segments. The time
commitment is an obstacle, but the payoff is substantial. It
comes back to the trajectory. When I picture a successful
long-form laptop set, the perfect arc is something launched
low-- 35 degrees, say-- with great force and a heavy wind
coefficient so the piece dies quickly after reaching its
expressive peak. Whitman here has followed it to the letter,
constructing a riveting piece of music with the organic drama
of a three-act play.
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01-Lisbon [41:41]
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41:41 min