George Bernard Shaw wrote that Shakespeare was a remarkable ‘teller of stories, so long as someone else had told them first’. If I had – fortunately I do not – to characterise EAI, I would start by paraphrasing Shaw: EAI composers are wonderful teller of sonic tales, as long as someone else has told them before. However, the precedent sonic narratives, the ones that ‘were told before’, drew on other forms. And this is the jump of the cat of EAI, or the radical EAI that matters, as opposed to extremist EAI. EAI dwells the music aesthetic realm where form gets the primacy over content par excellence, inasmuch as deconstruction techniques, in EAI, are not an option but imperative. In other words, if one aims to inscribe a sound-pregnant work (aka composition) within the EAI niche, one will have to carry out deconstruction even if one opposes the concept (which, by the way, is not monolithical, it varies according o the paradigm it stems from). This is another — forlorn — green world, also gorgeous, but this time not idealised and performed Brian Eno. Apart from the ironic title, it has nothing to do with Eno’s green reverie. Furthermore, Misters Kelley & Lescalleet, as expected and stressed above, delve into deconstructions of sorts, and they sound powerfully apt at the job.The release spawns good ideas non-atop, as a healthy mouth produces saliva. The percentage of those good ideas that are unfolded, developed, and taken to grounds where in connection with other blissfully loose ends generate new sonic arteries, is impressively high. Along these lines, I feel tempted to claim that the set of works comprised in this release belong to the conglomerate kernel of EAI epistemes that enframe some kind of paideuma, which is something all traceable music genres bear without necessarily counting on the awareness of the composers whose works have been thereby agglutinated. The EAI paideuma counting on ‘Forlorn Green’ in its core would be the conceptual revelation space from where we could, within the labyrinthine EAI aural patterns, point out and propose productive distinctions between those patterns that are radical and those that are merely extremist. By radical I call those components that, showcasing more or less technical knowledge of cause of composers, unsettle common sense (mis)apprehension(s) of the non-music that EAI at the end of the day, when successful, becomes. Whereas extremist are those components that display the composers’ legitimate eagerness to transgress bumping in their technical limitations and self-imposed conceptual misery, generating pieces where presumptuousness is only second to boredom (of the wrong kind).Standout track is “Conquest of the Earth”. To convey the magnitude of the tragedy it describes and excruciatingly explores, the work would be my pick as support gig for a concert including Sofia Gubaidulina’s “Stimmen… Verstummen”, “Silenzio”, and the gloomiest, sick “De Profundis”. That would be the perfect eschatological soundtrack for any forlorn, told and retold green dystopian fairy-tale. I only want to know about fairy-tales that are dystopian, otherwise I will stick to the tedious bites of reality…

George Bernard Shaw wrote that Shakespeare was a remarkable ‘teller of stories, so long as someone else had told them first’. If I had – fortunately I do not – to characterise EAI, I would start by paraphrasing Shaw: EAI composers are wonderful teller of sonic tales, as long as someone else has told them before.

However, the precedent sonic narratives, the ones that ‘were told before’, drew on other forms. And this is the jump of the cat of EAI, or the radical EAI that matters, as opposed to extremist EAI. EAI dwells the music aesthetic realm where form gets the primacy over content par excellence, inasmuch as deconstruction techniques, in EAI, are not an option but imperative. In other words, if one aims to inscribe a sound-pregnant work (aka composition) within the EAI niche, one will have to carry out deconstruction even if one opposes the concept (which, by the way, is not monolithical, it varies according o the paradigm it stems from).

This is another — forlorn — green world, also gorgeous, but this time not idealised and performed Brian Eno. Apart from the ironic title, it has nothing to do with Eno’s green reverie. Furthermore, Misters Kelley & Lescalleet, as expected and stressed above, delve into deconstructions of sorts, and they sound powerfully apt at the job.

The release spawns good ideas non-atop, as a healthy mouth produces saliva. The percentage of those good ideas that are unfolded, developed, and taken to grounds where in connection with other blissfully loose ends generate new sonic arteries, is impressively high.

Along these lines, I feel tempted to claim that the set of works comprised in this release belong to the conglomerate kernel of EAI epistemes that enframe some kind of paideuma, which is something all traceable music genres bear without necessarily counting on the awareness of the composers whose works have been thereby agglutinated. The EAI paideuma counting on ‘Forlorn Green’ in its core would be the conceptual revelation space from where we could, within the labyrinthine EAI aural patterns, point out and propose productive distinctions between those patterns that are radical and those that are merely extremist.

By radical I call those components that, showcasing more or less technical knowledge of cause of composers, unsettle common sense (mis)apprehension(s) of the non-music that EAI at the end of the day, when successful, becomes. Whereas extremist are those components that display the composers’ legitimate eagerness to transgress bumping in their technical limitations and self-imposed conceptual misery, generating pieces where presumptuousness is only second to boredom (of the wrong kind).

Standout track is “Conquest of the Earth”. To convey the magnitude of the tragedy it describes and excruciatingly explores, the work would be my pick as support gig for a concert including Sofia Gubaidulina’s “Stimmen… Verstummen”, “Silenzio”, and the gloomiest, sick “De Profundis”.

That would be the perfect eschatological soundtrack for any forlorn, told and retold green dystopian fairy-tale.
I only want to know about fairy-tales that are dystopian, otherwise I will stick to the tedious bites of reality…

Jason Lescalleet - Electronic Music (RRR, 2003) New post from docperkins:There are composers who I consider part of the spine of my fruition template, but whose legacy I enjoy more than their specific compositions, for instance, John Cage and Karlheinz Stockhausen. To a large extent, the avant-classical music that entertains me, instructs me, and catches my attention would not exist if Cage and Stockhausen had not clinched at such a high level of expertise, insight, and inspiration with strategic nodal points constitutive of hegemonic tonal rationalities. The measure of their success is still to be ascertained so immense the effects and side-effects of their musical interventions have been, at the epistemic and executing dimensions, opening up significant space in grids of intelligibility of absolutely crucial atonal music composers.Hence, even if I am not especially partial to several Cage’s compositions drawing heavily on his principles of indeterminacy, it is impossible to overestimate their impact on Morton Feldman’s aesthetics. The latter, in my view, has never ascribed directly to indeterminacy, but owes significantly to indeterminacy in several respects.The same goes to Stockhausen’s legacy, and sub-genres such as EAI and electronic, which leads us to the four works hereby gathered. Jason Lescalleet ‘s ‘Electronic Music’ would certainly not exist had it not been preceded by Stockhausen’s own ‘Elektronische Musik (Etude; Studie I; Studie II; Gesang der Jünglinge; Kontakte)’. The latter, which is an unmissable release by the way, I could only start really appreciating beyond its conceptual significance retrospectively, under the light of current electronic music and EAI productions; some of them expanding Stockhausen’s entry-points, others vulgarising his achievements, and third ones carrying out a bit of both, expanding and vulgarising.I would place Lescalleet’s release on the last group, inasmuch as it sounds like a leaflet explaining at a remarkable level of thoroughness, what Karheinz was setting out to commit when he wrote the pieces compiled in ‘Elektronische Musik’. However Jason, apparently not content in being merely didactic, risks his electro-neck in timid, but highly enjoyable patterns that unfold some of Stockhausen’s less obvious sonic devices, principally regarding treble oriented effects; the ones in charge of providing electronic pieces with a welcome (to me) false depth dimension. It is a ‘bluesy dimension’ as far as Stockhausenesque riffs go, when properly unfolded, as it is the case at stake.To try and make my verbiage shorter without corrupting my rumblings too much: Stockhausen is to Lescalleet, what Pelé is to Cristiano Ronaldo. The point is that if the album ‘Electronic’ were a soccer match, Lescalleet Ronaldo was having a bloody inspired day.

Jason Lescalleet - Electronic Music (RRR, 2003)

New post from docperkins:

There are composers who I consider part of the spine of my fruition template, but whose legacy I enjoy more than their specific compositions, for instance, John Cage and Karlheinz Stockhausen. To a large extent, the avant-classical music that entertains me, instructs me, and catches my attention would not exist if Cage and Stockhausen had not clinched at such a high level of expertise, insight, and inspiration with strategic nodal points constitutive of hegemonic tonal rationalities. The measure of their success is still to be ascertained so immense the effects and side-effects of their musical interventions have been, at the epistemic and executing dimensions, opening up significant space in grids of intelligibility of absolutely crucial atonal music composers.

Hence, even if I am not especially partial to several Cage’s compositions drawing heavily on his principles of indeterminacy, it is impossible to overestimate their impact on Morton Feldman’s aesthetics. The latter, in my view, has never ascribed directly to indeterminacy, but owes significantly to indeterminacy in several respects.

The same goes to Stockhausen’s legacy, and sub-genres such as EAI and electronic, which leads us to the four works hereby gathered. Jason Lescalleet ‘s ‘Electronic Music’ would certainly not exist had it not been preceded by Stockhausen’s own ‘Elektronische Musik (Etude; Studie I; Studie II; Gesang der Jünglinge; Kontakte)’. The latter, which is an unmissable release by the way, I could only start really appreciating beyond its conceptual significance retrospectively, under the light of current electronic music and EAI productions; some of them expanding Stockhausen’s entry-points, others vulgarising his achievements, and third ones carrying out a bit of both, expanding and vulgarising.

I would place Lescalleet’s release on the last group, inasmuch as it sounds like a leaflet explaining at a remarkable level of thoroughness, what Karheinz was setting out to commit when he wrote the pieces compiled in ‘Elektronische Musik’. However Jason, apparently not content in being merely didactic, risks his electro-neck in timid, but highly enjoyable patterns that unfold some of Stockhausen’s less obvious sonic devices, principally regarding treble oriented effects; the ones in charge of providing electronic pieces with a welcome (to me) false depth dimension. It is a ‘bluesy dimension’ as far as Stockhausenesque riffs go, when properly unfolded, as it is the case at stake.

To try and make my verbiage shorter without corrupting my rumblings too much: Stockhausen is to Lescalleet, what Pelé is to Cristiano Ronaldo. The point is that if the album ‘Electronic’ were a soccer match, Lescalleet Ronaldo was having a bloody inspired day.

Jason Lescalleet - This Is What I Do - Volume One For the past several weeks, a certain musical malaise has overcome me. I believe I am coming out of it, but still, it’s disconcerting how little I’ve been interested in exploring new sounds and old haunting grounds. At about the same time, I received This Is What I Do in the mail, and, for that duration, it has been one of the few albums I’ve been able to listen to (with any regularity); it’s practically been on repeat.I’m not sure exactly why this Lescalleet compilation has fared so well. Partly, I fear that I am getting too old (whatever I’m 24) and settling into my tastes, which favor Jason’s music mightily. But I hope, believe that the former is not (entirely) the case, that the peculiarities of This Is What I Do appeal strongly to my current self, so much so that this release has drowned out its competition.Because This Is What I Do is as idiosyncratic as they come, really. Miraculously, despite the fact that it is a long-spanning compilation, the disc manages a cohesion seldom found in single session recordings. The transitions between each track are perfect, in no way representing the six year gap between some of their origin; however, what I truly marvel in is the album’s aesthetic consistency. I sense a persistent, impalpable ghastly mood, which is introduced with the meandering drone of “un peu de neige sans raison,” exacerbated by the detached waves of “untitled,” and nearly dissolved by the initial outburst of “Put ‘em on the Glass.”And This Is What I Do exhibits a diversity beyond its temporal range. The clicks of “Needles” offer reprieve from the its predecessor’s drone, while also delightfully juxtaposing its fuller cousin “A Broken Mirror.” This Is What I Do is as accomplished—as both a singular item and a mass of single items—as Lescalleet’s recent collaboration with Graham Lambkin Air Supply, and of similar aesthetic constitution.This Is What I Do is a personal album, both one grafted onto my experiences and revealing of Jason’s. This dual resonance then manifests as a dialogue between what I am experiencing lately and where Jason was ten years ago—a perceived mutual, though in actuality one-way, empathy.Okay, I’m still young at heart.*Here is another great piece on this record, by Howard Stelzer.

Jason Lescalleet - This Is What I Do - Volume One

For the past several weeks, a certain musical malaise has overcome me. I believe I am coming out of it, but still, it’s disconcerting how little I’ve been interested in exploring new sounds and old haunting grounds. At about the same time, I received This Is What I Do in the mail, and, for that duration, it has been one of the few albums I’ve been able to listen to (with any regularity); it’s practically been on repeat.

I’m not sure exactly why this Lescalleet compilation has fared so well. Partly, I fear that I am getting too old (whatever I’m 24) and settling into my tastes, which favor Jason’s music mightily. But I hope, believe that the former is not (entirely) the case, that the peculiarities of This Is What I Do appeal strongly to my current self, so much so that this release has drowned out its competition.

Because This Is What I Do is as idiosyncratic as they come, really. Miraculously, despite the fact that it is a long-spanning compilation, the disc manages a cohesion seldom found in single session recordings. The transitions between each track are perfect, in no way representing the six year gap between some of their origin; however, what I truly marvel in is the album’s aesthetic consistency. I sense a persistent, impalpable ghastly mood, which is introduced with the meandering drone of “un peu de neige sans raison,” exacerbated by the detached waves of “untitled,” and nearly dissolved by the initial outburst of “Put ‘em on the Glass.”

And This Is What I Do exhibits a diversity beyond its temporal range. The clicks of “Needles” offer reprieve from the its predecessor’s drone, while also delightfully juxtaposing its fuller cousin “A Broken Mirror.” This Is What I Do is as accomplished—as both a singular item and a mass of single items—as Lescalleet’s recent collaboration with Graham Lambkin Air Supply, and of similar aesthetic constitution.

This Is What I Do is a personal album, both one grafted onto my experiences and revealing of Jason’s. This dual resonance then manifests as a dialogue between what I am experiencing lately and where Jason was ten years ago—a perceived mutual, though in actuality one-way, empathy.

Okay, I’m still young at heart.

*Here is another great piece on this record, by Howard Stelzer.

Jason Lescalleet - Music For Magnetic Tape (Arbor Infinity, 2010) Update: It has just been brought to my attention that the cassette is now available through Arbor Infinity’s website.Simplicity, when employed properly, has an elegance that transcends the richest of complexities. For all of the beauty contained within deep, elaborate constructs, intuitive, original simplifications often have a more lasting hold. This thought is far from original, being a princeps of minimalism; however, its power warrants frequent restatement.Jason Lescalleet has been a number of sounds throughout his career: a bit noisier when playing with Joe Colley or Greg Kelley, a bit more abstract when playing with Graham Lambkin. This solo cassette on Arbor Infinity finds Jason at his most restrained, offering simple yet deeply affecting manipulations to tape loops. While very little is apparently happening, the two sides of Music For Magnetic Tape are far from banal. I’ve been so ensnared by its allure that I’ve listened to it as I fall asleep for weeks, viewing the cassette as a devilish little lullaby.The A side, “Waves,” is a loop of impressionistic solo piano, to which Jason slowly treats. Like Jason’s two albums with Graham Lambkin, “Waves” is a manifestation of Lescalleets penchant for dark humor and active subversion in his music. For three minutes, the piano’s tones drip into digital obfuscation until finally, exactly at the three minute mark, its sound is so strained that the re-ignition of the loop bursts into an artificial drone. After minutes of reverberation, the loop reconstructs itself into its organic, original form then defers to silence.“Staring at the Sun’s Reflection in the Water” is more collegial piece. For ten minutes, it meanders through gorgeous ambience, inviting peaceful slumber instead of shattering it, like “Waves.” Seldom oscillating between notes, and slowly when it does, this B side is even more of a reduced form than its opposite, in spite of its denser sound—an engrossing example of the merits of minimalism.This album has been available for purchase as early as last fall; however, Jason has informed me that it has yet to get a full release from Arbor Infinity. So while Music For Magnetic Tape cannot be ordered from Arbor’s website at the moment, I suggest the interested keep an eye peeled.

Jason Lescalleet - Music For Magnetic Tape (Arbor Infinity, 2010)

Update: It has just been brought to my attention that the cassette is now available through Arbor Infinity’s website.

Simplicity, when employed properly, has an elegance that transcends the richest of complexities. For all of the beauty contained within deep, elaborate constructs, intuitive, original simplifications often have a more lasting hold. This thought is far from original, being a princeps of minimalism; however, its power warrants frequent restatement.

Jason Lescalleet has been a number of sounds throughout his career: a bit noisier when playing with Joe Colley or Greg Kelley, a bit more abstract when playing with Graham Lambkin. This solo cassette on Arbor Infinity finds Jason at his most restrained, offering simple yet deeply affecting manipulations to tape loops. While very little is apparently happening, the two sides of Music For Magnetic Tape are far from banal. I’ve been so ensnared by its allure that I’ve listened to it as I fall asleep for weeks, viewing the cassette as a devilish little lullaby.

The A side, “Waves,” is a loop of impressionistic solo piano, to which Jason slowly treats. Like Jason’s two albums with Graham Lambkin, “Waves” is a manifestation of Lescalleets penchant for dark humor and active subversion in his music. For three minutes, the piano’s tones drip into digital obfuscation until finally, exactly at the three minute mark, its sound is so strained that the re-ignition of the loop bursts into an artificial drone. After minutes of reverberation, the loop reconstructs itself into its organic, original form then defers to silence.

“Staring at the Sun’s Reflection in the Water” is more collegial piece. For ten minutes, it meanders through gorgeous ambience, inviting peaceful slumber instead of shattering it, like “Waves.” Seldom oscillating between notes, and slowly when it does, this B side is even more of a reduced form than its opposite, in spite of its denser sound—an engrossing example of the merits of minimalism.

This album has been available for purchase as early as last fall; however, Jason has informed me that it has yet to get a full release from Arbor Infinity. So while Music For Magnetic Tape cannot be ordered from Arbor’s website at the moment, I suggest the interested keep an eye peeled.

Graham Lambkin & Jason Lescalleet - Air Supply (Erstwhile, 2010) KiC regulars ought to be well-aware of Graham Lambkin and/or Jason Lescalleet, whether through either’s solo work, Jason’s nmperign collaborations, or their excellent 2008 joint jaunt The Breadwinner. Air Supply is then the second installment in a planned trilogy for Erstwhile, presenting some familiar themes, yet also a new, unique sound, relative to The Breadwinner.It’s obvious that Lambkin and Lescalleet are keen listeners, masters of warping what they hear, transporting outsiders to a distorted version of their reality. On The Breadwinner, the duo employed samples from Graham’s domicile, editing them into an environment that, while clearly treated, still bared strong resemblance to actuality. The creaking and dripping of ‘Listen, The Snow is Falling,’ for instance, could just as easily be found in my apartment one December morning, synthetic hums notwithstanding.In contrast to The Breadwinner, on Air Supply, the alterations are more pronounced, inducing a surreal sonic world. Few would mistake the noises from the first half of ‘Layman’s Lament’ for organic, but even still, the production is clearly richer, especially the lower tones. The duo appears to almost go out of their way to subvert one’s aural surroundings. Toward the end of the aforementioned track, avian sounds are introduced, followed by a wooden cadence, but as soon as any rhythmic comfort is found, a blast of feedback launches the listener into the next track. On ‘Color Drop’ and ‘69° F’ the sound of a computer selecting a sample is easily discernible, once again reinforcing a detachment from ordinary field recordings. The titular track too proudly displays its manufactured nature, wherein the first few seconds noticeably speeds up, like when a turntable’s motor is initiated.Many observed that The Breadwinner sounded much more like a Lambkin album; an album grounded in field recordings, augmented around its edges by Jason Lescalleet. So then, one might say that Air Supply is more so a Lescalleet long-player, featuring more prominently his manipulations. But despite these difference, the principal theme—an uneasy reinterpretation of the everyday—is ever present and equally as compelling as their formative work. This is easily one of the best albums of the year.

Graham Lambkin & Jason Lescalleet - Air Supply (Erstwhile, 2010)

KiC regulars ought to be well-aware of Graham Lambkin and/or Jason Lescalleet, whether through either’s solo work, Jason’s nmperign collaborations, or their excellent 2008 joint jaunt The Breadwinner. Air Supply is then the second installment in a planned trilogy for Erstwhile, presenting some familiar themes, yet also a new, unique sound, relative to The Breadwinner.

It’s obvious that Lambkin and Lescalleet are keen listeners, masters of warping what they hear, transporting outsiders to a distorted version of their reality. On The Breadwinner, the duo employed samples from Graham’s domicile, editing them into an environment that, while clearly treated, still bared strong resemblance to actuality. The creaking and dripping of ‘Listen, The Snow is Falling,’ for instance, could just as easily be found in my apartment one December morning, synthetic hums notwithstanding.

In contrast to The Breadwinner, on Air Supply, the alterations are more pronounced, inducing a surreal sonic world. Few would mistake the noises from the first half of ‘Layman’s Lament’ for organic, but even still, the production is clearly richer, especially the lower tones. The duo appears to almost go out of their way to subvert one’s aural surroundings. Toward the end of the aforementioned track, avian sounds are introduced, followed by a wooden cadence, but as soon as any rhythmic comfort is found, a blast of feedback launches the listener into the next track. On ‘Color Drop’ and ‘69° F’ the sound of a computer selecting a sample is easily discernible, once again reinforcing a detachment from ordinary field recordings. The titular track too proudly displays its manufactured nature, wherein the first few seconds noticeably speeds up, like when a turntable’s motor is initiated.

Many observed that The Breadwinner sounded much more like a Lambkin album; an album grounded in field recordings, augmented around its edges by Jason Lescalleet. So then, one might say that Air Supply is more so a Lescalleet long-player, featuring more prominently his manipulations. But despite these difference, the principal theme—an uneasy reinterpretation of the everyday—is ever present and equally as compelling as their formative work. This is easily one of the best albums of the year.

Greg Kelley & Jason Lescalleet - Forlorn Green (Erstwhile, 2001) This post was prompted, somewhat, by Paul’s reposting of Vorhernach. The orchestration on Forlorn Green is very similar: Greg Kelley on trumpet and Jason Lescalleet on “electronics”. Although Jason’s electronic contributions shouldn’t be confused with the no-input mixer, the effect of Greg and Jason’s collaboration is, at the very least, reminiscent of Axel + Toshi (or should it be the other way around?). The second purpose of this post is get these two musicians onto KiC; I’m shocked that neither have been covered before.Both Vorhernach and Forlorn Green represent a very literal interpretation of the term “Electroacoustic Improvisation,” in that they place both forms, electronic and acoustic, on equal ground—you must recall that EAI need not contain both (e.g. here and here). And dare I say that this combination, specifically the choice of the trumpet alongside some form of electronics, is my favorite iteration of the genre. There’s just something about the way the timbres of the trumpet interact with synthetic hums; it’s surprisingly organic and comforting to me. Oddly enough, Forlorn Green sounds far more natural to me than nmperign’s We Devote Every Effort to Offer You the Best That You Deserve to Have for Your Enjoyment (ie Greg Kelley and saxophonist Bhob Rainey). A part of this sensation, in the case of this record, may be derived from Jason and Greg’s familiarity with each other (they’re played in and around Boston together since 1998), but I doubt I could fully chalk it up to just that. It’s almost as if their musical voices are living, breathing beings, who have coexisted with each other for decades. That they’ve adapted, learned each other’s intricacies; that when one speaks, the other knows exactly how loud to screech, at what pitch to fluctuate. Over the past few months, I’ve found myself listening to mainly comfort music (read: synth drone—the chicken and biscuit of music). This might just be a function of the heat, and maybe what follows will look silly to me when the temperature dips, but that won’t stop me from writing it. Although this record shares little in common, in sound, with some Stunned tape, my reaction to, my affinity for the two have been nearly identical as of late. Both the drone tape and Forlorn Green make me feel perfectly safe.But when I take a step back, Forlorn Green, for whatever it is worth (probably very little), impresses me far more. The fact that it originates from a far more sterile environment, that it’s instrumentation would, when considered in a vacuum, seem cold…and yet it sounds nothing like that…well, that makes me want to stand up and take my hat off (if only I wore hats!). I’ve noticed a predilection on my part for these sorts of improvisation albums, and I think I’m willing to say that this may be the best (alongside Love Me Two Times) of these sorts.

Greg Kelley & Jason Lescalleet - Forlorn Green (Erstwhile, 2001)

This post was prompted, somewhat, by Paul’s reposting of Vorhernach. The orchestration on Forlorn Green is very similar: Greg Kelley on trumpet and Jason Lescalleet on “electronics”. Although Jason’s electronic contributions shouldn’t be confused with the no-input mixer, the effect of Greg and Jason’s collaboration is, at the very least, reminiscent of Axel + Toshi (or should it be the other way around?). The second purpose of this post is get these two musicians onto KiC; I’m shocked that neither have been covered before.

Both Vorhernach and Forlorn Green represent a very literal interpretation of the term “Electroacoustic Improvisation,” in that they place both forms, electronic and acoustic, on equal ground—you must recall that EAI need not contain both (e.g. here and here). And dare I say that this combination, specifically the choice of the trumpet alongside some form of electronics, is my favorite iteration of the genre. There’s just something about the way the timbres of the trumpet interact with synthetic hums; it’s surprisingly organic and comforting to me. Oddly enough, Forlorn Green sounds far more natural to me than nmperign’s We Devote Every Effort to Offer You the Best That You Deserve to Have for Your Enjoyment (ie Greg Kelley and saxophonist Bhob Rainey). A part of this sensation, in the case of this record, may be derived from Jason and Greg’s familiarity with each other (they’re played in and around Boston together since 1998), but I doubt I could fully chalk it up to just that. It’s almost as if their musical voices are living, breathing beings, who have coexisted with each other for decades. That they’ve adapted, learned each other’s intricacies; that when one speaks, the other knows exactly how loud to screech, at what pitch to fluctuate.

Over the past few months, I’ve found myself listening to mainly comfort music (read: synth drone—the chicken and biscuit of music). This might just be a function of the heat, and maybe what follows will look silly to me when the temperature dips, but that won’t stop me from writing it. Although this record shares little in common, in sound, with some Stunned tape, my reaction to, my affinity for the two have been nearly identical as of late. Both the drone tape and Forlorn Green make me feel perfectly safe.

But when I take a step back, Forlorn Green, for whatever it is worth (probably very little), impresses me far more. The fact that it originates from a far more sterile environment, that it’s instrumentation would, when considered in a vacuum, seem cold…and yet it sounds nothing like that…well, that makes me want to stand up and take my hat off (if only I wore hats!). I’ve noticed a predilection on my part for these sorts of improvisation albums, and I think I’m willing to say that this may be the best (alongside Love Me Two Times) of these sorts.