Exhibit A in the case for nü-noise as nü-metal: the mixing on underground noise releases and big label loud rock discs is beginning to sound dishearteningly similar. True, Merzbow and Borbetomagus have been churning out red-level sounds since the early '80s, but their seminal recordings (and especially their newer works) are not without dynamic range. Even if it's just a contrast between pulsing, searing synths and pulsing-er, searing-er snyths and guitars and saxophones, a well-recorded piece of avant-garde extremism will reflect its own ripples and wrinkles in its mixing: if the music is brave enough to drop a couple of decibels, the recorded product is, too. The masters needn't prove just how bludgeoning and massive their sounds are each and every second.
Works like this Stimbox live CD-R won't allow you to turn your volume knob up above its lowest level, though. Albums like this are as relentlessly and exhaustingly loud as the latest Relapse or Nuclear Blast release, stripping the music of its pulse, vibrancy, color, dynamic, etc. and settling into an unbecoming aggro-rock mode.
In this instance, the problem is particular damaging. For a 60-minute freakout, this slab of sound possesses an enveloping, wave-like quality, finding massaging rhythms with ease and laying down ebbing textures that sink into a gap between shoegaze and industrial. Problem is, the mixing's too damn loud to let the music move, breathe, and explore the tension between its perfectly formed wavefields and its cold, inhuman touch. The intense volume and loudness paint Stimbox as intensely antisocial here. Music-as-retreat has left us with some entrancing albums by a great number of artists, but in all of these cases — whether it's R.E.M., Moondog, or the aforementioned Merzbow — the artist's retreat is never complete or final. Compelling retreats become means of finding alternative communities, outlets for self-indulgence and unmediated pleasure, protests, spaces in which to experiment. 12-01-2005 simply barks "Get the fuck out my face!" Okay, sure.
In this instance, the problem is particular damaging. For a 60-minute freakout, this slab of sound possesses an enveloping, wave-like quality, finding massaging rhythms with ease and laying down ebbing textures that sink into a gap between shoegaze and industrial. Problem is, the mixing's too damn loud to let the music move, breathe, and explore the tension between its perfectly formed wavefields and its cold, inhuman touch. The intense volume and loudness paint Stimbox as intensely antisocial here. Music-as-retreat has left us with some entrancing albums by a great number of artists, but in all of these cases - whether it's R.E.M., Moondog, or the aforementioned Merzbow - the artist's retreat is never complete or final. Compelling retreats become means of finding alternative communities, outlets for self-indulgence and unmediated pleasure, protests, spaces in which to experiment. 12-01-2005 simply barks "Get the fuck out my face!" Okay, sure.
1. 12-01-2005
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