Post-classical ambient minimalism for crepuscular airports

Junto Project 0301: Parts > Sum [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well.

Water is distilled when its impurities are removed through boiling, after which the steam is condensed into liquid form. Repeating the steps (a process called double-boiling) renders distilled water of even greater purity.

Ambient music is much like water in that it assumes the shape of its container. Suss Müsik is intrigued by the concept of sound being filtered over time, a single droplet extended until the brain can no longer differentiate between individual tones. The entirety of Pauline Oliveros’ excellent Deep Listening work reflects this approach.

For this piece, Suss Müsik captured a 30-second excerpt from each of the ten tracks on Lee Rosevere’s 5 MInute Meditations. Each excerpt was then sampled and stretched to five minutes each. A 5-second sample was then pulled from this result (an audio form of “double-boiling,” if you will) and again stretched to the five-minute mark.

The ten distilled textures were each played on separate tracks with some form of MIDI instrumentation, for a duration of five minutes apiece, which we then faded in and out in sequential order. The segments overlap by ten to twenty seconds to produce the final result.

The samples felt a little thin, so a subtle deep beat was added to fatten the mix. The drum sound underwent the same “filtration” process described above.

The piece is titled Rosevere. The image is a magnification of water drops viewed from inside a glass jar.

Junto Project 0300: The 300th Consecutive Weekly Project [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well.

Suss Müsik owns a copy of Ted Greene’s Chord Chemistry, an artifact from classical guitar lessons taken long, long ago. The book is like a skinny encyclopedia for guitar nerds, diving into the nuances of systematic voice leading and harmonic progressions as an approach to composition. We’d tell you more if we could remember any of it.

Suss Müsik is fascinated by the way that a singular component can be modularized and extended to create a system. The artist Sol Lewitt understood this concept very well, developing a complex visual language from a single geometric form. Chords are the linear elements that give shape to modular structures we call “songs” — it’s amazing the emotive depth a single chord can carry in the right context.

For this short piece, Suss Müsik selected the chord Eb7 for piano, mellotron and 12-string guitar. We chose this chord because it’s one of those chords that sounds ghastly played in isolation, and yet when bridged between other voices it has an almost lyrical quality.

The mellotron was played on dual “church organ” settings, creating a harsh phasing as the cycles overlapped in unison. The guitar was played with a Vox amplifier that for some reason picked up a pleasant background hum. The piano increased in force and volume as we neared the 100-second mark. The piece is titled Lewitt.

On this 300th Disquiet Junto Project, Suss Müsik extends sincere appreciation to Marc for kickstarting the endeavor, and to all who share your gifts of creativity and fellowship every week. Thank you for letting Suss Müsik be a part of it.

Junto Project 0299: 10 BPM Waltz

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well. This project was organized by One Take Records as part of the 10 BPM Dance Club in Copenhagen, September 2017.

Deconstructivist architecture is designed to give the impression of fragmentation within a wholly composed building. The style is characterized by non-linear shapes that appear to distort predictable forms into controlled chaos.

Deconstructivism is a form of post-modern philosophy derived from the teachings of Jacques Derrida, who believed that absolutes were confining and that multiple meanings cannot be reconciled within a singular work. Think of it as a way of discovering hidden meanings within a structure intended to subvert them.

Suss Müsik finds the 3/4 and 6/8 time signatures to be ripe for deconstructivist composition. It’s in the downbeat where the possibilities reside, opening an endless stream of sonic possibilities. Working at a languid 10 BPM expands the field, almost to the point where there is no presence or absence and thus no downbeat to be heard. Boom-tick-tick becomes a series of ticks and booms that emerge randomly.

For this piece, Suss Müsik sought to deconstruct the downbeat using e-bows, vibes, squiggly synths, amplified wooden blocks, sheets of metal and homemade percussion. For each instrumental voice we created a “surface skin” with two variations: one at half-speed, the other one-and-a-half times faster. This ultimately created a muted din in which no slot in the 3/4 tempo was left vacant, yet everything holds to the original BPM.

We did not intend for the piece to run quite as long as it did, although we admit that working within a 10 BPM frame tends to encourage expansion. The last two minutes retained an almost Talk Talk “Spirit of Eden” sort of vibe. We liked it so we let it linger a bit.

The piece is titled Derrida. The image is an abstraction taken from the side of a deconstructivist building in New Orleans.

Junto Project 0298: Dungeons & Drum Machines [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well.

Paul Auster’s novel The Music of Chance centers around two men who lose a poker game to a pair of eccentric millionaires, who then confine the men to manual labor in order to pay back the debt. One of the millionaires, a former accountant, notes the interplay between numbers and the significance we assign to them (we added the bold):

“I’ve dealt with numbers all my life, of course, and after a while you begin to feel that each number has a personality of its own. A twelve is very different from a thirteen, for example. Twelve is upright, conscientious, intelligent, whereas thirteen is a loner, a shady character who won’t think twice about breaking the law to get what he wants … ten is rather simpleminded, a bland figure who always does what he’s told … I’m sure you understand what I mean. It’s all very private, but every accountant I’ve ever talked to has always said the same thing. Numbers have souls, and you can’t help but get involved with them in a personal way.”

For this piece, Suss Müsik twice rolled a 20-sided die to arrive at the numbers 17 and 02. The scale BAABBG was used as the melodic spine (to beef up the tune we added a D on the penultimate quarter note) and played on piano. Composite chords are phased in and out of visibility while a CR-78 drum pattern makes its presence felt, performing the same 488884 sequence as on piano.

Acknowledging our interest in amateurish numerology, we noted that 1702 adds up to ten and determined that this was an opportunity for the number ten to evolve beyond its persona as a “simpleminded, bland figure.” We also considered the life’s work of German geometer Max Brückner and his collection of three-dimensional polyhedral models. A hyperactive vibraphone dances around the BAABBG sequence at maximum distortion, while a muted saxophone bleats in the distance at two binaural frequencies. It’s a glorious mess.

The piece is titled Polyhedron. Personal thanks to Jason Wehmhoener for inspiring such thoughtful creativity for this project.

Junto Project 0297: Domestic Chorus [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well.

Suss Müsik recorded household sounds whose primary functions are to help us remember something: an alarm clock reminds us that it’s time to wake up; a beep on the refrigerator tells us that the door has been left open; a laundry buzzer indicates that our clothes need to be removed from the dryer. In the meantime, the soothing hum of an air purifier reminds us that we are surrounded by dust mites (a fact of science we would be more than happy to forget).

Existentialist literature considers forgetfulness to be an essential attribute of the human condition. In The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Milan Kundera describes characters for whom “space is an obstacle to progress.” The Danish philosophy Søren Kierkegaard once noted that “the most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you’ll never have.” Jean-Paul Sartre sang, “Ha! to forget. How childish! How can you keep yourself from existing?” And Charles Bukowski advises us to never forget anything, ever, because “There is always somebody or something waiting for you.”

For this weird and creepy piece, Suss Müsik composed a library from the domestic sounds of everyday forgetting. You’ll hear the items already described, plus amplified room noise and the thump of a refrigerator door closing. The sounds were assembled rhythmically with minimal treatment, except for some light sampling of the dryer buzzer (resembling an oboe or bassoon) which was randomly played with an EWI device.

The piece is titled Destinesia, an urban slang term describing an instance in which one forgets the purpose of a journey upon reaching their destination. The image is an architect’s compass.

Junto Project 0296: Clustered Primes [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well.

A Mersenne prime is a prime number that is one less than a power of two. It was developed in the 1600s by a French monk named Marin Mersenne. The Mersenne prime subsequence begins with the numbers 3, 7, 31, 127 and 2047, with 67108863 being the largest known Mersenne prime. Now you know.

Prime numbers have a special place in music history. Marin Mersenne himself was referred to as the “father of acoustics” for his seminal work on string vibrations. More recently, Three Dog Night sang Harry Nilsson’s famous lyric “one is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do,” exactly twenty years before De La Soul reminded us that three is the magic number.

Suss Müsik studied the two columns of numbers in search of hidden dynamics. It would have been a delicious coincidence if the total number of submissions (1371) had been a prime, but the total went over by ten (the same number who submitted the “magic number” three).

list of prime numbers

We determined a semantic derived from the Mersenne primes and programmed those figures into three drum machines at a tempo of 111 BPM. The modulations were coupled with a simple piano polyrhythm played in threes and sevens at counts of ten and twenty-two. It got a bit confusing after a while, so we packed it in at exactly 3:53.

The piece is titled Mersenne. The image shows three nuts from a hickory tree, of which there are 19 species.

Junto Project 0295: Disregard Echoes [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well. This project was inspired by Jason Richardson and Naviar Records, encouraging members of the community to write haiku describing local scenes.

Poisoned Waterhole:
Violent disregard echoes.
Keenly felt today.

In preparation for this piece, Suss Müsik took some time to research Wiradjuri history.

We learned how during the 1820s, war broke out between the Wiradjuri and white British colonists just west of Sydney. We learned about vigilante groups who were formed to roam the Bathurst plains, hunting down the Wiradjuri as if they were wild animals. And we read about a local homestead owner who poisoned the water hole from which the Wiradjuri took refuge.

Timothy Leary once said that all suffering is caused by being in the wrong place. Suss Müsik thinks that’s a crock. When consciously inflicted upon others with the cruelest of intentions, suffering is unavoidable — every place we go is the wrong place simply because someone doesn’t want us there.

“There is an elasticity in the human mind,” wrote Charles Caleb Colton, “which [is] capable of bearing much but will not show itself until a certain weight of affliction be put upon it.” Listening to traditional Wiradjuri music recalls ancestral spirits: the rhythm is insistent, a series of singular beats that grow in intensity during performance.

For this cinematic piece, Suss Müsik combined field recordings of water with the sounds of homemade percussion and looped echo effects. Pieces of wood were clacked together to create the nuance of rhythm, upon which various reed tones were played using an EWI device. Although the result is a little longer than anticipated, we felt it was important to let things breathe a bit during transitions.

The piece is titled Yindymarra, named after the Wiradjuri word for doing things with kindness and in good time. The image is the Wiradjuri symbol for “meeting place.”

Many thanks to Jason Richardson for opening this window to a part of history of which we were unfamiliar.

Junto Project 0294: Offline Status [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well.

This past week was not an easy one in the US, nor in Barcelona (one of Suss Müsik’s favorite cities). We seem to exist today in a space between anticipation and the mundane. We fear that a catastrophe that may never occur will cause our demise, but the height of anxiety is in the waiting. As Richard Wright wrote in his classic novel Native Son: “There was but a long stretch of time that was very short, and then — the end.”

The sampled quote by Bassel Khartabil is a greeting followed quickly by an apology. “Hello I’m sorry,” sang Michael Stipe in the late 80’s. Suss Müsik imagines that most interactions contain at least some amount of regret for what might have been. We like to hope that times of crisis bring about a cycle of affirmation, but that’s not always how things work out. Bassel’s life was too short; the wait for his release took too long. Cruelly, both ended in a single event.

For this short piece, Suss Müsik interpreted Bassel’s vocal inflections as a form of notation. Early in the sampled recording, one can detect the plop plop that an Apple MacBook Pro makes when the sound volume is adjusted. We replicated this rhythm and used it to form base tempo. We then built upon this spine with bits of binaural cello and phased piano polyrhythms.

The piece is titled Fatra, which means “interval” in Arabic.

Junto Project 0293: Emerge/Immerse [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well. This piece was inspired by the 3D modeling architectures created by #NEWPALMYRA Founder Bassel Khartabil and rendered into VR forms by artist Paige Dansinger.

Alvin Toffler, author of the now-classic (and eerily prescient) book Future Shock, knew something about transience. “One of the great unasked questions of our time,” he wrote in 1970, “has to do with the balance between vicarious and non-vicarious experiences.”

It was not so long ago that a hologram of the late Michael Jackson appeared at the 2014 Billboard Music Awards, sparking controversy over the ethics of using a digital visage to promote one’s posthumous career. Then again, humans have always been adept at manufacturing what Toffler calls “ritual significance” — the state at which the symbol for a thing becomes more important than the thing itself.

(Suss Müsik wonders what all the fuss was about regarding MJ. You’d think the music industry would be accustomed to such paradigms. After all, wasn’t it Freddie Mercury who famously asked “Is this real life? Is this just fantasy?“)

For this short piece, Suss Müsik explored the state of emergence. We hit little rocks with mallets recorded with heavy dollops of backwards reverb, then added some fake strings and gently plucked guitar. Buried in the mix are two solos played on an EWI device, which were panned right-to-left while the fake strings moved left-to-right.

The life of Bassel Khartabil was too short by any metric but the vicarious. Our collective participation in this week’s Junto project ensures that Khartabil’s work will continue to be celebrated and his memory preserved.

Junto Project 0292: Eclipse Music: In Coordination with St. Louis Art Hack Day [repost]

Someone suggested that Suss Müsik repost our contributions to the weekly Disquiet Junto projects, because they enjoy reading the explanations of the tracks. While you’re reading the original post, make sure you check out the other contributors’ works as well. This piece was executed in coordination with an eclipse-themed Art Hack Day in St. Louis, USA.

“There is no doubt that the human mind prefers order and simplicity,” wrote physicist Louise B. Young in her book The Unfinished Universe. The process of abstraction that drives Euclidean geometry was invented to help us better understand the natural world, distilling life’s complexities into simple shapes.

A solar eclipse is the most exquisite form of balance in our known universe. It is an intricate ballet of planetary alignment that doesn’t occur often and soon will never happen again. The last ever solar eclipse is scheduled to take place in 600 million years, so you still have time to buy tickets.

While plane geometry helps us understand the ‘how’ of existence, humans sometimes struggle with the ‘why.’ Suss Müsik wonders what early humans thought when they witnessed the first solar eclipse. As the sun disappeared behind the moon and the temperature dropped, did they interpret the darkening sky with a sense of foreboding?

(This might be what Klaus Nomi meant when he sang, “Blow up, everything gonna go up.” Then again, Nomi himself was something of an abstraction, a monochromatic kaleidoscope of cross-gender angularity).

Suss Müsik interpreted the first and last solar eclipses as a single event, the shared realization that we are spiritually eternal yet cosmically insignificant. The piece is performed using a combination of prepared piano, real/fake violins, a single saxophone and some electronic noise. The “eclipse” is the result of a single bass drum, itself a perfect circle, representing the end of one state and the anticipation of another.

Suss Müsik dedicates this piece to the memory of Bassel Khartabil and his family.