Rotoscope
Great Curves
[Jester; 2001]
Rating: 8.2
Well, it's official: electronic music is taking over. Hide your daughters and
old Paul Simon tapes, because no one will be spared. You thought Wendy Carlos
was a joke? Oh no, she/he was only the beginning. And it gets worse. You see,
it turns out that this is one revolution that, no matter how seemingly
intimidating and complicated (let's face it, the Borg are most likely listening
to Autechre), is probably for the best. The more I delve into new music, the
more I find it contaminated by the all-assimilating force that is electronic
music production. Older artists are stepping over their fanbase to work with
techno producers, while the young ones are throwing away subscriptions to CMJ
for old Beatfreakery rags. The good and bad news: most of the stuff
sounds no worse than your average zeitgeistmusik.
And there are a thousand stories in this revolution: David Bowie outdoes Trent
Reznor in the late 90s, and I realize why that isn't such a great deal; scores
of bands rip off Can and Cluster and call it "post-rock," wondering why Stereolab
fans think they're boring (Stereolab fans!), and some end up pretty decent. To
me, though, the coolest stories are the ones that end up like Rotoscope.
Norwegian composer Andreas Mjøs formed the electro-acoustic outfit Rotoscope
in autumn 1999. With an eye towards Warp and Ninja Tune, he started the band
in an attempt to reconcile the purely electronic music played in clubs with
modern experimental music, all with the idea of playing live. The band features
musicians from all walks of arty life: classical composers, jazz players, pop
singers, orchestral musicians-- it's a something of a brainstorming session for
the tuned-in and overachieving. And they sound neat, too.
Great Curves is the band's first album, though for the most part, it
sounds as if these guys (and one gal) are old pros at putting stuff to DAT.
All of the tunes are messed with, mostly on the production end, as the band
and co-producer Jørgen Træen seem to have an inexhaustible array of effects,
loops and otherwise unnatural doings transpiring. Some people call this stuff
IDM (an inadequate description at best) or electronica (a stupid term altogether),
but there are too many roots in traditional sounds and structures here to give
all the credit to machines.
"Press Stop" begins things with a bang and a glitch, as percussion and wailing
saxophone are cut up beyond repair, put through who knows what number of
computer-generated filters and patches. It's quite short, but it most certainly
sends the right signals: this isn't going to be your average jazz-informed indie
statement. "All That You Owned (Remix)," something of a skittish, distracted
ballad, is the first tune to feature the childlike vocals of Christine Sandtorv.
Distant, sometimes-backwards piano, record-scratch atmospherics, and a bassline
that only occasionally makes itself at home in the proceedings peep in and
out in no discernable order, turning what could have been a simple tune into the
most complicated two-minute "song" I've heard in a while.
"The Bogota Sub" is born out of the distortions of the previous tune, and quickly
launches into more glitches and computer-chaos. However, the unmistakable feel
of acoustic percussion and horns are all over this track (and the rest of the
album), and despite the fact that actual humans could probably never play this
way live, the tune isn't far from some kind of future jazz groove I imagine would
sound great while overdosing on two or three media of your choice. Try, the
soundtrack to watching three television sets at once, two of which are broadcasting
the end of 2001, and the other Godfrey Reggio's Koyaanisqatsi.
"Cooks Whip, Music Goes On" makes a jazz noise or two, especially via Lars
Horntveth's ultra-suede tenor playing during the solo break in the middle.
Real drums drop some real groove, vibraphones vibe, and for the most part, I
find it very easy to label this "modern jazz." But labels suck, so I'll
stick with "stuff that sounds like jazz, if it were made be people listening
to new music-- and by new music, I don't mean the new Lenny Kravitz" music.
Other tunes are much closer to the purely electronic realm, such as "Watercooler"
or the Talking Heads-referencing "Divide and Dissolve." These tunes may have had
roots in acoustic/live performance, but are subject to so much post-production
that they could probably pass as straight IDM in most quarters. The former is a
brief display of reverb-laden drum machine blips and bangs, with a by-now familiar
(in electronic music, anyway) disorienting, distorted glitch presence. The
latter is a lengthier percussive exhibition, steering closer to jungle theory
(as defined by new Boredoms, not Goldie) than post-everything sensory overload.
After a restrained intro, things get rather out of hand, what with all the
hurricane toms and rocket ship engine thrust noises. I'd say it was all too
much, except it's such great stuff.
Great Curves ends with the epic "Traveller," which brings vocalist
Sandtorv back into the mix, and excludes almost everything computer-generated.
Hypnotic keyboard motive aside, this is a fairly addictive song. Sandtorv's
singing could be a potential source of annoyance, particularly for anyone who
isn't down with girly-girl vocalizing, but it seems to fit well here. In
any case, her section of the tune ends quickly, leading to an instrumental
vamp with layers and layers of Horntveth's woodwinds and some nice acoustic
guitar. It reminds me a little of the last tune from Idiology, but
these guys play soulful where Mouse on Mars was cinematic, and assured where
the German duo was innocent and playful. An intriguing finale to a release
with that's almost always at odds with what a band given their instrumentation
should sound like. Recommended.
-Dominique Leone, December 11th, 2001