ICR

“Every single sound you hear is sourced from environments and objects in Lofoten”, it says on the cover. Imagine my surprise then on hearing “June 15″, the first track of this Norwegian documentary soundscape by Steven Stapleton and Colin Potter; a progressively distorting Muslimgauze-like trance-inducing beat which seems as at home in those solitary lands as a shark in a goldfish aquarium. This disintegrated apprehension is soon replaced by fabulous loops of grave male voices intoning infinitesimal segments of uhms and ehms intercut with conversations about the Grateful Dead, while a younger, thinner female expression acts as counterpoint. “June 17″ also includes gorgeous environmental recordings, from seagulls to distant traffic à la Monos, in a freethinking use of sparkling phantom idioms against treated utterances, as the scansion of local marching bands is humorously altered and torrential rain morphs into a warm applause and a Lilith-like mantra. It’s one of the best moments of disc one, whose closing 15 minutes of stretched and bent reverberations do overstay their welcome just a little bit, despite their fierce intensity. As a self-professed old static music fart I have a not-so-slight preference for the second disc, with “June 5″‘s riveting prophecy of imperishable repercussions masking as a dronescape mingling Mirror and Coleclough with maybe subterranean (and subconscious) ramifications. The menacing ultrastructural leakages and the revolving high frequencies of “July 6″ soon make way for cavernous cemeteries hosting the poignant ectoplasmic deformations of “June 3″. The last bulletin is “June 20″, another hypnotic figure reminiscent of Soliloquy for Lilith, punctuated by dark background thumps and metallic tampering in a sort of invisible ritual. NWW are travelling through the stratosphere without resorting to easy post-Lustmordian trickery, becoming evocative as never before – Pietro Querini, are you still there?

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