"Kazumoto Endo And Emanuele Bonini– Rumore Da Ritorno Audio Metallico Quite a coup there, Audio Dissection-san, quite the fucking coup. Endo back and all so wonderfully coy you sly bastid. HOLY FUCKING- “Endo back?” For more? Of the same? Not quite. For starters, the ubiquitous dead air is largely snuffed out. For continuers, plenty of feedback hanging around. This is not a coincidence. Or let me re-phrase: brutal blasts of balls-out harshness punched into hanging feedback slide, a slide that might in more lengthy incarnation verge on drone application. So go the first five tracks, to which Endo is accredited final mix-dibs. And so they go, and go. The variation here is minimal, or better: very cleanly delineated. Tight. The Soddy in me is at pains to assign a score for spasticity, though the excreta is of course shitting all over the place. What we get from Endo is this:
well-constricted range of sound, fed with a hefty helping of cantankerous scrap metals, artfully arranged for a maximum of earhole annihilation. Any questions?
What makes it for me are two things: the depth of texture, a crucial element lacking in a surprisingly high proportion of hard panners, and the beauteous junk metal sources repeatedly poking up for air. More on the texture. What we are talking about, texture wise, is scrap-metal'd crunch-bilge, ripped to shit via blown out harmonics a la Sickness, Corrugation-era TEF, Ahlzagail, and, of recent note, Vanhala-san. Is a score for harmonicaness then in the making? Could well be, who am I to say. I should hasten to add that, as the first five tracks represent the combined collaborative efforts of Masters E and B, it seems a tad lazy of me to arbitrarily ascribe all the textured abundance to a single, sick, genius. In fact, judging from said chaps' elsewhere heard, a fair score of the harsher acoustic inclinations are most readily attributable to Senior Encephalo. Regardless, the aforementioned well-contricted range of sound is worked through so skillfully that, ultimately, spasticity gives over to craftsmanship. If it weren't already apparent, this is the work of a master crafts-smith absolutely in the comfort zone and I, for one, am rooting for the Overdog. Hail! Okay, then, Bonini, what you got? Tracks 6 through 10 are the Bonini mixes. Track 6 is a bit bashful. For one, the mix presents itself a fair bit quieter, as though still recovering from Endo-worship (or so I would project). For two, Endo it ain't- but it tries. More musty butt-air in here than in all the previous 5 tracks combined- but perhaps only on the sly. (Cue sly bastid.) Rapid-fire, spasmodic, full-on, full course, one waits impatiently for things to pick up- and they do, but not to the extent one might hope. THWACK! Endo be whooping some Bonini ass. This anyway would be the lazy conclusion. As averred (above), correct attribution of perceived buttdom administration is a slippery sloppery SLAP! And, er, vice versa. Things improve dramatically in Track 7, in which the Bonini tosses all his cookies into the mix, vomiting up everything spew forgot onto track 6... or at least, the junked shitemetals are offered much needed room to breathe. One thing that certainly sets the Bonini mixes apart: the much wider range of sound particles indulged. Not at all the constricted field, more blinding field of multitextural radiant devastation. By track 8 the Bonini-ster be plain fucking with your deservedly abused aural passages (well, you did ask for it). Very restrained, very nicely spaced out, a well-crafted five minute fit of pure epileptic bliss. In track 9 the acoustics gain ever more definition, all neck-jerk. whip-lash. thugga thugga thugga. ass-slap. All to set up the main course, the grand finale, so to speak. This, track 10, I would suggest as the most Bonini-esque, a genuine attempt at resolving the stresses between the most untethered of capacities and the most finely tuned of structural design. The last minute: pure vicious godhead." (Special Interests Forum)
Deleting and reposting to better impute the credit due.
Kazumoto Endo And Emanuele Bonini– Rumore Da Ritorno Audio Metallico Quite a coup there, Audio Dissection-san, quite the fucking coup. Endo back and all so wonderfully coy you sly bastid. HOLY FUCKING- “Endo back?” For more? Of the same? Not quite. For starters, the ubiquitous dead air is largely snuffed out. For continuers, plenty of feedback hanging around. This is not a coincidence. Or let me re-phrase: brutal blasts of balls-out harshness punched into hanging feedback slide, a slide that might in more lengthy incarnation verge on drone application. So go the first five tracks, to which Endo is accredited final mix-dibs. And so they go, and go. The variation here is minimal, or better: very cleanly delineated. Tight. The Soddy in me is at pains to assign a score for spasticity, though the excreta is of course shitting all over the place. What we get from Endo is this:
well-constricted range of sound, fed with a hefty helping of cantankerous scrap metals, artfully arranged for a maximum of earhole annihilation. Any questions?
What makes it for me are two things: the depth of texture, a crucial element lacking in a surprisingly high proportion of hard panners, and the beauteous junk metal sources repeatedly poking up for air. More on the texture. What we are talking about, texture wise, is scrap-metal'd crunch-bilge, ripped to shit via blown out harmonics a la Sickness, Corrugation-era TEF, Ahlzagail, and, of recent note, Vanhala-san. Is a score for harmonicaness then in the making? Could well be, who am I to say. I should hasten to add that, as the first five tracks represent the combined collaborative efforts of Masters E and B, it seems a tad lazy of me to arbitrarily ascribe all the textured abundance to a single, sick, genius. In fact, judging from said chaps' elsewhere heard, a fair score of the harsher acoustic inclinations are most readily attributable to Senior Encephalo. Regardless, the aforementioned well-contricted range of sound is worked through so skillfully that, ultimately, spasticity gives over to craftsmanship. If it weren't already apparent, this is the work of a master crafts-smith absolutely in the comfort zone and I, for one, am rooting for the Overdog. Hail! Okay, then, Bonini, what you got? Tracks 6 through 10 are the Bonini mixes. Track 6 is a bit bashful. For one, the mix presents itself a fair bit quieter, as though still recovering from Endo-worship (or so I would project). For two, Endo it ain't- but it tries. More musty butt-air in here than in all the previous 5 tracks combined- but perhaps only on the sly. (Cue sly bastid.) Rapid-fire, spasmodic, full-on, full course, one waits impatiently for things to pick up- and they do, but not to the extent one might hope. THWACK! Endo be whooping some Bonini ass. This anyway would be the lazy conclusion. As averred (above), correct attribution of perceived buttdom administration is a slippery sloppery SLAP! And, er, vice versa. Things improve dramatically in Track 7, in which the Bonini tosses all his cookies into the mix, vomiting up everything spew forgot onto track 6... or at least, the junked shitemetals are offered much needed room to breathe. One thing that certainly sets the Bonini mixes apart: the much wider range of sound particles indulged. Not at all the constricted field, more blinding field of multitextural radiant devastation. By track 8 the Bonini-ster be plain fucking with your deservedly abused aural passages (well, you did ask for it). Very restrained, very nicely spaced out, a well-crafted five minute fit of pure epileptic bliss. In track 9 the acoustics gain ever more definition, all neck-jerk. whip-lash. thugga thugga thugga. ass-slap. All to set up the main course, the grand finale, so to speak. This, track 10, I would suggest as the most Bonini-esque, a genuine attempt at resolving the stresses between the most untethered of capacities and the most finely tuned of structural design. The last minute: pure vicious godhead.
"Kazumoto Endo And Emanuele Bonini– Rumore Da Ritorno Audio Metallico
RispondiEliminaQuite a coup there, Audio Dissection-san, quite the fucking coup. Endo back and all so wonderfully coy you sly bastid. HOLY FUCKING- “Endo back?” For more? Of the same? Not quite. For starters, the ubiquitous dead air is largely snuffed out. For continuers, plenty of feedback hanging around. This is not a coincidence. Or let me re-phrase: brutal blasts of balls-out harshness punched into hanging feedback slide, a slide that might in more lengthy incarnation verge on drone application. So go the first five tracks, to which Endo is accredited final mix-dibs. And so they go, and go. The variation here is minimal, or better: very cleanly delineated. Tight. The Soddy in me is at pains to assign a score for spasticity, though the excreta is of course shitting all over the place. What we get from Endo is this:
well-constricted range of sound, fed with a hefty helping of cantankerous scrap metals, artfully arranged for a maximum of earhole annihilation. Any questions?
What makes it for me are two things: the depth of texture, a crucial element lacking in a surprisingly high proportion of hard panners, and the beauteous junk metal sources repeatedly poking up for air. More on the texture. What we are talking about, texture wise, is scrap-metal'd crunch-bilge, ripped to shit via blown out harmonics a la Sickness, Corrugation-era TEF, Ahlzagail, and, of recent note, Vanhala-san. Is a score for harmonicaness then in the making? Could well be, who am I to say. I should hasten to add that, as the first five tracks represent the combined collaborative efforts of Masters E and B, it seems a tad lazy of me to arbitrarily ascribe all the textured abundance to a single, sick, genius. In fact, judging from said chaps' elsewhere heard, a fair score of the harsher acoustic inclinations are most readily attributable to Senior Encephalo. Regardless, the aforementioned well-contricted range of sound is worked through so skillfully that, ultimately, spasticity gives over to craftsmanship. If it weren't already apparent, this is the work of a master crafts-smith absolutely in the comfort zone and I, for one, am rooting for the Overdog. Hail!
Okay, then, Bonini, what you got? Tracks 6 through 10 are the Bonini mixes. Track 6 is a bit bashful. For one, the mix presents itself a fair bit quieter, as though still recovering from Endo-worship (or so I would project). For two, Endo it ain't- but it tries. More musty butt-air in here than in all the previous 5 tracks combined- but perhaps only on the sly. (Cue sly bastid.) Rapid-fire, spasmodic, full-on, full course, one waits impatiently for things to pick up- and they do, but not to the extent one might hope. THWACK! Endo be whooping some Bonini ass. This anyway would be the lazy conclusion. As averred (above), correct attribution of perceived buttdom administration is a slippery sloppery SLAP! And, er, vice versa. Things improve dramatically in Track 7, in which the Bonini tosses all his cookies into the mix, vomiting up everything spew forgot onto track 6... or at least, the junked shitemetals are offered much needed room to breathe. One thing that certainly sets the Bonini mixes apart: the much wider range of sound particles indulged. Not at all the constricted field, more blinding field of multitextural radiant devastation. By track 8 the Bonini-ster be plain fucking with your deservedly abused aural passages (well, you did ask for it). Very restrained, very nicely spaced out, a well-crafted five minute fit of pure epileptic bliss. In track 9 the acoustics gain ever more definition, all neck-jerk. whip-lash. thugga thugga thugga. ass-slap. All to set up the main course, the grand finale, so to speak. This, track 10, I would suggest as the most Bonini-esque, a genuine attempt at resolving the stresses between the most untethered of capacities and the most finely tuned of structural design. The last minute: pure vicious godhead." (Special Interests Forum)
Deleting and reposting to better impute the credit due.
RispondiEliminaKazumoto Endo And Emanuele Bonini– Rumore Da Ritorno Audio Metallico
Quite a coup there, Audio Dissection-san, quite the fucking coup. Endo back and all so wonderfully coy you sly bastid. HOLY FUCKING- “Endo back?” For more? Of the same? Not quite. For starters, the ubiquitous dead air is largely snuffed out. For continuers, plenty of feedback hanging around. This is not a coincidence. Or let me re-phrase: brutal blasts of balls-out harshness punched into hanging feedback slide, a slide that might in more lengthy incarnation verge on drone application. So go the first five tracks, to which Endo is accredited final mix-dibs. And so they go, and go. The variation here is minimal, or better: very cleanly delineated. Tight. The Soddy in me is at pains to assign a score for spasticity, though the excreta is of course shitting all over the place. What we get from Endo is this:
well-constricted range of sound, fed with a hefty helping of cantankerous scrap metals, artfully arranged for a maximum of earhole annihilation. Any questions?
What makes it for me are two things: the depth of texture, a crucial element lacking in a surprisingly high proportion of hard panners, and the beauteous junk metal sources repeatedly poking up for air. More on the texture. What we are talking about, texture wise, is scrap-metal'd crunch-bilge, ripped to shit via blown out harmonics a la Sickness, Corrugation-era TEF, Ahlzagail, and, of recent note, Vanhala-san. Is a score for harmonicaness then in the making? Could well be, who am I to say. I should hasten to add that, as the first five tracks represent the combined collaborative efforts of Masters E and B, it seems a tad lazy of me to arbitrarily ascribe all the textured abundance to a single, sick, genius. In fact, judging from said chaps' elsewhere heard, a fair score of the harsher acoustic inclinations are most readily attributable to Senior Encephalo. Regardless, the aforementioned well-contricted range of sound is worked through so skillfully that, ultimately, spasticity gives over to craftsmanship. If it weren't already apparent, this is the work of a master crafts-smith absolutely in the comfort zone and I, for one, am rooting for the Overdog. Hail!
Okay, then, Bonini, what you got? Tracks 6 through 10 are the Bonini mixes. Track 6 is a bit bashful. For one, the mix presents itself a fair bit quieter, as though still recovering from Endo-worship (or so I would project). For two, Endo it ain't- but it tries. More musty butt-air in here than in all the previous 5 tracks combined- but perhaps only on the sly. (Cue sly bastid.) Rapid-fire, spasmodic, full-on, full course, one waits impatiently for things to pick up- and they do, but not to the extent one might hope. THWACK! Endo be whooping some Bonini ass. This anyway would be the lazy conclusion. As averred (above), correct attribution of perceived buttdom administration is a slippery sloppery SLAP! And, er, vice versa. Things improve dramatically in Track 7, in which the Bonini tosses all his cookies into the mix, vomiting up everything spew forgot onto track 6... or at least, the junked shitemetals are offered much needed room to breathe. One thing that certainly sets the Bonini mixes apart: the much wider range of sound particles indulged. Not at all the constricted field, more blinding field of multitextural radiant devastation. By track 8 the Bonini-ster be plain fucking with your deservedly abused aural passages (well, you did ask for it). Very restrained, very nicely spaced out, a well-crafted five minute fit of pure epileptic bliss. In track 9 the acoustics gain ever more definition, all neck-jerk. whip-lash. thugga thugga thugga. ass-slap. All to set up the main course, the grand finale, so to speak. This, track 10, I would suggest as the most Bonini-esque, a genuine attempt at resolving the stresses between the most untethered of capacities and the most finely tuned of structural design. The last minute: pure vicious godhead.