Intriguing little ‘CD-single’
style discs like this one can leap either
way: grateful for the brevity of the
programme you either find yourself repeating
the thing in a joyous thrill of discovery,
or end up feeling a little cheated and
wondering why you all bothered – artists
and customer alike. This three track
CD single was recorded in the autumn
of 2004 and features works by all three
founder members of [rout]. Looking at
the website, I sense a trend similar
to that of the younger artists emerging
from Dutch Conservatoires – small groups
like ‘Electronic Hammer’ who can create
wildly animated sounding concerts while
there is nothing but a pair of manned
laptop computers on stage. There is
a great deal of sense in composers working
in compact, tightly-knit communities
of sympathetic musicians, and with electronics
which have the potential to turn an
instrumental solo into something symphonic
in terms of sonic depth.
‘Standing Jump’ by
Paul Newland has some interesting sonorities,
and for me is the most interesting track.
Lightly bowed violin, harmonium and
filtered electric guitar together sound
almost like a glass harmonica on occasion,
with pointillist harpsichord interjections
and pizzicato violin setting tones and
bare, open harmonies or dissonances
in motion. The piece refers to the chronophotography
of Etienne-Jules Marey, and a Japanese
song form called ‘Ko-uta’. Within these
terms, the piece is certainly an atmospheric
and static depiction of quiet reflection,
economy of means, and as the composer
says, is "always on the edge of
falling or vanishing".
‘Love’ by Paul Whitty
seems to want to creep back into a dusty
old Dutch electronic studio basement,
reminding me a little of the wistful
song defragmentation and distortions
of some of Gilius van Bergeijk’s work
(‘Over de Dood en de Tijd’ (On Death
and Time) for instance), mixed with
punky ‘Slash Orchestra’ style electronic
outbursts. Not much new under the sun
here, though literary quotes and references,
and words cut and pasted out of context
are always a handy hanger from which
to derive some mental prickles.
‘Anthem’ by Sam Hayden,
"is a fractured version of the
British National Anthem", and his
"critical response to the Jubilee
year of 2002 and nostalgia for the British
Empire." I fear Sir Edward Elgar
would find nothing to relate to here,
for, as the composer reveals in his
programme note, each aspect of the conventional
anthem was transposed using random factors,
and further disrupted by pauses and
heavy electronic distortion, and which
"annihilates any last trace of
the source material". So, we ask,
what is the point? The Sex Pistols had
more to say on this subject, and managed
to say it with considerably more energy
and irony. Without the title there is
no way of tracing the root and origin
of the work’s concept, so all we are
left with is track full of grungy noise
and quasi-intellectual fury, signifying
nothing.
As a first outing I
have the feeling that [rout] might have
shot themselves in the foot, just a
little. I can imagine that a live concert
of theirs would be far more stimulating
and I do wish the guys all the best
for the future, but for me the material
on this disc never quite ‘takes off’
in the way that their provocative group
name (usefully (hmmm) provided with
the dictionary definition on the website
www.routweb.com)
would seem to promise. There is no great
sense of shock, rout or newness here:
it’s the art gallery equivalent of the
garland of twigs framing the sepia portrait
of an invalid, the flickering neon light
installation strewn with torn pages
from ‘Penguin Modern Poetry’, and the
glass of water labelled ‘Tree’ – it
might linger in the memory for a while,
but you won’t be burning rubber to return
to the exhibition before it’s all taken
down and forgotten.
Dominy Clements