Closer in spirit to Mark Leckey or The Caretaker's Death of Rave than your typical aunterlogikkal ardkore replica, this project by James Joys (tee hee hee) collides techno and musique concrete and therefore ought to be catnip to my ears.
Actually the true comparison would probably be with Lee Gamble's Diversions 1994-1996
- not rave remembrance but rave dismembrance.
1. Exit Hum 03:14
2. Memorial Blackout 06:00
3. Of Idioglossiac Bondage 05:15
4. Luxury Mass 05:37
5. Swallowing Geography 06:52
Fevered sung or panic-worn. Wound round the room or spread thin against its walls. Everything at once. Time pleated and folded; time tight against itself. A light lit from your last word, sly, in a land of lasted things. Fever sings: a lung coughed up by its whale, washed up to wilt and wheeze, and draw itself around the coral skeleton of its innards. A brief union of silents attendant to the last dying breath as they roll out its remaining air. Its interior breeze an oblation, sighed. A click or a last cluck, dried, on the ocean’s gentle bob. Rolled and carried by a torn tide, flotsam I float I float. I hear the lumpen suck of cold meat on the waters’ deep black braid; feel its breadth and bone-cold breath as if being basted by salt and grain; peeled and bothered by heat. A click. The sun’s bright clap, or the damp crack of a wilting lung. I am over. Like you, under under under. I remember your whole world drained from me. Click. Caught. Choke. Cured. Wake me soon. Gavel rung. Unsung, I once was.
released October 11, 2018
Recorded, composed, and produced by James Joys from 2014-2018.
Interview with James Joys at The Thin Air:
Brian Coney: Your recently-released EP, Super_Tidal, is a work of “electroacoustic rave entropy”. Very intriguing. Tell us more about what that term means to you.
Well, to me it essentially means the persistent threat of disintegration, disorder and collapse. And I like playing with that, compositionally, and certainly in a few tracks the energy of the music kind of uses itself up by the end, in a process of entropy. And then really those two facets and cultures of electronic music that I love equally – electroacoustic music and electronic club music – were the vehicles that I wanted to use to convey that on the album. I really like the sound of those two dramas getting tangled up in each other.
... A big driver of the work was how I could create something that is the equivalent of being in a massive club with lots of different rooms, with all sorts of music blasting away.
How could I translate that experience of competing frequencies and tempos and sibilance and pulses into something more than just a kind of record of nostalgic ambience or hazy reminiscence; how could I make it into a palpable entity in itself, you know? What monster could I create using those experiences of these liminal moments in clubs at 4am where you’re skulking from one room to another hunting for a different beat, or you’re in the cold with smoking strangers, or you’re coming up too hard in a toilet cubicle trying to hold it together, you know? Those bits where you’re in-between, and sounds are just beyond reach – behind walls, under your feet, filtered by doors opening and closing. That experience is so thrilling, and of course there’s also the threat of it all turning nightmarish quite quickly. It can be quite a menacing experience. And I can relate a lot of those physiological and psychological experiences – breathlessness, sweating, sensory overload, that focused golden plane on the dance floor when your body and the music and the sound system are just totally fucking conversant – to how specific parts of Super_Tidal make me feel when I listen back to it. It gets my heart racing, makes me want to figure out a way of moving to it.
But I’m not interested in any kind of rave hauntology or anything nostalgic; I’m more curious about palpable sensory and sensual excess, especially that particular kind of excess you can only experience in a club, because you might also have a cocktail of alcohol, drugs, endorphins, adrenaline, whatever, coursing through your body. And you take a gamble on that collision of music, vibration, and chemical stimulants as to whether you’re going to have the greatest night of your life, or if you’ll crash and burn in a gurning heap of confusion and tears.
And so you know, I want to figure out whether it is possible to construct ‘sound worlds’, as you say, that aren’t nostalgic, aren’t for sad white boys mourning hardcore scenes they read about in Simon Reynolds’s Energy Flash, but are as kinetic, as evolving, as potent, as affective as club experiences can be."