review
by brian olewnick
Tomas Korber
Mass Production
w.m.o/r
10
As I’ve mentioned before, I prefer dealing with a recording “blind”, not
particularly aware of how this or that sound was achieved or even, for
the
moment, is there is an overarching, extra-musical purpose behind the
project. As I discover (or don’t) these things, it’s interesting to see
how,
if at all, my impressions shift. Korber calls his fine, new disc “Mass
Production” and includes images and schematics of some old factory
equipment
so there’s already some possible attached meaning, a meaning that would
appear to be enhanced by what you first hear, a gradual fade-in of some
irregularly rhythmic, mechanical seeming sounds, giving one a sonic
image of
a large rotor or fan, old and dirty enough to have acquired detritus
that
clips its enclosure as it rotates. It’s slowly superceded by a more
generalized hum, a rich though non-tonal drone that contains more
strands
than immediately apparent. Both of these elements are the sort of thing
one
might, if lucky, discover for oneself while wondering through an
industrial
area. Whether you’d be aurally aware enough to stop and listen is
another
matter, hence the great value of a disc such as this. These episodes
ebb and
flow, again giving the impression of walking through a large space,
turning
a corner that blocks out the previous drone only to open upon some
machines
emitting a banshee wail.
In any event, this is the impression I get over the first 20 or so
minutes.
Perhaps I’m being overly imagistic and Tomas may have different ideas!
Suddenly, however, “Mass Production” makes a sharp right turn, leaves
the
factory entirely and enters, well, maybe an adjacent laboratory where
specialized experiments involving high frequency modulations are being
undertaken. Something goes awry and the technicians get the opposite of
what
they sought as the apparatus does an abrupt flip-flop into chasmic
throbs
that threaten the integrity of the surrounding walls. More to the point,
this disjuncture is an attractive strategy, a way of not getting too
caught
up in the relative luxury of the drones and rhythms, forcing one to
step in
a different direction at the risk of losing some overall coherence. I
suppose the critical thing is that you feel that the step was a natural
(if
entirely unanticipated) one, not taken because of a dearth of ideas but
more
so as not to allow one to get into any kind of rut, however enticing.
This
second section evolves and mutates until we arrive at a luscious
pairing of
high, rustling swizzles and a simple, basso hum that begins to ooze out
into
the space, losing solid shape and sublimating into the “room” in a
lengthy,
relaxed coda (I’m trying not to make my usual referent but at this
point in
the disc, it’s tough!). The pacing is wonderful; Korber knows when to
linger
and when to move on. He actually ends on a rather dramatic note, a swift
upswing in volume and sudden silence.
“Mass Production”—it’s a good thing.
Vital Weekly (The Netherlands),
number 425. Review by Frans de Waard
Swiss guitarist Tomas Korber is one of the upcoming names in
improvised, electronic music. He has done several collaborative works,
such as with Steinbruchel and Gunter Muller, but slowly has more and
more solo recordings. On this new CDR he plays, according to the cover,
guitar and electronic devices. As far I'm concerned it could have
listed 'anything + electronic devices', as this material sounds unlike
a guitar and could be just any sound source being fed through
electronic devices. I don't mean this as an critique, but as a
compliment. Not that I hate the guitar but it's always nice to hear the
guitar being used in a totally alienated way. And that's exactely what
Korber does. In this single piece of three-quarters of an hour he
shifts through a whole bunch of electronic textures, ranging from
static hiss to the processed hum of motors on the guitar. Korber plays
here a minimal card, that only occassionally leaps into noisy patterns,
but for the bigger part is about ambient textures, although not
necessarily appealling to the real ambient crowd. In his approach he
sounds like a very early Jim O'Rourke and that's surely not the worst
thing to be compared with
Reviewed by: Ed Howard
Reviewed on: 2004-06-16
This is
shaping up to be a fertile year for guitarist Tomas Korber. His clear
melodic strumming and judicious blending of electronics on the sublime
recent disc Brackwater—a quartet with improv “superstars” Otomo
Yoshihide, Toshimaru Nakamura, and ErikM—was among that album’s
greatest assets. Now, with a 3” on the way from Jason Talbot’s Kissy
label, Korber has unleashed his first full-length solo on Mattin’s
W.M.O. Mass Production won’t be much of a surprise to those who have
already heard Korber in a group context, though there’s none of the
un-augmented guitar that he used sporadically on Brackwater. Instead,
this disc features some of Korber’s most eerily beautiful electronics
work.
The album opens with some scrabbling electronic noises like marbles
rolling over a bumpy surface; sounding similar to Tetuzi Akiyama’s
guitar deconstruction epic Resophonie. The music slowly builds tension
as a low drone hangs in the background, and as the solidness of the
drone begins to take hold, it sounds like the pointillist rattles and
croaks in the foreground are scratching holes in the surface of the
drone. It’s clear which is going to win out in the end, though, and
over the course of the next few minutes the drone slowly gains
prominence, with the ratcheting electronics not so much fading out as
being swallowed up by the overflowing abundance of thick droning sound,
an “OM” tone that swells briefly into all-encompassing prominence, and
then itself fades away to lull in the background.
As this drone fades away, Korber’s electronics unexpectedly take on a
more sinister cast, the sharp blasts of distortion and cranking static
riffs veering far closer to straight-up noise than the electro-acoustic
scene he’s usually been associated with. But deep within the chaos,
there are hints (imagined?) of ghostly guitar, a subliminal echo so
subdued and hidden by the noise that’s it easy to dismiss it as a mere
spectral figment, summoned by the knowledge that this is an album by a
guitarist, and so somewhere in there must be guitar. Imagined or not,
this haunting element gives some indication of the depth of Korber’s
electronic constructions. Within each gritty soundscape, and there are
a whole succession of them as this single 45-minute piece moves
seamlessly from one section to the next—there lurks a whole universe of
detail, long sustained tones interacting with earthier scrapes and
buzzes that sound like heavily processed guitar accidents.
Mass Production is a self-assured and fascinating new work from this
very promising musician. The serial nature of the piece precludes
linear development, as each new segment seems to emerge spontaneously
just as the last part is dying out, but this method of development
allows the album to retain a continual air of wonder and surprise, as
each new shift inevitably veers into totally new territory. Whether
he’s working at bludgeoning noise, or a hazy gauze of high-pitched
electronics, or a thick soup of sizzling raw circuits, Korber proves
again and again on this album that he has a wide musical vocabulary,
and he’s equally adept all over this tremendous range.
Touching Extremes (Italy)
reviewed by Massimo Ricci. June 2004
TOMAS KORBER - Mass production (w.m.o/r)
The way Korber gets unusual sounds from his electronically modified
guitar is probably the next step to the impossibility of recognizing a
source, which seems to be an interesting challenge for most adventurous
experimentalists in these days. Going from motorized mechanisms
soliciting the strings up to feedback modulations and ear-pinching,
almost inaudible frequencies slowly conducting the listener in a
splendid finale with a low-droning time capsule, Tomas throws the
coordinates for a post-Keith Rowe new direction of elemental guitar
dismemberment, all the way to a new definition of listening without
being surcharged - instead riding on the basic properties of the chosen
matter