The first five works of The Berlin Series No. 3, Roananax, feature Axel Dörner on trumpet, tubist Robin Hayward, Annette Krebs on "electro-acoustic guitar" and mixing board and experimental pianist / electronicist Andrea Neumann. Recorded in 1999, the suite focuses on a wide range of "I'm not showing you my cards" style sonic anonymity; you can read about the ensemble involved, but good luck guessing who is doing what. It's a rich tapestry of color with tense pauses and anxious sustained gestures. "Roananax 1" relatively lurches forth with shaky gasps, tingling strings and mechanical ticking, like a clock being wound too fast. As this fades out, the group engages in dragging, rubbing and respiring before returning to a long inhale. There is almost nothing of what we think of as pitch material, and no end to new aural characters who briefly introduce themselves and never return. For example, "Roananax 4" features a low motorcycle-esque growl against gurgling sputters, a short burst of heart monitor beeps and delicate key clacks. And then it's as if the band takes a nap and is suddenly awoken to the sound of their own clamor of rotating surfaces, steam engines, high register feedback and muted string strums.
In 2014, Another Timbre captured Obliq with Pierre Borel on alto saxophone, percussionist Hannes Lingens and Derek Shirley on electronics. While Roananax requires a meditation, Obliq demands even more of a concentrated effort just to hear the thing. The rich, more-felt-than-heard sub 80 Hz tone carries the first twenty-minute chapter in a series of drones and leisurely pulses. Three other pitches gently flit in and from time to time, forming a loose chordal structure on occasion. Part two follows the same pattern, though now in the 5 KHz range. At the four-minute point, Borel (or maybe Lingens on a squeaky piece of metal) wanders in a few frequency notches below, and the work moves from completely robotic to partially human. Faintly over-blown sax enters in and out as a deep rumble begins to overwhelm and eventually end the piece.
The press sheet for this album bills it as "Berlin Reductionism". After a few listens, it's clear that "the parts" are definitely the point and the whole is secondary. There are no solos, and interdependence — particularly on Roananax — is virtually nil. Events happen, and then they don't, and that's always a curious and somewhat challenging factor when applied to sound art: you're expected to just listen. However, the attractive timbre of The Berlin Series No. 3 does make you want to block everything out and sequester yourself in a corner with headphones.
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