12k's gradual embrace of a hybrid acoustic/electronic dialectic reaches fruition during the course of this performance, recorded in Melbourne, Australia in April 2007. Gathering together these three digital tribesmen under one roof must have resulted, for the lucky few who attended, in an evening spent basking in the glow of the performers' beauteous LEDs and softly massaged relays.
2006's Fyris Swan, Solo Andata's debut on Hefty Records, fell right into line with the deluge of "indietronica" discs clogging the bins, yet an almost free-jazz sensibility, snuck in amidst the airy electronic palpations, distinguished it from the pack. Nothing has been heard from the duo of Paul Fiocco and Kane Ikin since, who have literally separated, working in isolation like most contemporary bedroom composers, utilizing file sharing to piece together their recordings. In the flesh for this 12k gathering, they've managed a convincing, at times sumptuous, piece of music. Blocks of squareform soundwaves are looped, forming awry pseudo-rhythms that stagger about gently picked guitars, hissing radiators, dulled pianos, and other fanciful sonic fictions. Fragile beauty, courting a serene, Zen approach, the piece recalls label-mates Minamo and Fourcolor in its episodic austerity. Not your father's ambient, and, in fact, too studied a tempo to mimic as such, rather Solo Andata present yet another facet of the digital folk phenomenon that, like an impressionist painting, commands your undivided attention while you marvel at its layers and intricacies.
I wasn't terribly enamored of Seaworthy's 12k long-player, and their contribution here fails to convert me, either. About as far away from the understood 12k "ethos" as is possible, the "aching" guitars, strummed below birdsong, of all things, suggests nothing less than the backwoods new-age vibe of Leo Kottke and William Ackerman.
Lacking any sort of digitized tension, sense of space, or the remotest coloration of invention, live, Seaworthy pilot a vessel that is anything but.
Labelhead Taylor Deupree's contribution maintains the "folkier" aesthetic adopted as something of a template for the evening's performance (and that has been a line of inquiry the label's been moving towards over the last year or so), but the man's so in command of his (Power) tools he's incapable of either a wrong move or unsatisfying moment. A pernacious little drone assumes a presence in the headspace, around which Deupree cycles clipped string notes, low-level hums and crunchy blemishes that weirdly fizz like poured soda. Permeating the air so they simultaneously hover while they encircle the room, the wavering flow and horizontal chirps become free radicals so acutely physical they appear to bond with the room's molecules. Deupree's usual on-the-fly magic par excellence; wish I could have been there.
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