29.08.2007., srijeda
BLANKDISC TRIO
u ČudnojZemlji – im KomikerLand  Srđan Muc (elektric guitars), Róbert Rózsa (no-imput mixing, electronic) and Georg Wissel ((prep.) altosax, obone, a.o.) – Blank Disc ovog puta kao trio, izdao novi CD – ''u ČudnojZemlji / im KomikerLand''. Na novom albumu nalazi se petnaest pesama u trajanju 48’46’’: Tropic 3, Tropic 1, ću, ćeš, Tropic 2, Čudo, Tropic 4, čupav, Intro, Fata Morgana, Zvončići, Magla, Wolfsmagen, ZahnArt and Epilog.  BlankDisc Trio Mp3:- Tropic 3 --> (1’33’’ 649 Kb) - Tropic 1 --> (1’28’’ 608 Kb) - ZahnArt --> (1’57’’ 724 Kb) CD po simboličnoj ceni od 400 din (0,5 €) može da se nabavi putem maila: blankdisc@ptt.yu.  Blank Disc Liner Notes So, how do you make sense of something that sets out not to have any sense at all? Worse, even how do you make sense of something that sets out to have just about any sense you can come up with? I mean, come on, it’s not so hard, after all they call themselves Blank Disc. It hardly demands profound intellectual effort, does it? It’s a metaphor if I’ve ever seen one. You don’t really expect the disc to be devoid of music, do you? So could it be that it’s devoid of meaning? Of sense? Could it be that it invites imagination so fiercely that lesser men cringe when faced with the responsibility of filling the blanks themselves and run into the night to prevent their brains from imploding? But it sure makes all that no-sense in a loud, busy way, doesn’t it? Improvised music can be accused of many things but it’s rarely shy, even when quiet. Au contraire, my friend, it is almost always outspoken, sometimes violently so. I remember seeing Blank Disc perform live some time in the past millennium. The time and madness that passed under the bridge since made all the memories of this performance look and sound like something out of an acid fuelled, Timothy Leary-sponsored hell, but still, I remember (or think I do) they never played more than three or four notes in a thirty minutes performance. But those were three or four notes that lasted one hell of a time. In fact, I believe some of those notes haven’t ended yet and are still chiming with the same bold conviction that they are absolutely right. So, if they are right or if they believe so, then there must be some meaning behind all this, surely? All these noises on disc, all these instruments clashing in the air before and inside us, they must represent some sort of… dialogue, some sort of conversation, yes? And if there is dialogue, then there must be language, and where there is language, there is meaning, right? But what DOES it mean? If music is language then melodies must be its sentences, rhythm its punctuation, harmonies its mood, compositions its narrative structures. And look: you won’t find any of that with Blank Disc, old boy. Rhythm? Missing in action, my friend. Melody? You’ll find more snowballs on Lucifer’s doorstep than melodies on this disc, comrade. Harmony? Blown all the way to oblivion, boyo, and not even the good kind. Or is it? Perhaps oblivion is always useful, you know – do away with what you know because knowledge is useless anyway, make room for something new. And knowledge is useless when the music, as it does here, insists on reinventing the language it uses every couple of seconds. There is no doubt that there is coherence here. Dialogue. Hey, even some fiery discussions. There are minds shouting at other minds here, laughing in unison, frothing at the mouth enraged at the same thing that can not be named. But what is it ABOUT? What is it about, you ask? How about… What if… what if all of this was merely an elaborate joke? You know, the kind of a joke perpetuated by the musicians, the publishers, the critics and the audience. The joke so enormously huge you need to develop a whole new personality inside your mind just so you can accept its enormity. But even when you do, you’re no smarter than you were in your old personality. Because, there remains the nagging question. That joke, you know, IS IT ANY GOOD? So how do you make sense of something that won’t stand still long enough for you to wrap your logic around it? How do you analyse the hows and whys of a process that sabotages itself at every turn? There is no why, you begin to realise, and the how shoots itself in the gut the very moment it starts to feel comfortable, every moment it might settle down and become a template. This is not what the conversation is about and damn sure THAT joke would become stale within the next couple of seconds. This is about paradox. This is not about what is possible. This is not even about what is impossible. Rather, this is about what is un-possible. About what falls between musical ideas and instrumental technique. This is about exploration of chaos. But not about finding order in chaos. Rather, this is about finding more chaos inside chaos. Looking for beautiful chaos? Or looking for ugly chaos? Seriously, just shut up and listen. This is, understand finally, just as you decide to abandon reason, about listening. And listen with your safety gear on, my friend. Because, you will soon come to realise: when you listen to this music closely enough, the music listens to YOU. Uroš Smiljanić, May 2oo7 |
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