VITOR JOAQUIM - flow
(CD,
Cronica)
Calling a record of electronic music “flow” and
then basically working on disrupting the flow is a daring act, but one that
sets free thought and emotion and leaves a lot open for interpretation. Or,
to start at the beginning, of definition: for what exactly is meant by
“flow”? The word is regularly used in a variety of different meanings,
from ebb and tide to vienna coffee house electronica to even the distorted
pounding of Schranz. Postrockers tend to flow but the same was said in
musical history about fusion jazz and, behold!, New Age synthie shit. Do
Slayer have a flow? What about Aphex Twin? To use a common denominator
definition, flow would be the same as pulse but in a longer span of time,
ie. if you stretch the pulse of a piece of electronic music in time it would
be that zone of dynamic tension before it turns into a drone. Which, of
course, is just as bad a definition as any, but that is the way they have to
be: misleading, self-contradictory and with little to no ability to express
what they mean. Just like the music they come from.
To Joaquim the flow is defined by the moment. At least
he references to the idea of a “moment” in all the track titles on this
album. From “Moments of your time” via “moments of sync” to “empty
moments” and “misleading moments”. He stretches, cuts and loops
recordings of sounds, guitars and especially a female voice repeatedly
speaking about her fears of intimacy and at the same time the loss of
intimacy. Then he makes them akward, disrupts their organical flow by
introducing new sounds or layers or stopping some abruptly. He uses noise
and clicks to enforce the haphazard stumble through delicate beats and
sounds. After all, the production is suberb and most bits and parts lay bare
in crystal clear sound, ready to be dissected or digested. The pounding
bass-rhythm formed from simple clicks but mixed into big proportions during
“moments of silence” (track six) is a great way to show the abilities of
Joaquim. To make things even more complicated, various parts, once again
especially that female voice, repeat over and over again during the course
of the record, in more and differently manipulated ways. So the listener has
no option but try to swallow the whole thing as a whole. And to make that
even more complicated, the label has added a video called “flow” (what
else?) onto the disc.
The most interesting and most wondefully fascinating
thing about communication is the fact that it works some times. From the
simple task of a worldwide network of digitalized exchange of newsbits to
the endlessly complex interconnections of communication in a human
partnership, communications works. If you think about all the factors that
may interfere, for instance starting from the very basic sender – reciever
moder, you may start to doubt that communication is possible at all. If you
then add the necessities and intermitting factors of the medium in all its
variety and the history of communication between sender and reciever, you
have taken the problem areas to manifold. And we haven’t even mentioned
the black box of intermitting factors that come from outside our neat little
modell. And within all those myriards of tiny little noise bits that turn
into information when sorted in the right order, what place does electronic
music inhabit? Well, records like “flow” seem to prove that within that
vast universe of flickering tiny bits and bytes – or the hills and valleys
of analogue transmission, if you insist –there are some places where the
disturbance is bigger, because these records function like a black hole for
infobits. So their place is to make the listeners more alert, sharpen their
wits and enlight them.
