The brittle little shards of sound that constitute the gently swaying mechanisms of Rick Tarquinio‘s The Accidental Psaltery are just that. They are, we are told, random bits, “loops and phrases.” They are not notes set in sequence by a composer, but parts left to their own devices, sonic leaves twisting in a digital wind. Their arrangement is largely a matter of chance, in Tarquinio’s telling. But “arrangement” has varied meanings. True, the exact sequence may be a matter of chance, but the larger arrangement, the system of chance that was set in motion and the sounds that play out in it, was in fact designed by a musician. These may be two different senses of the word arrangement, but the absence of the traditional meaning of the word merely emphasizes the more contemporary meaning, a meaning akin to a kind of systems music. Thus, a track like “Without Saying,” the first of the three that comprise The Accidental Psaltery, has a unique tension (MP3). On the surface, it is elegant, even reserved. But the absence of a ruling structure, the absence of a traditional give and take, lend it an underlying unease. There is no assurance as to where it will head, as to which line will take the lead, or which tone, if any, will provide a sense of melodic resolution. It may seem genteel, but it is, in fact, a slow and beautiful chaos.
Get all three tracks, for free download and streaming, at the netlabel restingbell.net.
The reproduction after the fact online of live electronic music events often feels like the opposite of Plato’s cave. We mere MP3 listeners are lingering outside the cave, and inside there’s what seems to be some crazy laser-light show being projected onto the ceiling. All we get, however, is a muted audio recording. Case in point, the disparate, slinky, low-key phrases of Xesús Valle‘s live Sónar 2011 set, which was made availale for download as the 85th entry in the great Crónica podcast, at 
Volume five of Dubstep Is Fun, the ongoing compilation series from the fine Hungarian netlabel named Complementary Distribution (aka COD), was posted earlier today. It’s 13 tracks in all, much of the collection rambunctious and seemingly willfully cold. In this vision of dubstep, the dank pleasures of genre from which the album takes its name are reflected in a harsh mirror, soft analog unease giving way to sharp digital constructions. One clear highlight is the closing track, “3” by All One. It is easily half the speed of many of those it sits alongside. “3” is all slithery beats and percussive attenuation (