Exploring the Object-ness of Sounds in Audio Headspace

And other pleasures from Cullen Miller's new album, Simulateur

Cullen Miller has a tremendous new album out, titled *Simulateur*. It’s a collection of 11 electronic ventures that move from gentle, prismatic percussion (the opening track, “Objecthood,”whose title expresses the physicality, the object-ness of the sounds in audio headspace) through shuddering drones (the glitchy light noise of “Purple Cycle”). The majority explores minimal techno, from its outer dubby realm (the enticing “Formant Network”) to more club-friendly, if still metrically complex, beats (“Euclidean Tropism”). Wonderful stuff throughout.

Album originally posted at [soundcloud.com/cullenmiller](https://soundcloud.com/cullenmiller/sets/simulateur). Get the album as a free download at [pointlinesurface.com](http://pointlinesurface.com/Simulateur-2016). More from Miller at [cullenmiller.tumblr.com](http://cullenmiller.tumblr.com/). Full disclosure: Miller taught me everything I know about Audacity, more or less.

What Sound Looks Like

An ongoing series cross-posted from instagram.com/dsqt

I once worked on a project where the company’s website was so complex and detailed and, frankly, byzantine, that by the time we first visited the company’s actual office I wondered where the skyscraper was hiding. You’d never know from the company’s massive online presence that it was really just a few dozen people working on the top floor of a two-floor building. Sometimes such confusion is willful, an act of strategic dissimulation, a game of tactical artifice. Sometimes it’s a matter of putting on airs. Often it’s just bad planning. Either way, the company came to mind when I wandered by this extensive doorbell situated at the entryway of a modest two-story apartment building. The verticality of the form brought to mind soda cans that have the silhouette of a glass bottle drawn on them, as well as depictions of the very condensation that the can was designed to diminish. Of course, this doorbell grid isn’t really a skeuomorph, per se. It’s more of an aspiration. The architecture curator at a museum once described the faux lofts being built in San Francisco as “townhouses in drag.” This doorbell is playing its own sort of low-budget dress-up. It’s skyscraper cosplay.

An ongoing series cross-posted from instagram.com/dsqt.

Satie, This Time with Feeling

And at a slower pace – thanks to Hey Exit

If you know the piece coming is “Gymnopedie No. 1,”then the second that first note hits you have a sense of what’s up ahead. When the track doesn’t actually fulfill the second note of your solo-piano clairvoyance, your brain fills in the blank, and the blanks that follow immediately upon it. You hear “Gymnopedie”even if it isn’t playing.

In fact, in this reworking of the Satie classic, the song is playing, just transformed in two ways. First of all, it is slowed considerably. The roughly six-minute piece is extended to 10 times its original length. Second, this isn’t one “Gymnopedie”but about 60 “Gymnopedies.”It’s the track “Every Recording of Gymnopedie 1”by Brendan Landis, who initially stretched every rendition of the piece he could find to an equal length, yielding a slightly out of sync, phase-shifting rendition, halfway between Steve Reich and Brian Eno.

The initial “Every Recording of Gymnopedie 1”gained quite a following in the past week. When [I first wrote about it](https://disquiet.com/2016/01/15/brendan-landis-satie-gymnopedie-hey-exit/) it had about 2,000 listens on SoundCloud. As of this writing it has just over 50,000 listens. Following up the initial post I wrote a second appreciation, [looking at how Satie himself as preordained the Landis reworking](https://disquiet.com/2016/01/18/sean-dack-satie-landis-gymnopedie/), and touched on a precedent by artist Sean Dack, who developed a gallery installation, a la Janet Cardiff, that played individual versions on freestanding speakers.

This new, half-hour piece by Landis has a stronger similarity to the Dack than did his earlier piece, because the Dack likewise employed extensive time-stretching. The strings of the piano take on gargantuan capacity, like one of Ellen Fullman’s long-stringed instruments. Being inside this piece — “being inside”inside describes the consumption process much more closely than does, say, “listening”— reveals the off-sync qualities of the original in a manner like shards being shed in rapturous slow motion.

Track originally posted at [soundcloud.com/hey-exit](https://soundcloud.com/hey-exit/every-recording-of-gymnopedie-1-slowly). More from Hey Exit at [heyexit.com](http://www.heyexit.com/), [heyexit.bandcamp.com](https://heyexit.bandcamp.com/), and [twitter.com/slownames](https://twitter.com/slownames).

Soloist at the Church of Modular Synthesis

A 7-minute piece by R. Beny

“Marine Derelict”by R. Beny comes with a fairly long list of hashtags that express its technological origin as a mix of synthesizer parts. What it sounds like is a church organist on the rare day when the pews are empty, the building is otherwise vacated, and he can just play what he wants to play — ethereal, aching, blissful.

Track originally posted at [soundcloud.com/rbeny/marine-derelict](https://soundcloud.com/rbeny/marine-derelict). More from R Beny, who is based in the San Francisco Bay Area, at [this excellent YouTube account](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC5hhwOVY0lxIn4ELd5ZP1Bw/videos), which includes a lot of live performance pieces, such as this following “experimental / textural”segment featuring the [Ciat-Lonbarde Sidrax Organ](http://www.ciat-lonbarde.net/sidrax/index.html) (that’s the wooden instrument visible in the video’s upper left corner):

When a Drone Is Called Upon to Do the Work of a Melody

A glacial piece by Vyborg, Russia—based Murkok

There are drones that channel the hum and vibrance of machinery. In fact, most drones do. Much of what makes a drone a drone, as opposed to, for example, a note held for an extended period, is the warmth of its seemingly uncountable overtones, the sheer spread of warmly contrasting harmonics. Often as not, drone recordings leave the drone on its own. Call it the single-malt approach to composition. Then there is work like “My Grandmother Smiles at Me”by Russian musician Murkok, which puts the drone to melodic use. Here the singular yet internally rambunctious drone plays out a slow, peaceful sequence of notes. There’s no division between those notes. It’s pure resourceful melisma, endlessly transformative shifts that are glacial from a pop music perspective, even from a classical music one. It brings to mind *Discreet Music*”“era Brian Eno, as well as Gavin Bryars when he was busy sinking the Titanic.

Track originally posted at [soundcloud.com/murkok](https://soundcloud.com/murkok/my-grandmother-smiles-at-me). More from Murkok, aka Ilya Glebov of Vyborg, Russia, at [instagram.com/kaoioka](https://www.instagram.com/kaoioka/) and [murkok.bandcamp.com](https://murkok.bandcamp.com/).