*300 copies limited edition* Basic calculations tell us that eight players are more than Supersilent's three, but like the Norwegian trio, this ensemble's music sounds much greater than the sum of its parts. This becomes especially evident once we factor in their 9th player - Matthias Erb manning the Klanggestalter; a semi-organic array of amps, filters and live algorithms used for “neutralising the difference of acoustic and electric instruments” in a manner comparable with the ‘Audiovirus’ deployed by Supersilent’s Helge Sten (Deathprod).
The nine players here each bring a fluency in pop, jazz, or contemporary musics to the table, as well as a couple of technical and post-production roles, in effect dealing with a democracy of pluralities and diversity. The way they consolidate them within morphing psychoacoustic parameters is nothing short of compelling.
The unfathomable dimensions of their sound are gradually revealed in the unfurling sound field of Erster Teil (First Part), morphing the sound stage from the hushed glow of electric guitar and Richard Koch’s Henriksen-esque trumpet to the spatter of extended techniques against shifting backdrops which become the foreground, only to recede and leave the listener suspended in a sublime state, unsure of where they are or what to expect next. In this sense, Martyn Heyne of Efterklang’s “mix fuzz and fairy dust” comes into play in a way comparable to the lighting guy’s role in film or opera dramaturgy.
The 2nd movement, Zweiter Teil finds those experimental urges in dizzier flight, veering with almost schizoid form between the animalistic tussle of skillful abstraction and more urgent, controlled swells of percussion and vibes with an effect recalling Gruppo Di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza at full, psychoactive flex, whilst a 3rd movement Dritter Teil affords the widest angled perspective, zooming out to a melancholic plateau rendered in sliding, oily streaks of pitching trumpet strewn with windswept percussion which coalesces into a febrile scuffle sounding something like one of Rashad Becker’s noumenal Dances turned tempestuous, with drinks thrown, tables overturned and tents burned in the cranky finale.