Brion Gysin has become synonymous with that perilous technique known as
the cut-up, that would-be form of divination which immobilizes the
historical moment, isolates a scattering of details from the totality, and
in their rearrangement reveals that the revenge of the repressed comes
from nowhere else but the future. A closed continuity of progression has
little chance to materialize in such a setting. Parrying before the need
for homeostatic balance, Gysin, Tessa (cello and bass), Steve Noble
(drums), Jail (percussion), and Ramuntcho Matta (guitar and electronics)
instead emphasize the marginal discourses that normally call for
repression. Here, compositions are homogeneous and rectilinear,
emphasizing a decentered network of plural processes in which the unity of
a given experience of meaning is shown to be supported by a pure
meaningless signifier without the signified.
"Learning" is a twenty-five minute lecture during which Gysin leapfrogs
from recollections of Gene Gennett, to the nature of gifts and teaching.
In so doing, language is trumpeted as something of a blind autonomous
mechanism. Gysin holds that this deferral of language, that is to say, of
one's innermost feelings onto this process, this cut-up technique which
then acts in one's stead, harbors a certain liberating potential, allowing
one to glean the underlying truth of a statement or text. How much this
is in fact the case is neither here nor there. At any rate, Gysin's
incisions and combinations prove fairly fruitful. Insofar as Gysin and
co. transfer onto this process much of the responsibility for maintaining
the smooth running of things, they gain space in which to enjoy themselves
and assert their own will. This they do on "Illusion" and others, when a
layered, fuzzed out, huge swirl of every assaulting sonic gesture
imaginable is played with some aplomb. When not employing a restrained
yet irregular vernacular, full of hellishly scything riffs, electronic
abuse, and Gysin's hollering vocals, they stitch together somber, gray
patches of feral noise that brim with a grainy naivety.
Where these energetic compositions allow for a passive reaction of
satisfaction on the part of the listener, the spoken word gambits strip
one of this pleasure, encouraging participation not only on the level of
the unfolding event, but below, in the very establishment of its rules.
In the oscillation between these poles, one thereby has the opportunity to
beat one's head in time and in trance - making this a welcome revisitation
of one of contemporary music's more prolific figures.
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