Confront initiates their new Core Series with the text piece "There Is No Love" with David Sylvian on voice, vocal treatments and electronics, Rhodri Davies on harp, vibraphone and radio, and Mark Wastel on tam tam and percussion, a sophisticated spoken word piece of shadowy atmosphere and innuendo, leveraging approaches from experimental, improvised and composed music.
"Debut release in the new Confront Core Series imprint. New studio recording of the text piece There Is No Love which was premiered at Cafe OTO, London on 31st October 2016 as part of the Confront Recordings Twentieth Anniversary celebrations."-Confront
"David Sylvian has always divided opinion. For every passionate supporter there are half a dozen who will decry his every move as pretention. Even among his fanbase there are many who want him to do something more to their taste, along the lines of some past triumph like the Quiet Life/Tin Drum/Brilliant Trees/Blemish album (delete as applicable) that is their personal favourite. For Sylvian the answer is, I suspect, simple -- if you want to hear those records they are there for you in the catalogue, there is no need for him to repeat himself. It's a pattern that emerged with the confidence that he gained from the critical and fan acclaim for that remarkable trilogy of 1980s solo records that enabled him to make the transition from uncomfortable pop star to a position of rare creative freedom.
There is No Love a collaboration with Mark Wastell and Rhodri Davies is unlikely to change how Sylvian is perceived being closer to say 2014s There is a Light.... spoken word piece than say "Adolescent Sex" or even "Gone to Earth". Even on supportive Facebook groups reactions might reasonably be described as 'mixed' dividing between the ecstatic and complete bemusement with little middle ground. So it would be wrong to expect a rehash of old themes from this 30 minute spoken word piece premiered at London's Cafe Oto in 2015. The text that Sylvian carefully enunciates is by Bernard-Marie Koltes and is part of a longer play In the Solitude of Cotton Fields from 1985 that features a dialogue between two shadowy characters, the dealer and the client. Broadly this concerns a transaction -the nature of which is hinted at but not revealed. The eerie late night setting, the hints of violence ('not even the savage grapplings of man or beast at this hour...') and sex ('my melancholy virgin') added to Sylvian's tone conspire to suggest something illicit, hidden. The name the dealer suggests drugs, or a pimp perhaps, maybe even a devil harvesting souls, but nothing is explained.
It is even possible that Sylvian sees something of his relationship to the music industry in the transactional framework of Koltes' play -- but whether that be as the client in relation to an industry dealer, or the dealer as artist to the client as fan is unclear. Art and commerce are and always have been tightly intertwined -- for an artist to live they must find both an audience for their work and a way to reach them, leading to a series of transactions and potential compromises with the wider world. So when Sylvian speaks of the humility of the dealer approaching the client is it he who 'carries a weight that he must unload on whoever comes past, be they man or beast...' -reminiscent of 1984's "Backwaters," "Trying so very hard to please...." perhaps? But ultimately the piece is so open that any number of interpretations are possible and it is easy to get carried away in fanciful analysis, -the quality of the work is such that it draws you in encouraging repeated, concentrated, listens.
Davies and Wastell are long standing improvising partners having played with high profile Sylvian collaborators like John Tilbury, Derek Bailey and Evan Parker. Their work here is atmospheric and unsettling without distracting from the text -- you can sense the musical understanding between them built over many collaborations throughout. The set up for Sylvian's entrance, for example, is excellent building the atmosphere and tension to near the 8 minute mark, beyond the heavily distorted spoken repetition of the title, are around the 8 minute mark. There's a surprising wealth of detail in what first appears to be electronic minimalism -- the electronic hum in the opening section is tense, the tinnitus-like use of gentle distortion tones that adds to the pressure or the way that Wastell unsettles with chimes and bells, reminiscent of the way that the sound of clocks carries in a sparsely lit, near empty, square at night. The foreboding from the concert bass drum after the 'well then what weapon' at the conclusion of the spoken section is another example of how the piece draws you into its world.
If you connected with Sylvian's music into the 21st century then there is a good chance that you will find this to your liking, otherwise it is not going to change your view. While it is sad that such adventurous, literate, music will not be more widely appreciated -- for those who do connect with it this is a treat and an unqualified recommendation."-Phil Barnes, All About Jazz