HMS 000 / P|1
Limited to 500 copies with hand rusted covers
out of print
Sound much more than visual culture or the poetics of
language often eludes the self-explanation of from demonstrative
signifiers. In categorizing sound within the semiotic
realm, contemporary post-structuralist theories and
utopian ideologies may add baroque flourishes to the
sound work at hand; but such overemphasis upon intention
over execution has the potential to leave the work aesthetically
hollow. Thus it is not uncommon to find within experimental
musics that meaning is assigned to the work before an
audience can develop a critical reading for themselves.
Collaborating under the moniker Coelacanth, Loren Chasse
and Jim Haynes have intentionally reversed this dialogue
to put the aesthetic process ahead of a conceptual manifestation
by favoring evocation, empathy, and transcendence through
sound. Initially, Coelacanth's quest may have been to
engage the drone supreme, an aesthetic previously sought
by C.M. von Hausswolff, Morton Feldman, and :zoviet*france:.
Yet, the duo is known to get distracted by the minutiae
of sound itself, or some instantaneous revelation about
the history of decay, or simply the sublime beauty of
nature. The drone in fact does go on, but it's course
is quite circuitous.
The Chronograph is the debut release from Coelacanth.
The album opens with an lengthy passage of creakingly
creepy submariner ambience as if the oxidization process
itself had been amplified within the realm of the audible.
Spiked electrical surges and controlled feedback oscillations
build the intensity of the album, until Coelacanth unleashes
their symphony of tiny whirring machines, gritty textual
striations, and clattering pulsations. The Chronograph
then descends into a blissful tone float of dense bell
reverberations and oceanic washes of shortwave. Independent
of each other, both Haynes and Chasse have qualified
this album as 'phosphorescent'.