Grapes of Nothingness
Two people. A Telecaster guitar with a few effect pedals. A drum machine. An audio interface is connected to a laptop. The ingredients are simple yet effective.
But any suggestion of four-track cassette machines and vintage bedsit productions is quickly dispelled by digital dubbiness and refined arrangements. A tail of reversed echos. The crystalline flourish of octave-pitched delays. Riddled hi-hats tickle and taunt. A bass drum asserts its space.
Winkler's guitar patterns have a fragmented, almost haphazard connotation. Searching in a shimmer of reverb. Until the beat, the framework, sets in to reveal structure. Intentionality. Reihse's programmed rhythms go just to the point of a groove, holding the moment of tension, knowingly delaying the gratification. Beats that have scratchy patina anda subtly playful edge; their crispness stands in contrast to the contemplative drift of the guitar. Is it a trance? Or a dance? Yes.
There are some apparent references here: a good portion of Les Disques du Crépuscule, some kraut-esque electronica, even a smidgen of Morricone / Spaghetti Western, blending into a kind of Musique Noir – yet these serve as a set of orientational coordinates, rather than quotations.
This is so far the most assured release by Periode, perhaps eschewing some of the naiveté that was wilfully cultivated in earlier output – there is no cheeky cover version this time. And no singing either. The nine pieces have the quality of a series, a variation on a mood, or a subset of moods. What emerges is an inviting swagger in the face of bleakness. There is a profound melancholy, but it is not the darker kind, and does not exclude humour.
Original: $40.00
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$12.00Grapes of Nothingness
Two people. A Telecaster guitar with a few effect pedals. A drum machine. An audio interface is connected to a laptop. The ingredients are simple yet effective.
But any suggestion of four-track cassette machines and vintage bedsit productions is quickly dispelled by digital dubbiness and refined arrangements. A tail of reversed echos. The crystalline flourish of octave-pitched delays. Riddled hi-hats tickle and taunt. A bass drum asserts its space.
Winkler's guitar patterns have a fragmented, almost haphazard connotation. Searching in a shimmer of reverb. Until the beat, the framework, sets in to reveal structure. Intentionality. Reihse's programmed rhythms go just to the point of a groove, holding the moment of tension, knowingly delaying the gratification. Beats that have scratchy patina anda subtly playful edge; their crispness stands in contrast to the contemplative drift of the guitar. Is it a trance? Or a dance? Yes.
There are some apparent references here: a good portion of Les Disques du Crépuscule, some kraut-esque electronica, even a smidgen of Morricone / Spaghetti Western, blending into a kind of Musique Noir – yet these serve as a set of orientational coordinates, rather than quotations.
This is so far the most assured release by Periode, perhaps eschewing some of the naiveté that was wilfully cultivated in earlier output – there is no cheeky cover version this time. And no singing either. The nine pieces have the quality of a series, a variation on a mood, or a subset of moods. What emerges is an inviting swagger in the face of bleakness. There is a profound melancholy, but it is not the darker kind, and does not exclude humour.
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Description
Two people. A Telecaster guitar with a few effect pedals. A drum machine. An audio interface is connected to a laptop. The ingredients are simple yet effective.
But any suggestion of four-track cassette machines and vintage bedsit productions is quickly dispelled by digital dubbiness and refined arrangements. A tail of reversed echos. The crystalline flourish of octave-pitched delays. Riddled hi-hats tickle and taunt. A bass drum asserts its space.
Winkler's guitar patterns have a fragmented, almost haphazard connotation. Searching in a shimmer of reverb. Until the beat, the framework, sets in to reveal structure. Intentionality. Reihse's programmed rhythms go just to the point of a groove, holding the moment of tension, knowingly delaying the gratification. Beats that have scratchy patina anda subtly playful edge; their crispness stands in contrast to the contemplative drift of the guitar. Is it a trance? Or a dance? Yes.
There are some apparent references here: a good portion of Les Disques du Crépuscule, some kraut-esque electronica, even a smidgen of Morricone / Spaghetti Western, blending into a kind of Musique Noir – yet these serve as a set of orientational coordinates, rather than quotations.
This is so far the most assured release by Periode, perhaps eschewing some of the naiveté that was wilfully cultivated in earlier output – there is no cheeky cover version this time. And no singing either. The nine pieces have the quality of a series, a variation on a mood, or a subset of moods. What emerges is an inviting swagger in the face of bleakness. There is a profound melancholy, but it is not the darker kind, and does not exclude humour.
