The 3 cm CD format exerts a considerable gravitational pull on audio culturists world-wide. Its compact attractions show no signs of diminishing, and why should it? While some struggle with the almost limitless scale of the conventional CD (with all respect to those file share enthusiasts who don’t even go there), there’s a steady supply of concise, single-concept works on the mini-media, with all the accompanying virtues that come of “smallness”.
Sam Hamilton’s Tumbling Strain series is a very respectable manifestation of this approach. But, true to un-form, neither of the 2 new Sam Hamilton 3cm discs are on his own label, but come from the Wine Cellar (the label of the venue) and Tim Coster’s Claud imprint.
Mr Hamilton, for whom the title “hardest working hu-man in Auckland experimental music” might not be inappropriate, has his fingers (toes, ears, elbows etc) in many very different musical pies. But these three new releases are actually quite consistent in tone, if not colour.
“Low Hill” is the shortest of the bunch, at nine and a half minutes, but also the most eventful. It’s a mini-compendium of Sam’s various sonic directions – glitch and hiss, acoustic improv, minimal tones. For me, being inclined in my listening to seek signs of organisation and intention, it’s a complete winner. The whole piece is built on a theme of a select few tones and crackling loops that are insistently re-ordered and gnawed away at. The interludes of live drum textures provide a breathy layer – like someone has opened a window in a murky room. On first listen, the drums came across as a bit too grafted, but as part of the whole its sunk in as just one of several inspired choices of elements that come together to make a composite of much more than the individual parts. Not really menacing, not simply ambient, not quite a song, almost a story; and all of the above.
Compared to the stylistic fusion of Low Hill, “Gaza” feels more formal, ritualised – which seems fitting given that Sam is providing a setting for recordings made by his Grandmother, Grace Blindell, on the streets of Gaza in the 1980’s. The harmonium is beautifully recorded, so it’s constant drone is suitably rich and enveloping. The vibrant tone is gradually subjected to spatial processing while percussion textures give a fairly blunt sense of depth. The slow overture gets pummeled by some highly intrusive, but not unwelcome, electronics before Grace and her Gaza Street impressions enter for a long tailing out to just the field recordings. The cheery horns of Gaza motorists and the many voices that filter through, including Grace’s occasional commentary, keep up the listening interest. Less seductive than Low Hill, but still a rich listen.
In the present company, the standard CD size “Static” disc must qualify as the epic of them all, though still barely over 30 minutes. The welding torch drone and dentist drill high tones make this a tough headphone experience. But once the ears accustom, there’s quite a level of detail in “Static Death” - you could say, orchestral. As the title suggests, there’s less obvious movement, which has me heading for the kitchen to find something to do whilst still listening. The overlay of piano and bells is well-executed, another example of Sam’s concern for combinations, contrasts and good ol’ fashioned, uncomplicated mutli-tracking. The longer “Static Birth” rides by on a more welcoming throbbing, polyphonic drone. Although it had the needed tension to draw me in, I just felt it went on too long and ended on a bit of a dull note with trippy, processed piano. Bliss, for me, not quite achieved.
Still, there’s enough gems on this cluster of limited edition discs to start your own greatest hits collection. At Sam’s current rate, by the time you read this there could well be a few more. Get cracking.
John Kennedy
Sam Hamilton contact:
samukun@gmail.com