Promulgating that figs don’t grow on thistles, one may look upon nature as something of a primordial mother, as something we grew out of rather than were born into. If it tickles one’s fancy, one might see the oceans as God’s tears – hence our desire to drown in them, as a short-cut to God through his tears. With Storm, sound archivist Chris Watson and experimental electronica musician BJ Nilsen forge a certain perspective and approach to nature, recording a series of large storms as they developed across the North Sea and Scandinavia during December of 2000.
These pieces offer a depiction of nature which is neither as mystical nor as motherly as the two aforementioned stories. Rather, the raw carnal force of nature and its ability to rupture the course of events with consummate indifference is paid close, careful attention. On ‘No Man’s Land’, in particular, this frenetic element in nature is not only manifested, but it is pushed into overdrive, volatized, and perfected by Watson’s editing and mixing prowess. Stitched together from a smattering of recordings captured along the North Sea over the course of five years, the thin, high-pitched and often tortured voices of an assortment of sea animals bristle with electricity and unease. Each new tidal surge of waves, scouring winds and squawking seagulls breaks the continuity of things and seems unreal, yet they make their entrance with stupefying ease. Nilsen’s piece, meanwhile, stands on the opposite side of the spectrum, sounding almost archaic as it opts for a trajectory which gives the work a very real sense of time and place.
At an hours length, the final track is a collage of sounds gathered from each of the artists respective geographical locations. As a result of the processing involved, the track dithers between the real and the imaginary – oscillating between representing particular events in stark clarity to tweaking and shrouding the details. The effect has something of the uncanny about it – all of the elements are familiar enough and can be traced back to tangible origins, yet arranged as they are, the whole appears foreign, peculiar; too theatrical to be real, yet plainly there.
Max Schaefer
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