A Viennese two-piece, mining a under-represented strain of “unplugged technoâ€, named after a Dutch port, record a minimal, hypnotic and single-minded album of seven tunes, referencing a country in SE Asia. Confused? You bet! So, was I when I received Cambodia for review –the music inside felt so inscrutable and impenetrable that it has taken many a headphone sojourn in order to come to grips with Rotterdam, so to speak. Organic textures and human derived rhythms have a certain lopsidedness about the timing that stands separate from the lock step of a quantized computer rhythm. Arthur Russell’s productions come to mind, not so much in sound, but in the wonky humanity on show. A somewhat more contemporary reference point would be Reanimator’s Special Powers CD on the Community Library label, recorded straight to two-track tape. Cambodia is a perfectly formed, unique album that is abstract, experimental and minimal but still keeps a weather eye on the dance floor. Although it might be a discotheque inhabited by curiously double-jointed hipsters in thrall to abstract electronics, modern classical and Basic Channel in equal proportion.
Michael Klauser’s hypnotic guitar strums and thumps are perfectly complimented by Susanne Amann’s cello and flute. They both dally with electronics as well, looping the base material into new and wonderful shapes. ‘Eckig’ has a dark narcolepsy-derived womb-beat that follows on from ‘Supsup’ — all perky changes and sing-along feel. Imagine T++, Konono No. 1 and Hildur Guðnadóttir getting together for Pulsinger and Tunakan’s Cheap label. ‘Berlin’ is the sound of a skiffle band falling downstairs in an endless loop. There are an amazing variety of sounds and textures being created by Rotterdam’s assumedly limited resources. For instance, Susan’s forceful bowing of the cello comes across like Chewbacca the Wookie in an amorous mood. ‘Cambodia’ sounds much more Berlin-esque, and evokes a similar dub-infused aesthetic as Pole (Cambodia was mastered by Stefan Betke) or the rolling syncopation of Torsten Pröfrock ‘s long-dormant Log alias. Drums and keys slowly become more prominent in the mix, and this mesmeric journey could quite easily roll on for double its length. Rounding out the album with ‘Zimzike’, the duo conjures up a beautiful tension of repetitive beats and cello feedback, which has the feel of some long-lost Faust outtake. Hypnotic guitar lines float on the ether and slowly we lift into the stratosphere…
Oliver Laing
*
