This second slab of vinyl for the Spectrum Spools label is a reissue from Chris Madak’s Bee Mask, originally released on the Gift Tapes label in an edition of 200. The new Editions Mego offshoot ups the ante, pumping out a veritable overabundance (500) of this relatively short and intensely compelling release. The LPs wont be stashed under Mark McGuire or Peter Rehberg’s beds for too long then! Solo synth albums haven’t been this thick on the ground since the prog-tastic 70s or coldwave 80s, and the neo-kosmiche vibe is both unashamedly retro and furiously forward-looking at the same time. Bee Mask drift in a curious current, twisting and surging more than the soporific Sargasso Sea-vibes of many contemporary artists.
The press release suggests that Canzoni dal Laboratorio del Silenzio Cosmico, will sit beside such iconoclastic experimental music labels as France’s INA-GRM and the creepy minimalism of Lovely Music. The weight of history bears down on these back catalogues, and only fate will decree if Bee Mask’s 2010 opus is looked upon in such glowing terms in future times. I listened to this album repeatedly over a few months, attempting to decipher a listening experience that seemed more riddle-like and chimeric with each exposure. Reminiscent of the circular nature of Nurse With Wound’s 2002 album, Man With the Woman Face, Bee Mask took me on a journey, but I’m not entirely sure where.
“Side 1” slinks into being, all glacial synth squiggles and coughing frogs. Jogging arpeggios wash around and sluice over you like a thousand Masi tribesmen dancing in your head to a ritual you cannot begin to comprehend. Space-bound synths ring out like Manuel Göttsching, itching their way into your synapses. The mating calls of long-limbed wading birds emanate from the shores of a muddy lake, before a Bruce Haack “Hush Little Robot” style ambient interlude sways and trills. “Side 2” comes across like Popol Vuh’s score for Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, being reinterpreted by T++ in his Various Artists guise, before being hijacked by a belligerent Bontempi organist who plays like Eliane Radigue. Tsunamis of bass heavy distortion burst forth, rapidly replaced by a Kraut-esque hypnogogic hypnotism suitable as the soundtrack of a trek to the high peaks of a mysterious Mesoamerican temple complex. Canzoni dal Laboratorio del Silenzio Cosmico – a perfect accompaniment by which to read a book by Carlos Castaneda.
Oliver Laing
