The Pale Catalog is a monochromatic gouache of “completed stereo mixes of [the]generative experiments” that went into the making of K. Leimer´s The Grey Catalog, itself a full, acrylic palette of percussion, guitar, bass, found sound and analogue and digital accessories.
In handing this source material over to erstwhile collaborator Bill Seaman (the two have an album called Deformation due out this year), “composition,” Leimer writes, thereby “follows rather than precedes recording.” Appropriately, Seaman is credited with “deconstruction, reprocessing, reconstruction” (which sounds like he put in enough work to warrant a front-cover credit).
On The Grey Catalog, Leimer´s music, typically a master class in harmony through juxtaposition, falls like fifty different types of rain. Caught in a barrel, Seaman, a veteran multimedia artist and professor of art, art history and visual studies at Duke University, spills its contents, spreading out in all directions, an animated Rorschach that increases and decreases in thickness, depending on the wind. Though concluding by raising its edgier, percussive hackles, The Pale Catalog is soft in focus, evoking a fugue state, wandering off with no sense of the familiar, no recognizable landmark. Out of a diverse collection of short stories (Leimer´s pieces were composed over the course of two years), Seaman has crafted hazy, ambient blank verse.