SEC_
Moscaio
POLAND BOCIAN RECORDS BC-S CD (2013)
An Italian musician, SEC_ is Mimmo Napolitano, concerned primarily with the possibilities inherent in the old-fashioned Revox tape to tape recorder; a device once seen as the pinnacle of affordable studio mastering technology, but these days more a fetish object for recordists with the patience and deep pockets to keep the ever-decreasing numbers of these machines operational. And parts for these things are running out fast. There’s probably at least one A77 or B77 gathering dust, pushed to the back of a store cupboard in a commercial studio near you, displaced by today’s readily available mastering software algorithms. Which is a shame because even with their relatively spindly quarter-inch tape, these things sound lovely and do lend themselves very well to experimentation given a little time and effort with a razor blade and sellotape. However, Napolitano is no stranger to the digital world either, and declares his arsenal as including “no-input feedback, digital feedback, feeddrum, CRT TV etc”. I take it he is referring to this device, assessed by Wikipedia thus: “The Feed-Drum is an imperial bass drum with a system of electronic conditioning of the skin conceived by composer Michelangelo Lupone”. Quite how he derives sound from a Cathode Ray Tube is not clear, and we’re all familiar with the potential of no-input mixing desk by now, but the result of all this tinkering is an occasionally dense kind of “musique concrète” with a smooth surface of electronic other-worldliness. The fact that he has previous and ongoing projects with artists as diverse as Ken Vandermark, Jerome Noetinger, Valerio Tricoli and Dave Phillips makes listening to Moscaio no less impenetrable an experience.
We begin with ‘Swarm Of Flies’, seven minutes of abstract sonic psycho-drama, unfolding with a somewhat hidden narrative. This is followed by ‘Echolocation’, an electronic chittering, with small arms ordnance going off deep in the underground bowels of gigantic office buildings. ‘Becoming An Insect’ suggests house flies, and electronic flies, swatted by grand piano samples. At only 2 minutes 45 seconds, the fourth track, ‘Small Traces’, is the shortest piece on Moscaio. It is made up of vocal snippets, crackles, manipulated tapes and vinyl, all the time Napolitano keeps the source material obscured. All the elements are re-used and repeated until it attains a hideous climax. Finally, the title track suggests an android call and response routine of synthetic twitters. There are electronic shocks that sound like gunshots. And then, a passage where there are some disturbing looped assemblages of a woman’s gasps juxtaposed with harsh electronic smacks which, despite the metronomic editing, make it sound like we are witnessing some kind of robotic mugging. Or overhearing domestic violence. It came as a surprise to me and I’m not sure why it was used isolated in this way. Unpleasant, unnecessary and kind of spoils the whole record for me.
Overall, I found Moscaio quite a fatiguing experience, listening on the first play. There’s really so much going on, it is quite disorientating. Like if John Wall started working in the genres of Field Recording and Minimalism at the same time. But I’m not sure if that is a good thing. There is most certainly a whiff of the art gallery about it, whether real or in Napolitano’s fevered imagination. There’s no doubt he has successfully created an alien, unnatural soundscape, but I found that it takes a few listens to be able to comfortably inhabit it.
Stefano Perna, who initially included ‘Swarm of Flies’ in his programme “A short guide to becoming-bat” for Kunstradio in 2011, contributes sleevenotes concerned partially with his own interest in the electromagnetic spectrum and partially with Mimmo Napolitano’s possible working methods. He uses the phrase “..a deeply altered technical world…” which I think sums up Moscaio very well. Presented in a three panel foldover card sleeve decorated with monochrome photographs of a piece of redundant industry by Wojtek Mszyca Jr.