It’s not exactly a “band” in the conventional sense, and though we have a long list of names here the Orchestra has had a fluid line-up under the aegis of its founder Eufrasio Prate; part of the strategy has been to encourage participation from people who wouldn’t normally think of making music, nor call themselves improvisers or anything of this sort. Prate’s come-all-ye approach is to invite both trained and amateur musicians, experimenters, and pretty much anyone who might be curious or open-minded enough to join in. One might also think that this is “laptop music”, but in fact it’s trying to embrace a wide swathe of digital technology and IT, including music generated by algorithms and use of interactive software. Some of the software has been designed by Eufrasio Prate. Perhaps surprisingly, it seems that the webcam or video camera is one of the more important parts of the set-up, and I get the impression that the sound is created by bodily gestures of the hand or arm, rather than simply “playing” a computer, as the Mego guys used to do over 20 years ago. Then there’s the use of chance, and playful game-inspired devices (such as rolling dice) to generate rules for composition and performance; Eufrasio Prate’s intention is to push performers outside of their comfort zone, and part of this is to include elements of unpredictability and rule-breaking. A typical concert – if there was such a thing – of the Brasilia Laptop Orchestra would involve each player controlling their own speaker and their own sound, and no two players in the room would hear the same thing depending on their position in the arena, hinting at radical sound-shifting strategies taking place in real time. Not content with all this, Brasilia Laptop Orchestra carry a message of hope for all mankind – in creating their on-stage environments, they’re aiming at an “ecosophic” condition that fosters a respect for the world’s ecology, and proposes a model of social inclusion too.

Well, full marks for the ideas – and there’s no doubting the sincerity of Eufrasio Prate with his well-meaning strategies for fomenting a species of controlled chaos. Bonus points too for allowing non-musicians into the charmed circle and achieving a strong inclusivity balance. But the actual music is less than satisfactory; disorganised, flat, a jumble of unexciting and meaningless sounds. A lot of the techniques and ideas here have already been successfully used elsewhere; for instance, the Music In Movement Electronic Orchestra (MIMEO) active since 1998, many of the electro-acoustic improvisers represented on the Erstwhile or Mikroton labels, and the Great International Audio Streaming Orchestra, hi-jacking the channels of the internet since 2012. For all the claims that are being made in the press release here, one was hoping for music and sound that was more engaging, that activates the mind, and inspires us towards action. Conversely, when faced with this soggy morass of half-hearted samples and noise, one starts to feel little more than fatigue and ennui.

Prates and his collaborators have moved on from Brasilia Laptop Orchestra now, and are more involved in live streaming events and the use of Artificial Intelligence; both hot topics, for sure, but they are also very fashionable trends, the latter driven by some very questionable motives. I would prefer to see art that challenges the assumptions behind these trends, rather than blindly embrace whatever new technology is in the air. From 7th October 2022.

On Repetitive Parts (NO LABEL), he’s produced seven short pieces in this way, each one a puzzling gem of highly-abstracted digital language, very far removed from music as we understand it; no tunes, no rhythm. However, there are organic components, a fact he is keen to emphasise; the structures are organic, he’s using more field recordings, and he’s trying to emulate the cycles of nature in some way. He’s also aware of modern dance music, but wants to escape the “mathematical precision” of that genre, hence his strenuous efforts to resist any kind of four-beats-to-the bar grid or other recognisable shapes in his music. As I write this, I perceive there’s a certain dichotomy in his plan, as if he’s striving to be both natural and unnatural at the same moment, on the one hand rejoicing in the joys of the sunrise and meadows, on the other hand spurning the predictable results of computers enslaved to the soulless dance-music factory. If that observation is halfway true, it might lend the album a certain kind of tension as Spruit attempts to resolve his mental dilemma, working it out in real time.

As it stands, the results are almost inhuman and very challenging to listen to; he certainly has moved on a lot since we first heard his music in 2009, a time when he was doing it with turntables and mixing desks, but still managing to cause alarm and distress in the audience when he did it live. Thankfully, despite this focus on compacted digital shards and tersely-edited samples, he hasn’t quite retreated into an unfathomable and inscrutable world as yet. Cover art of an agonised face and bloody hands may lead listener to expect a tad more humanity and guts than are actually present on the record. (02/11/2021)

Oleg Makarov seems to be fairly new to this bloodthirsty game, but he’s a strong contender with his two scorching tracks here, of which the first is a splendid episode of coarse, broken, rumbly noise…once that concrete mixer is fired up, Oleg doesn’t quit until the factory whistle slaps him over the head, and even then he carries his work home with him in a plastic tub. Apparently he does it using a mix of DIY home-made electronics and synths, along with the more familiar Max/MSP software. Grinding along in this over-crowded, rough-hewn and highly textured mix we can hear something resembling badly-made factory equipment, a conveyor belt sending malformed consumer goods off to the packing department. What I appreciate is the complete lack of a regular, predictable pulse; the music is highly erratic, charged, and potentially dangerous. Makarov has a real flair for controlling his devices and this is a highly promising blast from the innards of his laptop. The second shorter piece is OK, showcasing the charms of close-miked objects tumbling about with a backdrop of gnat-like synths a buzzing. Makarov could turn out to be a Russian dsic; look forward to hearing more from his dented laptop.

More electronic music on the flip, this time from the ubiquitous Ilia Belorukov, the undisputed “king” of the St Petersburg honeycombs…he’s here with Sergey Kostyrko, the co-owner of Spina!Rec label, and we’ve heard his numerous contributions to several tapes on that imprint. Their ‘Unnecessarily Same Measure’ is a grisly sizzler lasting 23:47 and made using modular synths…it seems as though this modular way of working is really gaining ground with musicians these days, and I wish I knew more about how it all fits together. On this occasion Belorukov/Kostyrko really make the boxes sing for their dog-biscuits, turning them through 180 degrees and expecting triple back-flips into a bucket full of wet cement. The surface of this non-natural grindery stops short of being repellent; you could use its harsh qualities to turn the Prosecco sour, every time you walk past a bar full of yummy-mummies who have decided it’s gin o’clock. At least Makorov’s side lets you pause for a gulp of ether from the tanks every few minutes, but this Siamese fighting fish doesn’t believe in taking a tea-break, and once you’re strapped in to this lacerating funfair ride there’s nowhere else to go but forward into the wall of knives. Even so, the dynamics of this snakeroo are pretty extreme and crazy, showing just what two guys with industrial fans mounted in their chests can do. From 27th June 2019.

Latvian goddess and multi-media artist Jelena Glazova was last noted by us in 2015, when we spun her split tape with Grigorij Avrorin and found much to relish in the “disconcerting bleak industrial noise” thus generated. Here she offers up two tracks of her cold, relentless, chattering: ‘One Breath of a Flesh Machine’ is a JG Ballard-inflected title for seven minutes of hideously creepy white noise, arranged in pulsating patterns that strike menace into the heart of any passing human being. It comes to something when we’re perceived as mere “flesh machines” by all the cyborgs who now rule the earth, and presumably we’re in the minority now. For those of us who remain, this bitter blast will be our theme tune…as for ‘Serene Sleep Between Death’s Legs’, this is a quite good piece of process drone with filters and layers a-plenty, but it doesn’t roll forth with quite the same dystopian terror-drive. She makes this music with “vocals, controllers, and laptop”, and demonstrates the same sort of mastery over her equipment as a dog breeder with 15 mastiffs at her command. From 24 January 2018.

Dehaanspruit at Bandcamp

Two quantum level explorations of the musical underverse, starting with a Japanese-Canadian collaboration. Airs presents four live in the studio performances for self-made instruments and magnetic pickups, from musicians/installation artists Takahiro Kawaguchi, Tim Olive and Makoto Oshiro. It’s very, very quiet, but too spiky to be properly called ambient.

The music, such as it is, unfolds in pulses of resonance and metallic vibration, interspersed with sine waves, rattlings and tinklings. Track 3 introduces some barely-there bass to the mix, and some electronic buzzing, as if someone was taking the opportunity for a quick shave. Track 4 brings in some rhythmic elements, like the world’s first nanotech drum solo. Most of the time, however, you’re listening to the sound of space and air, which makes the title particularly well chosen.

Whilst listening to this, and trying to decide if I was hearing music or just my own tinnitus, I came across an article about a new metal developed by the Boeing Company, a micro-lattice that is 99.99% air. These tracks are the audio equivalent.

Spruit
Small Bits of Indigenous Space Between The Grains
NO NUMBER CDR (2015)

Compared to Airs, Spruit’s offering sounds like The Who Live At Leeds, but it shows a similar fascination with microscopic detail. Spruit is Dutch musician Marc Spruit, who for this release has abandoned his previous work with turntables and taken a step into the wonderful world of laptops and software.

The tracks on Small Bits Of Indigenous Space Between The Grains are digital cut-ups, created from old toys and radios, no-input mixing boards and virtual synths. The resulting bleeps, bloops and burblings have been run through the audio processor and chopped up into small samples, which are then used as components for longer improvisations.

All tracks are named for their running times and, to my ears at least, have very little to distinguish one from the other. Still, it’s quite a fascinating listen. The overall effect is like a musical double-slit experiment, with the sound displaying the characteristics of both waves and particles. Again, it’s all too spiky to be called ambient music, unless the ambience you’re aiming for is “cosmic background radiation”.

Interesting experiments, if nothing else.

By contrast, what’s the general vibe that oozes off LF035? It’s depressing, bleak, broken, dismal and rather gloomy…incoherent slices of vague and nondescript noises adding up to less than zero. I hasten to add that this is not a negative assessment and I count this achievement as a complete triumph…it suggests how the golden dreams of computer technology have become tarnished very quickly…the possibilities of the internet are shown to be a rusty steel trap instead of the limitless freedom we’d hoped for…the promised bottomless pits of information have turned out out to be barrels full of gibberish and trivial inanities…and all software and web services are in the hands of multinational corporations, sucking the life out of our bodies through our very fingertips as we blindly stumble along in the social media quagmire.

Contributors to this nightmare include Anla Courtis, Astral Social Club, dsic, Ian Watson, Phil Julian, Seth Cooke, and TX Ogre (those are the names I’ve heard of). All of these have distinguished themselves on record with their strong personalities and musical flavours, but what’s interesting is how they surrender their identities and all merge together on this comp, whether by accident or by the design of the compiler, and most of the sounds we hear advance the agenda proposed above. Net result is a superb absurdist update on the industrial noise genre, full of alienating emotions, strange chilling beauty, grisly noise, fragmented sketches and bizarre drones. Great! Arrived 5th September 2014.

The record by G.I.A.S.O. – the Great International Audio Streaming Orchestra – appears to be the latest missive in a series of dispatches from “internet orchestras”, of which the previous manifestations known to us include APO33 and their 2013 record BOT: Compositions Continuums des Machines, and the laptop trio pizMO. Very coincidentally, the same names tend to turn up among all these projects, and they are all released by Fibrr Records. On G.I.A.S.O. (FIBRR:014), we hear music which has been captured live at various festivals in Bourges and Bergen between 2013 and 2015, while the sleeve prints the names of numerous pan-European members of the orchestra between 2012 and 2014 – including Jenny Pickett, thenoiser, Kadet Kuhne, Crdik Croll, Romain Papion, Julien Ottavi, and many more.

Unlike the grim Computer Music above, this CD offers a far more sanguine view of the prospects which IT can offer us for music creation, sharing, collaborating, and creativity. The project proposes that the music created exists in the internet, an arena of freedom which is embraced for its liberating possibilities for collaboration and “collective sound production”, and when it comes to a live performance, it’s mostly a matter of turning on a stream of musical data – drawn from numerous musical channels – and recomposing / re-ordering this stream in the live venue. In so doing, one of the things they wish to do is challenge the old notions of what an orchestra is, and propose new compositional forms…I suppose a lot of this derives from the fact that there is no single “location” to the sound, it’s all just gobbets of digital data residing somewhere in “the cloud”, and the 19th-century idea that violinists have to travel to a concert venue and appear in person to perform music under the baton of a conductor, is being undermined. The other side to it is the emergence of a “virtual musician”, where the orchestra members are only known (if at all) by their online names, and it’s not crystal clear who is contributing what at any one time. To further demonstrate their altruistic intentions, the record is released under a Creative Commons License, another internet phenomenon which was invented in order to free up creative sharing of content and ideas from the old restrictions of copyright law. The very fluid membership of G.I.A.S.O. likewise contributes to this part of the plan, dispensing with the old ideology of egos and star performers.

As ever, when being spun these ambitious ideas about radical recreations of music, one finds the actual sound of the record a little disappointing; this album, for instance, is mostly continuous streams of samey-sounding digital murk and drone, with only occasional variations which don’t seem to do much to redirect the river of content in interesting new directions. But it’s still a compelling drone, one which simultaneously lulls you into a false sense of security with its purring tones, while still keeping an undercurrent of slightly edgy noise bubbling beneath the surface. The lengthy, drifting nature of each piece can often steer the listener into an unexpected and even somewhat bleak backwater of unfamiliar tones; much the same dangers as you find when surfing the net, in fact. Even if the finished results seem a bit lacking in dynamics, I still applaud the ideas and the methodology here. From 5th September 2014.

Also from Miguel, the Moscow Sessions part 1 & 2 tape (GALP-9), a summit conference of international noise and laptop buzzers at which he assisted. Actually it’s more accurately characterised as a private discussion or a seminar held in camera. Alexei Borisov, who (along with Ilia Belorukov and Kurt Liedwart) is the go-to guy when you’re talking weird anti-social noise on The Steppes, organised this meeting in June 2013 at Prospekt Vernadskogo and has now released same on tape. Present were García, Borisov, Jelena Glazova (the Latvian visual artist, sound artist and poetess), Xavier Lopez (electronicist from Paris), Kiwanoid (curator and lecturer from the Estonian Academy of the Arts), and Vitaly Elektronoizov. Together the massed equipment of these creators brings forth a fairly enticing brew of fizz, throbbage, wild bleeping, and all the attendant digital-process marmalade that spills endlessly from the contemporary vat of soundfile generation. With six heads in the room, little remains by way of fresh oxygen for the listener, and it’s a case of either pay attention and listen or suffocate to death. No space remains unfilled, as surely as if we were dealing with six over-zealous building contractors in a roomful of cracks, and one large tub of Polyfilla between them. It’s a rich fug of noise, but I was hoping for something with a little more solidity to it. From 11 August 2014.

Pluta and Snyder are just the men you can trust with this job, assuming you’d ever appoint them to rebuild your house. Pluta’s work is endorsed by us at TSP 112%, and his thrilling semi-improvised group compositions are recommended listening, if you want to learn about new directions in this area since John Zorn [1. I have no idea what I mean by this. I have some vague visions of New York lofts populated with wild-eyed arty types, doing without sleep for three days, nothing but a jar of pickles in the fridge. But these words are lifted from a description by Eric Bogosian of his early performance art days.]. On this record, he’s cutting up rough with a laptop programmed with his own custom-built software. Jeff Snyder goes even further in terms of the rugged-individualist hand-made approach, and plays an analogue modular synth which he designed and built himself. A true Gyro Gearloose type, seems he’s even built some “invented instruments” which can be used to play a warped form of early music. He probably travels around New York City on roller skates which he operates like Scalextric cars, while reading the Daily News on his home-made tablet which he built out of the printed circuits from a 1990s toaster oven and an old Etch-a-Sketch. The image inside the CD shows a photo of these two New Yorkers, heavily Photoshopped, suggesting visually how they are becoming at one with their machines, dissolving into the patchboards and printed circuits as surely as the hapless adventurer in Tron. The album title however is totally organic (non-digital) and refers to a class of microbe that can survive in very inhospitable places, such as hot springs or marshes. These mighty microbes can even make their home in the human body, which is probably what exclusiveOr would like to do – implant themselves in your system and gradually take it over. If you wish to participate in this cruel and unusual experiment, this CD is for you. From 5th July 2013.

pizMO is a collective / collaborative entity that could be enormous and diffuse, wishing to project a façade of anonymity while also claiming to be a hydra-headed entity of many creators, although it may just as likely be the laptop trio of Christophe Havard, Jerome Joy and Julien Ottavi. The group sent us a copy of blst (FIBRR RECORDS 012) in June 2013. This current line-up is the “born-again” incarnation of the group which began 13 years ago with Joy, Ottavi and Yannick Dauby. In describing this work, terms bandied about include “environments” and “audio architecture”, suggestive of a large-scale distribution of events, statements, and effusions happening – very fleetingly and temporarily – in places which cannot even be identified with any certainty. Ay, it’s hard to pin down exactly what’s going on with this assemblage of live recordings, captured from festivals in France and Norway during 2012, but for over 53 minutes you will experience a continuous barrage of formless, bewildering and strangely exciting electronic music, dispersed over a wide area without explanation or context.

As you have gathered, pizMO have high ambitions for their music, hoping to somehow bypass conventional means of communication and presentation, and even transcend the limits of human perception to some degree; they’d be pleased to see all forms of centralised system collapse, and want to place themselves in the centre of a musical revolution. This is all expressed in a manifesto printed on the artworks, stated in English and in French. Their attitude is redolent of a certain impatience with the way things are (narrow, confined, predictable, monolithic), and a desire to find some new, secret, invisible space of vitality where their music can freely exist and thrive in a near-infinite continuum. The main thing is to ignore and undermine the dominant music industry, and especially concepts of ownership; the work is made available under “copyleft” terms. A lot of this, it seems to me, is about bumping one’s head on technological limits; I get the feeling that pizMO would love to exist as an unending stream of digital data if they could, transmitted forever around the world across broadband networks, and made freely available to the people. The actual music /sound they make is not so incendiary or innovative as any of this may imply, but when it doesn’t lapse into meaningless white noise, this is a very engaging listen, with many unexpected swoops and slippery sensations.