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LABEL PROFILE PENUMBRA In the anatomy of shadows, the penumbra is the portion that lets in light. By contrast, the umbra is a shadow’s space composed of total darkness. It is thus fitting that Umbra Records’ sub-label, Penumbra, is, well, a bit more sonically luminescent then its invariably foreboding, dark drone counterpart. While Penumbra is composed of mini-CDR recordings that aesthetically are identical to the Umbra releases, they nonetheless last no more than 30 minutes each. It is an understatement to describe Penumbra’s output as prolific. Gianluigi Gasparetti has unleashed, in a word, a veritable tsunami of some 46 recordings (including some EP reissues that bring together early, now out of print, offerings) within less than a twelve month period during 2005/2006. More than half of these releases involve Gasparetti’s alias Oophoi, so one might be tempted to write the whole series off as an ego-stroking drone flagellation-fest. Although flawed in its rather narrow sonic palette—not surprising considering Oophoi’s incessant lust for reverb drenched synth-induced vibrations and hum that, indeed, only very deep listenings can often decipher differentially—the Penumbra series does contain some inspired moments, particularly among lesser known artists appearing solo or in collaboration with Gasparetti. Penumbra’s signal release, Oophoi’s The Sun is Falling in a Sea of Blood presents the artist’s well-known, narrowly constructed timbrals: distant hums riding on arcs of slowly swelling, chiming caterwaul. For the seasoned Oophoidian not much new is presented here save for a bit more darkened, isolationist trawl. By releasing a one-take improvisation, one would have expected a bit more inspiration, but the choreography seems a bit too sterile and thus unsatisfying in its allegro. The drone seems still seed-like, not fully ripened, as if harvested prematurely before the building feedback is allowed to fully bloom. Some may find this truncated composition pleasing enough, meeting previous Kiva-inspired expectations. But the delivery from Oophoi’s ancient stalls, then converted into sound from its studio womb, seems too hastily birthed here—stillborn drone, at best. The Sun is Falling in a Sea of Blood is not a particularly promising sign for what was to come. And indeed, there are several more misses. If one approaches the three Oophoi & Tau Ceti Penumbra collaborations presented here with the same high expectations as that forged in the sublime Subterranea (Nextera, 2003) or the intoxicating spacey fibrillations of Celestial Geometries (Arya, 2001), one, sadly, will feel let down. Lifting the Veil, Australis, and Borealis, each respectively sound like oh so much aural debris left in the penetrating resonances of the “larger” works—that is to say, closely approximating what was left on the cutting room floor. There just isn’t enough time for Oophoi’s cascades of interweaving whirrs and burrs to lock into Tau Ceti’s Schultzian synth-percolations. The distinctive sounds of each are there, but the vessel never fully achieves lift-off, leaving the listener lost in a troposphere of unfinished symphonies. One only hopes that these works will prove as useful practice for a more worthy future addition to the duo’s impressive canon. Less known artist Seren Ffordd offers perhaps the most impressive contribution to the Penumbra series with A Melancholy Light. Spanning only twenty three minutes of listening time, this release pulls off a minor miracle: swirling and lugubrious indeed, but also reveling in its wonderfully noisy, sine-wave-centric buzz and fuzz. This is a kind of low-fi drone music for the new century: mournful, affective, but loaded with poly-frequencies. Wet and dry reverb contort the raw din but beyond the sonic theatrics is a sense of subtle purpose and the end result is, indeed, outright melancholy, a half-lit spiral of fading luminosities that capture the essence of the penumbra’s shadowy presence. The bands of creeping light extend and are extended. Another jewel worth grabbing here is also by a lesser known but always impressive noise atmospheric artist, Sostrah Tinnitus; previous work on Mystery Sea and Umbra impressed with always unpredictable, angular drones and unabashed crescendos of flickering, high frequency peripherals. Piccola Musica per Staglieno is fracasso excellenza—a vast palette of din comes together in mostly the right ways; torrents of abstract cum Evan Parker noisejazz expressions abound. This is a fearless approach to the drone aesthetic that both soothes and teases. Oophoi’s many collaborations on Penumbra are, like the series as a whole, hit and miss. Two with Steve Roach-inspired synth-slinger L.E.M. do, however, have some bright moments. On both Trifida and Aludra, Oophoi’s lower frequency tundras provide fertile surfaces for L.E.M.’s mid and high range rhythmosis. But the short single track format ultimately results in too many bland, rubiconical exercises. Once a familiar melody takes hold, it hitches to a mid-pitched drone wagon that is pulled, rudderless, to the same well-worn destinations. Doubtlessly, the duo has promise: L.E.M. has chops that fully engage Oophoi’s sparse accompaniments, but it all seems so rushed and chopped off at the knees. Indeed, the rapid fire, short-run release model of Penumbra has here amputated a sound that, with more time to congeal, might very well be as engaging as it pretends to be. Most telling of all of Oophoi’s dozen odd collaborations could well be Postcards from the Void, created alongside the young isolationist artist Netherworld. To be sure, those looking for the dynamic aural verbosities of Seren Fford or Sostrah Tinnitus need not apply, but as haunting dinscapes go this one is a first rate, dronevil delicacy. Oophoi’s more oxygenated synth swathes twist and twitch among the deep, bottom burst of Netherworld’s minimal loops. A perfect soundtrack to say, the next Alfonso Cuarón film, the messages emitted from this hell bespeak of ancient, crusty ruins. But deep within the wreckage is, as displayed in Cuarón’s recent film Children of Men, the last remaining link to mankind as we know it. Thankfully, Oophoi and Netherworld bury us deeply in their compositional shadows, allowing the mystery to build and coalesce, the penumbra quickly overtaken by a most inviting, if formidable, darkness. BEN FLEURY-STEINER • www.deeplistenings.it |
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