The
very first sounds on Volcano Waves 1-8 drip rapidly and unexpectedly
from the speaker, attempting a Chinese acrobat-style balance on the
line between pleasant and painful. It sounds at once familiar and menacingly
alien. A circling sequence-- of chimy notes that slice like aural paper
cuts, and are tweaked just short of dog-whistle pitch-- forms a piercing,
trebly melody. A cyborgan heartbeat joins in immediately after, pulsing
out a steady a-sharp. This first track, "Agni," issues these
thinly veiled threats until, around the fourth minute, another track
of discordant keyboard samples and reverbed factory sounds join in to
create a decidedly uncomfortable dance-din. Following on its tail, "Plinus
Observer" plays good cop to the opener's bad. A bassy keyboard
line injects warmth into the harried air even while insect-meets-shortwave-radio
sounds keeps things from actually becoming pleasant.
"Camera Magmatica"
begins with what sounds like air-raid sirens dropped four octaves, while
scratchy blips and bwooop-bwooop sounds form subtle, if psychotic melodic
lines. Crackling sounds fill the foreground as the dropped alarm sounds
bwooop on. You have the sudden urge to evacuate the premise.
But let's get to
who's responsible for this stuff. Retina is the collaborative project
of two DJs from Pompeii, Italy. Yes, really: Pompeii, Italy. The cover
art, as you can see, makes no attempt to hide that fact, depicting Mt.
Vesuvius, Roman ruins, and what I'm guessing is the ash-preserved mummy
of some unlucky blast-era resident. The back of the case even features
a Roman bust and an amphitheater! So, what's the connection between
the Pompeii's sooty, age-old history and electronica? Well, you know
the Romans used to say "in blip, Verite."
Actually, both these
guys, Lino Monaco and Nicola Buono, grew up working in family businesses
that catered to tourists, all the while making frequent forays to Naples
record stores to satisfy their passions for New Wave rock and roll.
Soon thereafter, they became interested in DJing and electronic music,
availed themselves of some analog sequencers and computer software,
and the rest is ancient history.
The duo's methodology
consists of improvising material in DAT format, later transferring it
to computer for editing. I can't say I can sense the improvisatory elements
of their music, but the fact alone is quite interesting. Some pieces
do sound more warm, and thus "played" as opposed to "composed,"
than others. The fifth track, "Lander," features some nice
rubber band-sort of noises which almost sound like singing. A subtle
keyboard playing howling wind noises provides a nice-counterpoint to
the rubber bands.
Cuesto no e my cup
of tea but it's certainly intriguing. "Piroclastic Flux,"
the sixth episode, warms up even more. An ascending keyboard part repeats
while whirring noises seem to talk from the right speaker. "Insekt"
the appropriately titled penultimate track brings back the frenzied
tension missing since the opener. Again, we have a stark separation
between bassy frequencies of keyboard and pitter-patter, and the multiplicity
of trebly, metallic voices jockeying for attention in the foreground.
A house-style keyboard part joins in at the three-minute mark, making
"Insekt" the most overtly dancy of the tracks.
"Obsidian"
the mysteriously evocative closer features a spoon-on-copper-bowl metallic
beat and what sounds like a twin-engine airplane circle overhead. Electro-crickets
join in no time, rubbing their legs together in perverse imitation of
the everyone's favorite bucolic night-time sound. But while this is
the most relaxed and relaxing of the eight, it's still fraught with
tension and foreboding. Maybe that's what you feel when you live under
the shadow of a volcano, who knows? Someone, hurry, play me a fuckin'
guitar chord.