Artist: Hado Navarro
WTF Album: childoid in surrealienland
Timeline: 2012 -
WTF Quality: Heavily manipulated samples that don't sound like samples, except when they do
Tags: experimental, sound art, collage, noise, surreal
In tribute to this surrealien piece of WTF expression, the following
comments will attempt to not only verbalize the nature, structure, form,
and emotional content of the music, but if and where possible, some
clues or hints into something that might not be visible immediately...
maybe not exactly any kind of coherent meaning, but perhaps some sort of
vision, or link to a realm that is not this ... The music itself, being
the contorted fractured non-entinity that it is, guides me as such.
we open in a heavy sheen of magnetic aura
a breathy, hard sliding glow of spectral flare, solid and steady, gradual glides and inflections within the meta-stasis
ending in a pulse,
regular periodic buzzing clicks.
dictatorship of the children
tyewriters, incessantly pounding, resonating within a small steel box,
from the side, from above, in a flow of water, through a tangle of
wires, a thousand metallic claws hammering down on computerized
ending with a collage of video games, voices, 8bit spaceships and nintendo
those fucking kids will get what they want.
immortals kamikazes war
frantic activity, one bot in a room, downloading, switching, gobbling
waves, input, transmitting, computing, booting, hacking, receiving,
re-launching, redirecting traffic, searching and logging, traveling
through some corridors, drains, flipping switches, attack, launch,
prepare, liquid metal sounds with a few spotted incoming receptions from
the airwaves, cutting through styrofoam to achieve the desired shape to
fit the key to the next passage. Unendingly dying and returning, one
voice, sometimes two, texture overlap with static frequency, high
overtones and reverberant decay, tube flush, a hollow explosion and
tattered broken remnants, all too many wires and electrical shorts,
dancing particles in a processor spinning blades, no harmony ever
reached, continual destruction but never apocalyptic
finally, a vision of supremacy, an anthem to the great leaders of mayhem and the infinite destroyers
a whisper. crumbled into a digital howl where the sample is crushed
and grated, shredded, mashed, chopped and sliced, ground to bits, sawed
in pieces, duplicated and lent to further grinding. The title is again a
clue. Someone is spitting out a message, a wave of information into
the ether, awaiting the bounce back from the far side, a one way
communication mapping the shape of the void with a caustic hiss, a
burbling purr, many voices, one voice, not heard through the ears but
lapped by the tongue. Further down the line it's getting more
desperate, struggling, at last pondersome and nonchalant.
Age of time paradox
continuing in the vein of "psychophonic echolocation," jumbled voice
samples sear through the static. This time, it is possible to hear the
transition from "sample recognized as voice" into "electric garble" and
further into "completely abstract claws scratching computerized
machinery." Still the rhythm, cadence, and flow of a drone of voiced
human chatter can be recognized, and these dystopian automatonic beings
that emerge in the parallel world that emerges gradually develop a
language clearly distinguishable by the end of the piece as not so far
from where we came from.
a true to real sample of rain and thunder recorded from within a room,
without much ado into the leaky breaker room glitch surveillance system
phenomena. I may be enticed to think that this frozen sand splitting is
in the rhythm of raindrops pattering from the gutter onto the patio.
Or I may as well accept that I am now lost in a surreal landscape,
frozen, with no idea where this crunching silence that surrounds me is
from or what substance it's composed of. Here Hado Navarro is now
penetrating subtle far-end hard to reach realms of the fractalized
synapse-mind of wtf imagination trajectories. The funny feeling that
grips me is that with a few tiny adjustments to the tone of this, what
ever kind of noise you would call it is, I feel like I'm right there on
the floor, inside the machine, or a little animal or spirit visitor
right there with the musical creator, creeping around wires or into
catacomb micro-passageways. With a few more tweaks, I'm lost again, or
just no longer conscious that what is happening to me is really sound at
all... as with all tracts of time it ends ...
I feel like I'm waiting for something now. Because although casual
listening of this album is encouraged, with headphones on and feeling
the thrust of the music to this point, and knowing the title of this
one, there must be some kind of surreal gag, an unveiling, or at any
rate the expectation of something unexpected. Not in a bombastic
left-field carpet pulled from under my feet kind of way, but ...
something unexpressably delicate or occult, something visible but
Again I feel like robot aliens are talking to me, futilely. Is this the surrealienland's mantra of elusive inanity?
Yet it does harken me back into the beginning of time, when words had
weight much like a stone lifted from the earth has weight. When sounds
were forms, when life was pure impulse only, no convolution, plasma in a
hermetic receptacle unbound by motion of time. It's like the echo of
that. I don't feel particularly close to human-ness at this point, but I
know I've not escaped it.
We leave on a train.
Fuck yeah! Destroy! Break it! Don't even think about it.
wait. Huh? Petri dish?
Cat! . . . (Or ...?)
Never mind. No thought. When you reach the unique fathom of
inter-reality as presented in the Surrealienland, in is sometimes out,
and never is usually always, but from and until meet at the cusp of
extreme and stillness. Many textures enter and retreat, you at the
point of stasis will internalize come and go as sometimes motion,
sometimes rest, or stasis within activity and the immobility of dance.
Voices will call and earthly sounds will fall and enter your awareness.
Draped over this is the stained glass of heavy sample manipulation and
ultimately a sign pointing to the question, WTF is this?