22 years ago: a rare Glasgow performance by Richard Youngs and me, put on by the inestimable Liam Stefani as one of his Scatter nights at the legendary 13th Note.
Richard and I performed a bowed bass guitar duo. Also on the bill that night was remarkable saxophonist Tony Bevan. We were lucky to have the opportunity to play a trio with him: bowed bass guitars and Tony’s subterranean bass saxophone.
Both the duo and trio performances are here to download for free/pay what you like on Liam Stefani’s Scatter Archive.
Released today, Distantsis a collection of compilation tracks, online pieces (self-released and released by others) and some other oddities. There’s one very short unreleased track, which comes from the same sessions as Suburban Electrification.
There are 28 pieces across more than 120 minutes, and there’s a lot of variety in tone and texture—something for everyone, perhaps? I’ve set the release as “pay what you like” so you can download for free if you wish. If you do want to pay something for it, today (Friday 5 June) is one of the days when Bandcamp is waiving its fees so today would be the perfect opportunity for a purchase! (And all other releases are set the same way, too, in case there’s anything you’re missing…)
I’ve uploaded a long—a very long—field recording piece today, endecade. At 200 minutes’ duration, this is the longest single release I’ve created. Click on the image below to go to the download page.
It’s a largely quiet and unassuming recording made in a suburban back garden somewhere in Edinburgh in the last few hours of the last decade. The punctuation points are revelry and fireworks, but it mainly just exists for its duration and allows the listener to exist in that duration too. I wasn’t present for any of the timespan of the piece; my contribution to it all is absence.
endecade is available as a pay what you like album—and you can of course download for free if you want.
Fine sand is poured from a pouch, trickled onto a tray or table, fingertips are used to find figures, tracing, erasing, effacing, shaping . . .
The mysterious art of sand reading explored in text by Mark Valentine and music by Brian Lavelle, with black and white photography by Jo Valentine.
This collaborative project is published in February 2018 by Seacliff Press, a small press Mark and I have established. There’s a Twitter account here for occasional news items.
Professionally printed 16 page booklet with professionally duplicated CD. Limited to 120 numbered copies, of which 100 only are for sale.
Psammomancy is available from Mark direct: contact markl [dot] valentine [at] btinternet [dot] com, removing spaces and replacing the words in brackets with characters.
(Note, the fifth character is the letter ell not the number one.)
Language of Objects: a 58 page professionally printed book in full colour inside and out, accompanied by a glass mastered CD with a separate download code. Text and images are by Murdo; sound by me; cover design by Vincent Pacheco. The CD contains a new 28 minute composition—Sullen Charybdis, the Blue of Scarabs—which is my response to the imagery in the book.
Language of Objects: published on 14 September 2017 by Blind Roads Press, our collaborative imprint.
The book/CD is available for £10.99 plus postage and can be ordered here.
Paperback, 58pp, full colour, 148 x 210mm, perfect bound
300gsm cover, 120gsm interior
Glass mastered CD
Edition of 100 copies
Published 14 September 2017
Lit faintly by candlelight and by whatever remaining daylight could penetrate the opening, we recorded the various sections of The Boleigh Working live within the depths of Boleigh fogou itself. Ankle deep in mud and cold water, we played and listened as the fogou listened and played with us. The structure seemed to be alive, even if it was hard to forget that Boleigh means ‘the place of slaughter’.
The listener might hear odd noises in this recording which neither of us was responsible for producing: strange subterranean knockings and unexplained whirrings and whinings. It’s for the best, no doubt, that the voice of the woman (if that’s what she was) we both were convinced we’d heard down there, in the dark and the damp, whose spectral whispering caused the hairs on the back of our necks to stand up, wasn’t captured in any recognisable sense by the recording equipment.
So, be warned: this is Fougou ‘unplugged’, without effects or processing of any description; without even the comforting spark of mains electricity to light our way. We hope you enjoy listening as much as we enjoyed the immersive experience of the invocation.