Set Fire to Flames
Telegraphs In Negative / Mouths Trapped In Static
[Alien8; 2003]
Rating: 5.3
Amidst analog-derived hiss and static, Set Fire to Flames make clear the motivating theme behind their latest release, the double-disc Telegraphs In Negative / Mouths Trapped In Static, only moments prior to its finale:
"...we're the luckiest people in the world because *stop* this is just gonna *stop* make us stronger and stronger as *stop* it goes on and on..."
The true meaning behind this desultory phrase-- sampled from either a discussion between a jailed man and his estranged wife, or excerpted from the most insecure brothel relationship ever-- may never be known to anyone outside the band, but it carries transparent connotations regarding the recording process that's eagerly flaunted on both this release and the band's previous: their records were made in "self-imposed isolation, with the band operating in states of little or no sleep, varying levels of intoxication, and in physical confinement."
Aligning themselves with various other shut-in luminaries such as Amon Duul and Faust, the band undoubtedly view the euphoric and analgesic power of narcotics and somnambulism as a one-way ticket to the underground, an idea closely tied to the Cage-ian fueled notion of aleatoric music. From this tradition, Set Fire to Flames emphasize their steadfast belief in the principle that music stems forth from the natural gamble of improvisational/inspirational jamming and the found-sound principles of musique concrete. One need only listen to their last album Sings Reign Rebuilder in its entirety to understand the basis for this belief, but unfortunately the adage of lightning rarely striking twice endures, as their latest effort is hardly as cohesive or stunning a composition.
"Deja, Comme des Trous de Vent, Comme Reproduit" begins strongly enough, with the return to form suggested by the title. Intermingling a rolling guitar and a staccato bassline, a uniform hum swallows the song, building to a deafening crescendo before petering out with the words, "Small steps against inertia... echo a dead end." The song then proceeds at a protracted pace, which regrettably establishes the tempo for the majority of the first disc. Used as an amalgamated experimental device, the sounds of rustling and torn pages, keys rattling into a rusty ignition, and various other concrete noises can become a sonic accent that makes or breaks a song, but standing alone for such extended periods of time with little-to-no accompaniment sounds forced and musically without nuance. Even the slight return of Lyingdyingwonderbody, a recurring character from the first album, seems trite and misplaced as the disembodied voice expounds upon how he's forced to escape various deadly situations, before the track dissolves into another round of generic industrial noises and cavernous roars.
Of course, there are still moments of brilliance scattered throughout the work, but they're inevitably crushed by the weight of the double album itself. The beautiful and dense "When Sorrow Shoots Her Darts" begins with a playful tune that's traded in counterpoint between the guitar and violin, as a strong percussive element builds before quickly fading into "Kill Fatigue Frequencies", which offers what sounds like a brief piece for the glass harmonica. "Rites of Spring Reverb" and "Something About Eva Mattes in the Halo of Exploding Street Lamps..." both offer a display of melodic songwriting, memorable and complex in their use of overlapping instrumentation and extended techniques. Throughout their innovations these tracks manage to avoid most elements of excess, which is unfortunately more than compensated for in such inexplicably long and underdeveloped tracks as "In Prelight Isolate" and "Sleep Maps".
To the band's credit, these moments of musical gluttony are more a question of temperament than talent, whereby error lies in the misconstrued principles upon which the original project was founded. Though chance music and improvisation is a path toward the creation of music-- and a damned fine one at that-- it can't guarantee good music anymore than meditative contemplation by a classical composer can lead to Beethoven's 9th Symphony. Furthermore, to truly subscribe to the philosophy and use of field-recording as a work of art involves the commercial denial of the product insofar as nearly anyone can find an empty space where they can sit and simply listen to the environment around them, free of charge. Optimistically, this excursion merely represents a flirtation with imbalanced recording for a band, something the group had to flush out of their system prior to their next masterpiece, and not an enduring trend towards irrelevancy.
-Andrew Bryant, April 29th, 2003
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