A new musical experience is like discovering a mine in your cellar that leads out, Temple of Doom or Goonies style. It's that dusty box that you didn't notice before, but open and find treasure. The lyrics to Radiohead's "let's pretend we're not one of the biggest, most scrutinized bands in the world" "Pull / Pulk Revolving Doors" pop into my head when this happens to me:
"There are doors that let you in / and out, but never open
But there are trapdoors / that you can't come back from."
Perhaps "cellar" is an apt word for This is Not Art (writing this around 4:30 am in my basement further adds to the scenario), as Double-Basse is a duo of two of the lowest frequency instruments: contrabass and contrabass clarinet. Divided in little chunks and strewn together as two suites, Jean-Luc Petit and Benjamin Duboc exploit the low-end of powerful rumbles and gurgles, furious bow strokes and fierce runs, war cries and whispers.
The duo begins "Craftsmen I" with a slinking snail crawl that gradually cultures to a mild snarl. Taking advantage of the space in-between, each pizzicato pluck and supple growl initially come out as solo exhales, and then become an interdependence of crisscrossing lines. This first round sinks back into the corner in a barely audible hush where Petit unveils a circular breathing motion to produces cool flutters, overtones, tremolo feedback and ghostly echoes ŕ la John Butcher's environment-influenced work with Akio Suzuki. Duboc answers with breakneck sawing and an unexpected vocal incantation of shouts and speaking in tongues with Petit soaring just overhead. Near fourteen minutes in Duboc builds up a cloud of muted string slaps, but abandons in favor of joining Petit's held tones and commitment to a pounding groove reserved for attacking a neighboring tribe. The two engage in very sparse delicacy, jump back to life, and end with drawn-out, anticipatory (as in you're holding your breath in anticipation) coupled curtsies, like saying amen after a prayer.
"Craftsmen II" follows a similar path of chapter-based movement, but continues to challenge the listener's expectations through not being as oddball as one might expect from this orchestration. There are no studio tricks, and the stunts are at a minimum. The album is by no means rooted in a tradition, but the approach is straight-forward. This is Not Art is simply a long conversation of largely idiosyncratic gestures by two interesting "speakers" who understand when to hold to and when to float through time.
While many acoustic artists revel in extended technique explorations, as hinted at, the magic of Petit and Duboc comes from being grounded so low in the sonic spectrum — this type of aesthetic just doesn't happen that often. The effect is like being under the surface of quicksand or inside the Mariana Trench and having a look around.
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