|
PIERS WHYTE |
|
|
Track Listing
|
| Piers Whyte sets out on his maiden voyage from obscurity to the land of published music by creating a digital vehicle he is determined to destroy. Aboard this ship are collected personal postulations, mistakes, successes and failures left to mingle and eventually procreate or go extinct as they will. This little voyage was charted to, in turn, hypothesize, celebrate, reject, lament, brood, accept and rejoice. "Upon the initial listen of Piers Whyte, I was unable to comprehend what was being emitted. It is what a dream would be if you were awake; too much stimuli for all of your neurons to process. A love opus for androids. On the outside you are sonically assaulted by all types digital, but inside you can feel there is a center. Piers Whyte is a one man show who can do what he wants with you the first moment you hear the blips and circling screeches. This is not an album that you will initially take too, but each listen gives you a different perspective. Piers Whyte is a cacophony of all things audio. I would not term this music in the traditional sense; it could possibly be the byproduct of music. Instead of trying to relate mood through notes, digital feedback and remixed electrical impulses push the feelings into your synapses. Surprisingly, this collection is much more emotive the more it is heard. With the constant storm of information being delivered to your eardrums, the gentler moments of Piers Whyte appear that much sweeter when they arrive. “Waxing Sentimental” is a gem that stood out to me, which aurally, allows you to be present for the birth of a new day. The storm and the sweet would not represent themselves as vividly if they had not been packaged together. After my first few attempts to take this in, I set aside time to listen to it as a whole. As the digital “music” played out I, a robot, gained the ability to simply feel the environment around me. Then again, it may have been a waking dream." - Impose "Piers Whyte = Matmos + Laminar + a touch of Merzbow. Let’s assume there is a man named Piers Whyte. Let’s assume that Mr. Whyte traveled from British Columbia to Cuba with some type of recording device. Let’s assume this CD to be a selection of those tapes. This is all anyone seems to know (or is willing to tell) about this project. However, I can inform you that this is one of the most enchanting pieces of field recording I have come across. Much of the album’s first eight tracks are dominated by blips, scratches, hums and drones that always seem to approach normative musical motifs only to drift into new soundscapes. The final track, “Pioggia Viola,” is an absolute masterpiece of fortuitous audio. Though it seems “manipulated” to an extent greater than necessary mastering, the track swoons with the organic sound of a festival (or something else marvelous) and drowns in noisy clutter and tape hiss. Lovely!" Slug Mag "...Enter Piers Whyte, a British Columbia resident whose debut is as refreshing as it is nostalgic. Whyte knows how to construct something uniquely interesting and exciting out of not-all-that-original sounds, whether it’s in a randomised array of noisy slices (“Chilly Fountain Warp”), a slow-burning digital fire that’s eventually stoked to cinder (“Winter, ’03”) or a violently fizzling crowd pleaser from a forbidden dimension (“Pioggia Viola”), this debut of intensely noisy but always beautiful orderly chaos offers an exciting reminder that glitch’s picture hasn’t yet completely degraded to white noise." - Exclaim "Whyte manages to combine his remarkable sounds into ambient compositions that are simultaneously warm and wicked." - Grooves "If music can remind you of a frigid cold day with snow blowing violently, and you sitting all alone in just a small shack that barely keeps the cold out, then this would be your band." - Sayrah.net "Ever wonder what an explosion of a dozen iMacs running Reaktor sounds like? Ever ponder what would happen if somebody sampled Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music and jumbled its DNA? Piers Whyte, baby--abstract glitch with its shirt untucked and its blood over-caffeinated." - Seattle Stranger |
|
