A Closer Listen
Meteorologia is “not exactly a field recordings compilation,” states Portugal’s sirr-ecords, but field recordings are its raison d’être. The album is awash in meteorological phenomena, with multiple weather systems threaded through its grooves. Inspired by a famous quote from W.B. Sebald (“Meteorology is not superfluous to the story. Don’t have an aversion to noticing the weather”), the album makes connections between mutable weather and mutable timbre, first explored in the waves and shifting directions of Tiago Sousa’s “swirling wind and thin dust,” a 13-minute piano piece that contains no field recordings but connotes sparkle, orbit and tide.
The field recordings proper begin on Carlos Santos’ “studies on molecular displacement,” with real wind meeting electronic wind, a clash of systems that proves symbiotic. At a certain point, one is hard-pressed to separate one from the other. Is Santos increasing the danger and drama, or is it felt on the breeze, the gale, the high wind? At the end of the third minute, all falls silent before a deeper, darker timbre of wind approaches; this time one knows well enough to head inside. Safely home, one hears the agitation of unsecured objects: chimes and hinges, shutters and planks. It’s too late to venture outside now; the clamor must be endured.
In contrast, Alessandro Fogar’s relatively placid “cold drizzle” combines rain, waves and guitar, a reminder of how much a soft storm can sound like a quiet drone, or vice versa. C. Claire Dulac’s “it never snows in lisbon and yet you broke my arm” is kinder in tone than the title implies; according to the liner notes, Dulac broke her arm; her companions are innocent! Either someone is throwing items onto the lake or frozen limbs are dumping their payload; is this how the accident occurred? In light of the human breakage, one connects broken arms to downed limbs and the disruptions caused by impassive meteorological events.
The “ambiguous weather” of Emanuele Mieville’s Santa Cruz recordings passes over strong surf, whose approaches and recesses are themselves engulfed by the sound of planes approaching and taking off from the local airport. All too often, planes have been viewed as a sonic intrusion; here they become part of the story. And although the subsequent “window seat (edit)” takes place on the ground instead of in the air, the effect is the same: one imagines a limited view of an unlimited vista. Steve Peters’ piece began as an installation; the full piece is 45 minutes long. Narrators take turns sitting in an open closet with a floor-to-ceiling window, narrating their observations. “The wind is strong; it’s visible yet invisible … the trees are bowing and swaying, and I can see every circular leaf.” Left to their own devices, as proven here, people tend to talk about the weather.
In 2003, Janek Schaefer attached a mobile phone to a weather balloon to record the sounds of a tornado, releasing it as Weather Report (Alluvial Recordings). “eyrie of the phoenix” is an archival recording that celebrates the birth of his son, completing the circle. The waters above are mirrored by the waters below: weather in the womb, faintly remembered, now revived. (Richard Allen)
Sun Mar 10 00:01:57 GMT 2024