A Closer Listen
enmossed’s in essence combines the work of nearly two dozen artists; Split, also released today, focuses on two. Finnish artists Kati Roover and J. Koho unfurl their compositions on separate, yet complementary sides, each multi-disciplinary artist meshing well with the other and with the overall enmossed aesthetic.
The theme is water in all of its various permutations. As Roover begins, she is already underwater, offering field recordings and melding them to outpourings of sound. One hears what sounds like brine shrimp, crackling and crunching, before organ tones emerge, suggesting deeper water. Roover is perfectly suited to work with a blended palette, her oeuvre spanning “film, sound, photography, text and installations.”
The title helps us to distinguish the underlying message. These are the sounds of “creatures,” in particular whalesong, an endangered noise that sounds even more forlorn than ever, given the crisis of climate change. By combining the whalesong with the water-song, Roover exposes the interconnection of ecosystems; when one species suffers, others do as well ~ in water, a literal ripple effect. Then comes a downpour, along with the sounds of wind chimes and (we believe) dolphins, who are trying ever-so-hard to be understood, the storm a possible metaphor, swiftly passing, curling back to reveal a gentle drone.
The water sounds become clearer, dripping and pouring, perhaps from human hands. An operatic voice briefly emerges like a phantasm. Gongs suggest a spiritual imperative. Suddenly, after an electronic whoosh, the voice returns, bearing hints of Hildegard von Bingen, but is just as quickly cut off. The ending is fully human, a whistling while one works, but all is not right in this ocean.
Electro-acoustic artist J. Koho begins with a liquid hiss before adding layers of drone. While sharing some sonic features with “H20 – Creatures,” the initial tone is more aggressive. “Sijainteja” (Finnish for “Locations”) is dense with sound, organic and electronic, tones bubbling to the surface like angry denizens of the deep. At the four minute mark, a sudden organ chord connects Koho to Roover, Side B to Side A. But when the notes begin to dance, the tone becomes playful, a melody intertwined with dissonant textures, a stabilizing contrast. When Koho’s downpour arrives, it seems less foreboding than Roover’s because it emerges from a different context.
At the center, again without warning, the location changes. Night creatures cry as synthetic creatures respond, the water bubbling beneath. This artificial environment becomes a thicket, buzzes transformed into swarms, like fish reincarnated as bees. At a certain point the sound gets stuck in a loop – don’t worry, it’s not your cassette – then works its way out. From this one might glean that there is still a way out of the whirlpool of ineptitude that has poisoned our seas. Or perhaps that is too much weight for the composition to bear; at its core, “Sijainteja,” in fact all of this split release, is an aquatic celebration, the dance of hydrogen and oxygen, their surfaces sparking with reflected light. (Richard Allen)
Tue Jan 14 00:01:26 GMT 2025