A Closer Listen
Portraits GRM’s ongoing split series continues with a pair of site-specific recordings from Michelle Helene Mackenzie & Stefan Maier and Olivia Block. When considered together, they operate as a meditation on nature, time and human intrusion. Each composition fills an entire side of the LP, while the digital versions may be purchased separately.
In one recording, humans disrupt natural habitats, while in the other, nature begins to reclaim her own. We begin with the latter, inspired by the Sanzhi Pod City in northern Taiwan. From 1978-1980, efforts to construct this futuristic urban retreat were thwarted by accidents and a persistent rumor of supernatural interference. These “UFO Houses,” now fallen into disrepair, still exude a voyeuristic allure.
Over time, the community became haven to a variety of insects, in particular the orchid mantis. a gorgeous and strangely human-like creature that sometimes appears to be practicing martial arts. Michelle Helene Mackenzie and Stefan Maier pay tribute to the insect, the assemblage and the persistence of nature in their composition of the same name. Beginning with insectoid sounds and the ringing of thin bells, the piece prompts immediate meditation. The thin bells give way to thick and finally loud as liquid noises begin to proliferate. At the eight-minute mark, all falls silent save for a light mist, a possible reflection of the human exodus; then the sound of gentle wings.
As one listens, one begins to muse on the worth of the construction. In one sense, it did become a utopia, but not for the expected residents. The dense thicket of chimes in the second half imitates the exponential growth of the insect population: forty-five years without a rent increase! What initially damaged the local ecosystem became the basis for a new one. The soft hum of the 16th minute reflects the resultant peace; as the hum turns to drone, bright electronic pings emerge, producing a friendly, flourishing timbre.
We will leave it up to the reader to decide if the photograph above depicts a) a wonderful tourist adventure or b) a demeaning and potentially harmful practice. Olivia Block comes down on the latter side, noting the sonic disruption of breeding grey whales in the San Ignacio lagoon. It has already been proven that the deafening noise of motors has interrupted breeding and migration and impaired communication in the open ocean; and responsible locations urge humans not to interact with wild sea mammals.
Breach celebrates the grey whale, to the detriment of those who would view the gentle creature as entertainment or even worse, ignore the sonic impact of commerce. The bubbling sea is present from the very beginning; the early notes represent whale song, a beauteous, mournful array of cries. The sadness is that these are electronic cries, which one day may be the only ones that remain. As they proliferate, they present an image of a healthy pod, rife with flirtation.
The sonic sea emerges in the third minute, heavy and untamable; gulls squawk overhead. When the hums reenter, one senses them as intrusion. Would any of us choose to mate to the sound of motors? Why would one ever think that the sound of nearby construction, so maddening above sea level, would be any less maddening below? The peaceful interplay of field recordings turns into a cacophonous, disjointed tumble, relenting momentarily in the ninth minute, a shift that draws comparison to the late quietude of “Orchid Breach.” But in “Breach,” the period of near-silence leads to dissonance rather than harmony.
Block cleverly leads the listener to regard the title less as the breaching of a whale as the breaching of a whale’s habitat by careless humans. Together, Block, Mackenzie and Maier cause us to reflect on the impact we have on what we purport to love. At the end, the waves lap once more against the hull, as if to say, we will be here longer than you. (Richard Allen)
Mon May 12 00:01:20 GMT 2025