II
(Chocolate Monk - choc.453) CDR $8.00
Were the second ChocoMo album by Kev Nickells (violin voice, objects), Chris Parfitt (flute, clarinet, percussion, electronics), and Al Strachan (cornet, electronics, field recordings, found sound) presented to you, me, and the spastic Mennonite as the soundtrack to a film about a sleep-deprived desert castaway struggling with mixed feelings about a residual tail, no one would blame either of us for asking if the rescue UFO at the end seemed realistic. Which is something, given how condemnation of the other is one of our era’s most versatile social currencies. Not to oversell it, but the trio’s ten tracks here are kind of astounding in the consistent economy of their journeys from disparate zones such as distressed whining, daxophonic yoib, synthetic dream-theory, tense tribal curlicues, pizzeria tragedy, and crepuscular harmonics. Without a forced or unnatural move anywhere, Psanck II slips unscathed between the ribbons of razor wire that separate blue chip avant garde chamber ensembles from the nonmusical and unwashed ineptitudes who jostle household objects for a living. Personal experience allows me to assure anyone who may wonder whether residence in the latter is as comfortable a hometown as one could ask for (it is); still, Psanck’s epistles from the outside world are more welcome than guilt-free cinnamon rolls. Edition of 60
III
(Chocolate Monk - choc.619) CDR $8.00
Of the bucolic-uncanny / leaving things in the sun, Psanck III swings like an ADHD Necks. Careful listening but none too reverent. Horns, strings, electronic flotsam and, dare I say, jetsam. Psanck are an improvising band but more in the sense of sounding like field mice somehow tasked with making themes for children’s TV shows. Musicians, surely, but ones that have set their sights on wow and flutter amongst the melodic sprinkling. Edition of 60
Psanck
(Chocolate Monk - CHOC.374) CDR $8.00
Kev Nickells, Chis Parfitt and Al Strachan got so goosed up on the combination of scritchy violin, growling cornet, pingy toys, electronics and sop sax that they yodeled in unison “let’s record.” At some time down the line they pieced together a thing full of beautiful, otherworldly imaginings, like a less processed Biota with that soft creeping Af Ursin vibe. Numbered edition of 60