In his first release since the dissolution of the ever confounding trio Reynols, and his first solo album to date, Alan Courtis makes an unambiguous move toward absolute zero. Reynols often showed a penchant for reductionist aesthetics (see their release Blank Tapes), and on Antiguos Dólmenes del Paleoiítico, Courtis makes strides into the void, though the finished product might not belie the conceptual side of his creation.
Inspired by the rock formations that grace its cover, Antiguos Dólmenes del Paleoiítico finds Courtis manning the no-input mixing desk, the most minimalist of axes, pioneered by Toshimaru Nakamura. His treatments of feedback, created with the use of effects processors and pedals, range from the guttural to the celestial, with each of the album’s tracks showcasing a distinct approach. “Part I” is a rousing start to the album, a rumbling underground tremor of bass, moving from a steady deep tone into the ominous sound of distant thunder. “Part II” moves the feedback into more recognizable territory, with Courtis concentrating on ebb and flow, and the interplay of gentle rhythms. The music, unlike its predecessor, feels very controlled, the product of well-timed tweaking. “Part III” mimics a small flock of birds trapped in a natatorium, with terse whistles and squeaks augmented by liberal reverb. It’s an almost pastoral scene until the arrival of a darker, sizzled tone that makes it presence known in an unobtrusive, but obvious manner. “Part IV” is the first time Courtis works with the piercing tones that most would associate with feedback, and while he manages the sound dutifully, the track is the first that might send more sensitive listeners after the volume control. The track is similar to “Part II” in its construction, channeling insistent tones and exploiting the marriage of different wavelengths in a well-worn but effective mode of minimalist extrapolation. It’s perhaps the most focused track on the album, though Courtis works in such a loosely regimented way, that it’s not enough to make the three predecessors seem wild and unpredictable.
Though Courtis and his mates were always 100% serious about Reynols, it seemed that the listening public always approached the band ready to be let in on the joke, or made aware of some truth hidden behind the sunglasses and mysterious missives. But, when you stripped Reynols output to its core, the music was never anything but sincere, and perhaps now that Courtis is working on his own, minus the “novelty” of Miguel Tomasin and Reynols’ more eccentric approach, people will finally begin to listen without prejudice, and hear his work for what it is.
