Andrew Read and Anthony Child - Guitar Treatments
(K2O)
If you thought the break-crazed Hrvatski = infinitely patient DSP droner
Keith
Fullerton Whitman was a tough dual-identity to reconcile, try this one.
As the
Surgeon, breakout star of the Birmingham-based Downwards label and peer
to post-Industrial heavies Peter Sutton (Female) and Karl O'Connor (Regis), Anthony
Child blueprinted the lean, lacerating style known as Black Country
Techno.
Underground lore has fellow Brummy Mick Harris locking Child, then a
budding
DJ, in his Wall of Silence studio, urging his young protege to "Go mad.
Don't
stop to think, just do it. Whatever's in you, get it out." Having hungrilly
devoured not only house, hiphop and Detroit techno whole, but also
ex-Napalm
Death drummer Harris' diverse catalog of dub-shocked rock and desolate
mantras, what Child produced was a punishingly percussive rejoinder to the
martial-minded minimalism of Jeff Mills.
But while DJ Surgeon's tracks were driving the world's dancefloors like a
trireme taskmaster, Child's albums for the revered Tresor imprint
indulged in
beatless interludes and apparently anomalous track titles, like
"Krautrock,"
that alluded to less obvious influences and inspirations. Though hailed
as a
hero among the four-on-the-floor set, Child clearly craved recognition
outside
the technodrome, and his overtures soon foresook subtlety. Yet even a high-
profile Mogwai remix, cozying up to Coil, and a tête-à-tête with Harris
in a
grimly ambient Berlin-set staredown failed to establish him as a
multi-talent.
And that's where Guitar Treatments comes in, harking back to Child's
obscure pre-DJ past and a long-standing association with Blim bandmate
Andrew
Read. Surgeon's feral grooves may have grabbed the headlines, but Child
has
maintained a parallel line processing Read's electric guitar through
banks of
effects over a succession of 7"s and a concluding installment in
FatCat's split
12" series. Since you, like I and most others, were not previously
privy to
these Guitar Treatments, Kanzleramt sublabel K20 and FatCat have
done
the great service of compiling the complete series on disc for at least
555 new
listeners to enjoy. Maybe this impressive collection will finally earn
Child
respect among the technophobes. There's nary a beat within earshot of this
well-sequenced set.
Child's arsenal of pedals and processors draws out Read's guitar lines into
synth-like swells that reverberate with the suggestions of their stretched
melodies and taut timbres. But if "Treatment 1" promises an album in the
vein
of Whitman's meticulous Playthroughs, be aware that it's a
misdirection. Child and Read created these tracks in 1998, not long
before the
digitally processed guitar meme began its wildfire spread through the
underground, yet Guitar Treatments seems quaint. Child's use of
predominantly analog gear and the duo's infatuation with euphony make this
material closer in spirit to Rafael Toral's '80s albums (Wave Field,
Sound Mind Sound Body) than it is to Fennesz's more radical
"Instrument"
EP (which the Guitar Treatments sessions actually postdate by
several
years). For the most part, Child shows little concern for the total
atomization and reconfiguration of the guitar's sound, unlike FatCat series-
mates Robert Hampson and James Plotkin. "Treatment 6," the CD's
lengthiest and
most amorphously atmospheric treatment, is a notable exception. Here Child
extracts and arranges ominous tectonic sonics, insectile chitter, and
sweeping
gusts as deliciously unsettling as any similar survey by Hampson's Main
project. Treatments "2," "3," "5" and "7," all four tracks similar in
approach,
are more typical of the musicians' mentality. Through a potent
combination of
improvisation, intuition, and composition, Read's instrument is transformed
into the keyboard of some vast, empyrean organ, upon which Child
proceeds to
play looming refrains with Ligeti-like gravitas. Maudlin?
Maybe. And
they do lay it on a bit thick in "Treatment 4," lining up notes shaped
to evoke
the plucked strings of an angel's harp in an ascending scale—and
descending
counterpoint in tones weighted and leaden as a sinner's heart. But when
it all
sounds this lovely, it seems churlish to complain.
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