Kevin Drumm & Taku Unami - Zero Talk
Today, I'm writing a brief post of praise for an album that's been inspiring, freeing, and encouraging for me: the latest Erstwhile release, a collab between titans Taku Unami and Kevin Drumm.
Stillness: These three pieces move like hills I'm watching in the distance. The hills aren't actually moving or actually changing, but as I stare for longer, more and more is revealed anyway. I'm overstating the stillness, but there's a sustained confidence in the limited moves these two make over three hour-long pieces that is aspirational for me, artistically. When I make music, a knob in front of me screams to be turned and I'm still training myself to ignore it.
Pyschoacoustics: Drumm's work in particular, like on Sheer Hellish Miasma II , is almost painful sometimes (complimentary). He makes music that feels loud and damaging even at very low volumes. Zero Talk is both more gentle and more transportive than that. The auditory space of room- and field-recorded sounds (presumably from Unami) layered onto the airless buzzes I associate with Drumm's work does something completely different. I feel this music shifting my relationship to the space I'm in as it plays. After listening in headphones, voices in the next room feel so much farther away than they would have before. Through the stereo, I get House of Leaves style vertigo.
Collaboration: Zero Talk is named as such because Drumm and Unami collaborated without speaking. I firmly believe the point of some art is to put across something that can't be rendered into words. I've been mixing a Tank Man release the last couple weeks, and it's the first time in a long time I've mixed with someone else in the room (my Tank Man collaborator, Ted). There's so much nonverbal work that goes into making music with someone that he and I often reduced to tongue clicks when it's wrong and ooohs when it's right. This music is a testament to one lane of connection that's available wordlessly.