For nearly 20 years, Norway's
Supersilent have recorded for the wildly diverse Rune Grammofon label.
13 is the group's debut for Smalltown Supersound, an Oslo-based label whose stable includes
Prins Thomas,
André Bratten,
Carmen Villain, and
Neneh Cherry, to name a few. These three multi-instrumentalists, improvisers, and producers (
Arve Henriksen,
Helge Sten -- aka
Deathprod -- and
Ståle Storløkken) have never titled their recordings other than by number. Each is a chapter denoting a particular live exploration and experimentation in the studio or in concert. The band recorded the material for this date throughout 2014. They brought their stage PA system into the studio and pushed all the music through it at high volume so they could literally feel air moving as they played together. Rather than focusing on core instruments as they have in the past --
Henriksen's trumpet, percussion, and voices;
Sten's guitars and keyboards; and
Storløkken's synths and processing gear (they all play electronics) -- for this date they exchanged instruments freely, often in the middle of a track. Musical themes are asserted, hover, transform, and vanish amid ever-shifting dynamics and textures.
On "13.1," Indonesian ritual music -- global folk traditions have long been a fascination of
Henriksen's -- is processed with samples of field-recorded sounds from a lonely Scandinavian mountain and clattering percussion. "13.5" asserts robotic bleeps, wave forms, and percussive and fractalized synth and guitar lines before squalling noise processes introduce what sounds like an organ theme for an early silent film before developing contrapuntal
Bartók-ian harmony while syncopated and breakbeat drums (organic and machined) clash in the backdrop. Assembled, it becomes a futuristic horror soundtrack. "13.7" engages
Sonny Sharrock-esque free jazz guitar and howling industrial noise in a free-for-all that may well be the album's finest moment. Closer "13.9" begins far more slowly, utilizing components of blissed-out drone over layers of guitars, keyboards, and distorted trumpet lines. There is a melody undulating throughout, but it's gradual. The entire proceeding is bathed in whiteout noise until organ and warped, distorted percussion waft in over the last couple of minutes and wind the track out like an alien lullaby.
13 takes a track or three to gel, but once it does, it's a locked-on listening experience. The louder it gets, the more engaging it becomes. This is the sound of expert experimenters who commence with an economical, even polite inquisitive conversation before developing their dialogue to a point where total creative and emotional expression is set free. ~ Thom Jurek