York Factory Complaint- Remorse of Conscience
Depraved sounds, dear jesus what is happening here? The sound of a concussion looped out indefinitely. Thug music, junkyard thugs. Squealing feedback loops, squalls of medicated clang. It's all here. It's going to be an all-night kind of thing. You are in the wrong neighborhood.
"Another fine release from this Brooklyn
quartet. They manage to bridge the gap between noise Improv and deep space
breathing techniques better than anyone else I've heard. Helmets off to 'em."
"Adam Richards's House of Alchemy seems to be on the road to becoming a full time cassette pusher, Amen to that. This one by York Factory Complaint came along in a batch with a Chris Dadge solo percussion tape (which I will speak on at a later date) as well as an expansive split/collab double tape between Richards's Chapels project, Sleepwalkers Local and The Circle and the Point.
Never heard of this duo before the tape, though I've seen the name around a couple places since. The tape is kinda weird to write about because it keeps me at a distance. I don't really know how to get close to it or into it. Maybe the fact that it's an antisocial junkbag could be part of the problem.
The cassette starts out with some motherfuckin'
rumble. As the side (titled "Asleep in the Arms of an Ocean" as
if anyone could confuse this racket for a lullaby) moves forward it sounds
like that some of this noise could be originating from percussion or
guitar bashing rather than just inbred circuits. The tape is
weirdly "musical." There aren't any melodies or discernibly
intentional rhythms so maybe it really is just two dudes trying to peel
the paint from the walls but there's a lively physicality to it buried
underneath not found in all noise music.
"Marked" is my preferred side, if only
for the sharper, trebly bite it has. Various sources of feedback, forced
to mingle, unwillingly breed making for bastards and bastards of bastards
all clamoring over each other in forbidden instinct. The side isn't any
less caked with shit than the previous (it might even be a little more
unstable) but the claustrophobia of "Ocean" is gone leaving the
sounds to exist in a strangely open territory. The funny thing is for all
the "crumbliness" of it, the piece sort of seems in a vacuum.
I'll throw some oxymoronically buzz words at it: infinite destruction. How
can something be destroyed if its infinite? I don't know, talk to these