Tape - Opera (Häpna, 2002)

1 Bell Mountain (3:34)
2 Fire Made Of Bones (6:02)
3 Feeler (4:24)
4 Summa (4:33)
5 Radiolaria (6:13)
6 Longitude (6:21)
7 Noises From A Hill (3:42)
8 Return To Ship (4:47)
9 Terraces (6:02)
10 Rut (2:19)

La guitare accoustique constitue le fil conducteur de ce premier album de Tape qui va de la musique concrète j'usqu'au folk...

The Scandinavian collaborative group Tape released their first album Opera (literally “work” in Italian) to critical acclaim recently. “Work” is an apt title for this release, as the many meticulously assembled layers that make up the record attest to.

There are a few things that can be mentioned when discussing Opera that may inform readers of something other than its greatness as so-late-at-night-it-might-as-well-be-morning music. It isn’t anything “new” – it draws upon the rich history of many genres and techniques, from Pierre Schaeffer’s musique concrete, to the avant folk guitar of the American Primitives Basho and Fahey, to the “wind through the horn” sounds of improvisers Axel Doerner and Radu Malfatti, and maybe even the ghost of Hannah Hoch's narrative photo-montages. Tape does this, however, with a subtle and organic aesthetic, which is probably one reason why it works.

The acoustic guitar is the narrative thread throughout the album, grounding the electro-acoustic manipulations and field recordings that dart around it in a Fahey-esque (but softer and fluffier) mode, while also reminding one of the first Town and Country album. Despite the prevalence of a perceivable pulse throughout, Tape manages to obscure this pulse nicely, through a multitude of layers and labor-intensive mixing. The sound sources are all very warm and homey, and used sparingly (with the exception of the fifth piece, which is a bit of an oddball – it sounds vaguely like an early Aphex Twin ambient piece, due to a demanding bass vamp that continues throughout, albeit slightly morphed). If one wanted to be a cynical asshole, it could be said that Tape is plumbing the post-Tortoise, post-rock, nice-guys-make-nice-music well – and that may be true – but it is nice music.

Perhaps it is too nice and too precious, though as Opera really doesn’t have a bite – it’s the kind of record that you might well forget is on, and you might not remember you’d heard. For some people, though, that could be just right.
Dusted Review

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Tape - Milieu (Häpna, 2003)

1 Oak Player (2:56)
2 Sponge Chorus (4:45)
3 Crippled Tree (4:08)
4 Edisto (3:39)
5 Golden Twig (4:16)
6 Long Bell (4:23)
7 Root Tattoo (3:39)
8 Switchboard Fog (4:43)

Second album de Tape, qui compte dans ses rangs Johan Berthling, fondateur du label Häpna. Huit petits morceaux fragiles de folk traitée électroniquement qui prennent leur temps...

Tape are a family trio of sorts. The Berthling brothers (Johan runs the Häpna label and has previously collaborated with Oren Ambarchi) call upon Tomas Hallonsten to help flesh out their muted, down-played vision. Arcing around a core of folk-drawn acoustic guitar, harmonium, and electronics/tapes, the band flesh out their songs with an armory of sparingly applied instrumentation and the odd special guest... if ‘flesh out’ is an appropriate term for such wildly understated music. You could try to hinge it into some kind of post-rock, instrumentalist tradition, but Milieu is far too slippery and interesting to sit well within such a backward context. Parts of Milieu are a little reminiscent of the psychedelicised folk song-forms of San Francisco’s Blithe Sons, but Tape have their own character: a hidden, humble, yet generous approach to piecing together their music; an elaborate take on an utterly charming modesty.

On “Crippled Tree,” a field recording documents a young lady calling out to her pet, a conversation between two men, the crunch of grass and dried weeds against shoes, the soft flurries of wind against microphone. Tape drop winding spools of acoustic guitar and tiny flickers of piano into the piece. You could imagine these sounds, drenched in reverb and made ‘mysterious,’ making up the core of some negligible, vapid New Age floatation – the most unfortunate sound next to silence. But Tape leave the sounds alone, letting their natural resonance ring out. “Crippled Tree” sounds like a trio of quiet, introverted musicians who’ve happened upon inhabited parklands. Unsure of why or where, they just settle into the context and play, softly.

If the trio’s music reminds me of anything, it’s the instrumental pieces that David Grubbs dotted through his past two solo albums, The Spectrum Between and Rickets and Scurvy. Small threads of acoustic guitar are tied together in unexpected weaves and tangles, left to figure their own way back to their original configuration, while armies of small sounds continually break the main motifs’ concentration. Tape repeatedly garland their folkish, lilting melodies with beautifully incongruous asides, like the electronic burbling and cutlery clatter that etches its way through “Golden Twig.” That the same track features some wonderfully hammy lap steel guitar is another indication of Tape’s ability to force several disjunctive sounds together into lovely, arch miniatures. So it’s ‘lovely’, ‘charming’, and ‘beautiful’ – but also quite moving, in its own adroit manner. Tape evince a certain dryness of approach; they never overstate the cause.

Thirty-two minutes, eight songs, sparsely arranged and gorgeously played. In a world of bald, bored exaggeration, such restraint and humility makes for a pleasant change of scenery. At the very least.
Dusted Review

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