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Cet album rassemblant trois morceaux de 37 minutes est sans doute l'une des meilleures réalisations de Tim Coster... Il utilise ici le laptop pour manipuler ses fields recordings, mais on peut entendre également entre autres sources: basse, ocarina, accordéon, cloches, harmonica, mbira, bouteilles, bols, et etc. Drones sublimes et calmes dans lesquels on s'immerge totalement....Drone works seem to be plentiful these days. I've always had a difficult time estimating the relative size of our little community. It seems that as the years pass, the number of new projects grows geometrically, so one can only assume that the listener base undergoes a similar reaction. Digital audio software advances in a similar fashion, making the listener immediately into the performer with only a modicum of effort and investment. Online magazines, such as this one, serve more to measure the incalculable release schedule of bedroom labels than to further discourse on musical methodology. By writing this review, I've also made a seemingly fixed record of a limited audio document's existence. Strictly utilitarian, right? (And also with the faintest tinge of rabid consumerism. It affects us worse than most.) On bad days, complete pessimism overwhelms me as I contemplate the apparent futility in trying to document the scene or promote a release that most people will never hear (or care to hear) no matter what glowing terms spill across the telephone wire. But then, something like Star Mill shows up in my mailbox.
Possessing New Zealander citizenship should seem a cliché in this day in age for outsider music (are we still outsiders?), but here's yet another entry in what should be an invasion, Tim Coster. I'm under the impression that he's primarily a laptop performer, blending field recordings and other audio sources. I tend to associate that technique with glacial precision at its best, and sterile stillness at its nadir. ?Star Mill? feels a bit different. On this three-track, thirty-seven-minute excursion, we truly get the best of two competing aesthetics sophisticated digital and (at least the feel) of workman analog. As the opening breathless salvos roll in, the desired sound-realm could either be the murky oak forest hiding demonic familiars or the last moments of fried antiquarian hardware. If I stare at the cover art, I suddenly hear the creaking of the pictured waterwheel, along with the spectres floating above the broken floorboard into the ephemeral night. What makes this recording breath are the milliseconds of imperfections that break the digital gloss, turning it into something alive and fragile (and not just a preprogrammed exercise). Normally, I listen to subtle drone musics while working. Star Mill never fails to make me lose my concentration. Now, I need to get back to what I should be doing. Beyond recommended.
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