Isidore Ducasse: S/T (Vinyl)
A new collaborative project from Jefre Cantu-Ledesma and William Trevor Montgomery. Both musicians played together in Tarantel and Moholy-Nagy. Cantu-Ledesma also runs the superb Root Strata label, releasing solo material under his own name (including a recent LP on Type), and also plays in The Alps. Montgomery also releases music under Lazarus, The Drift and Believer.
This project was originally conceived and composed as a soundtrack to an unreleased western. The 14 tracks on this record are beautifully delicate, textured, sparse pieces ranging from slow acoustic reflective moments, to fully electric strumming, they capture the feel a western perfectly. It’s a shame the film never made it out, because judging by the music it would’ve been a beautiful spectacle.
The project was was recorded by Jefre Cantu-Ledesma and William Trevor Montgomery and mixed at studio Lamantia, the record was mastered by Greg Davis. The image on the cover is a still from a Paul Clipson film, whose films have previously featured the music of Jefre, Barn Owl, Tarantel, Gregg Kowalsky and Metal Rouge. Sleeve layout by Jefre. Pressed on 140 gram black virgin vinyl. Limited to 500 copies
Only 1 left in stock
The world shimmers in a haze of heat. A tongue, what was once a tongue, you peel it off the roof of what was once a mouth. No sound. A crunch of brittle grass underfoot, but from the once-was-mouth, no sound, no voice. You entered the vast expanse and everything fell silent. Crunch, crunch, crunch. And the dust clings to everything.
A film, a western that was never made, a story never told. All the stories we tell about the desert are attempts to stave off the desert. To hide from its oppressive heat. We want to be sure that the person in front of us is not a mirage, that the silence does not swallow all. You cross the great wilderness, and you come back with a story. If you come back. This story is in fact the sound of the desert, because in the desert itself there is no sound, no words. The story must be told for the desert to be.
So this is the thing about Isidore Ducasse – whoever she is: the music fights off the silence, even as it lapses into silence. It tells the story of a film that was never made, a story that remains untold. This telling – the telling of the untold story – is the only evidence you have that the story ever existed. That and the dust that still clings to your body. It must be a beautiful story. Haunting, savage, yet beautiful. Full of blistering sun and nighttime cold, miles that rattle by without change. Grinding drones and heady vibrato. Sparse, empty, yet as heavy as the afternoon heat. A story you think you might have heard before. – Fluid Radio