Sonic Youth: Upping the Ante on Indie, 1997–2020
Assessing the Perspectives Musicales Series 25 years after its inaugural release
Sometimes a mighty notion has to fade and die in order for a new idea to be born and develop.
Although grunge and its contrived ‘parent’ genre of alternative rock drew on a plethora of 1960s, ’70s and ’80s influences, it can be easily argued that they’re more closely associated with Sonic Youth than any other band that preceded said musical and cultural movements. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sonic Youth recognised and connected with the Seattle scene in the mid to late 1980s, before it was even cool. There’s also the fact that the band outlasted all its New York-based and other early-’80s contemporaries well into the 1990s and beyond. Whatever the exact reasons, Sonic Youth had become virtually synonymous with grunge by the time they and Nirvana were labelmates on Geffen subsidiary DGC, and the group managed to ride the coattails of the movement at its commercial height in the early to mid 1990s.
By the mid to late 1990s, however, most of the bands behind the original Seattle grunge wave had folded, burnt out or gone on hiatus. Reportedly funded by money earned by headlining Lollapalooza ’95, Sonic Youth’s own Echo Canyon studio was completed and operational by 1997. The time and situation was right for the band — Thurston Moore, Kim Gordon, Lee Ranaldo and Steve Shelley — to launch an independent label to showcase their more avant-garde musical leanings; in short, the stuff that major label Geffen wouldn’t touch by and large. Thus Sonic Youth Recordings — abbreviated SYR — was born.
Distributed via Steve Shelley’s own Smells Like Records (SLR), over the next few years the SYR label would become solely synonymous with the Perspectives Musicales (i.e., ‘Musical Perspectives’) series. Although the language varied from jacket to jacket, the Perspectives Musicales series took its name directly from the French series through which the EMI Group’s La Voix De Son Maître (His Master’s Voice) label released albums by such modern classical composers as Xenakis and Varese in the late 1960s and early ’70s. As well, the design of the album covers for the new series mirrored that of the classical label; utilising the same spiral logo, the same colours, the same artist/title display banner, and — for the first five records — the same minimalist op art.
Considering as how some of the earliest and (some would say) most important SYR titles have been celebrating their 25th anniversary in 2022–23, I thought this might be an appropriate time historically to analyse the entire series on an album by album basis.
Released in May of 1997, the inaugural title in the series, SYR 1: Anagrama, consists of four numbers that combine for a total length of 22 and a half minutes, and can therefore be rightfully called an EP or mini-album. It was released in the CD format and in both ‘salmon’-red and black 12-inch vinyl editions. As previously mentioned, the titles and liner notes for nearly all of the SYR releases were written in a language other than English. In the case of SYR 1, French was the language of choice.
‘Anagrama’ (English: ‘Anagram’), the nine-and-a-half-minute opening track which lends the record its title, is the only one of the four pieces that would later be performed live. It is driven by repetitive djembe-like percussion that resembles the flat ticking of a large clock. According to some sources, Steve Shelley was using a clay drum for this session; possibly a Nigerian udu. Restrained noodling and feedback are accented by improvised wind-gust sounds at intervals in the number’s early moments. Shelley brings the toms into play around the four-minute mark, and the band rocks out in 4/4 for a lengthy stint before returning to the main theme. From there it gradually peters out, concluding with a more upbeat run of African-style drumming.
Such African drumming also serves as the foundation for the following track. Just under three minutes in length, ‘Improvisation Ajoutée’ (English: ‘Extra Improvisation’) is less structured, and features more obviously improvised feedback and wa-wa pedal effects than the title track.
This is in almost direct contrast to the next number. Over three minutes in length, the appropriately titled ‘Tremens’ (English: ‘Trembling’) finds the guitarists casting dreamy tremolo-laden high notes against a laidback low-tone groove. It’s unquestionably the most conventional of the four tracks, and brings to mind the sort of instrumental one might find on the flipside of a single.
The nearly seven-minute closer, ‘Mieux: De Corrosion’ (English: ‘Better: Of Corrosion’), is a noisy montage of feedback and effects that owes its structure primarily to the mixing process. Vaguely reminiscent of the hidden bonus track of noise that concludes the Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star CD (1994), it mentally resembles a chaotic street scene with sirens and industrial noise.
All things considered, SYR 1 is a reasonably satisfying EP that demonstrates both the band’s instrumental prowess and the promise of the Musical Perspectives series. It is particularly noteworthy for the exotic percussion that underlines the first two numbers (side one of the vinyl version) and which provide further evidence of Steve Shelley’s capacity as drummer.
Most listeners would probably agree that the second record in the series, the Dutch-titled SYR 2: Slaapkamers met slagroom (English: Bedrooms with Whipped Cream), is not the enticing set of original instrumentals that SYR 1 is. It is, however, a reasonably good springboard into the SYR series for fans of the band’s ‘mainstream’ albums, given the origin and nature of its contents. Released in September of ’97 on CD and 12-inch vinyl (in black, translucent blue and marbled ‘teal’-blue editions), the EP — some would say short album, given its 28:30 length — contains three tracks recorded during sessions leading up to A Thousand Leaves, the double Geffen album that would be released eight months later.
The seventeen-and-a-half-minute title track, in fact, is actually an extended jam on an instrumental entitled ‘Proud Marie’. It is this number that would be later trimmed with Gordon-sung lyrics and retitled ‘The Ineffable Me’ for inclusion on A Thousand Leaves. ‘Slaapkamers met slagroom’ staggers forth from a ninety-second intro consisting of pedal effects, Zappaesque tape manipulation and other noisy wonder. As a lengthy pedal-empowered, drum-driven jam, the number works relatively well — provided one is not expecting moments of virtuosic soloing or other decidedly un-Sonic elements. The string-‘tingling’ that resembles percussion on high-pitched water glasses around the 3:45 mark is one of the subtler, more improvised touches. The number closes with a coda of feedback, pedal effects, and a soft reprise of the main riff over a subdued backbeat as everything fades.
The following track, the seven-and-a-half-minute ‘Stil’ (English: ‘Quiet’ or ‘Hush’), is another instrumental that would evolve into an A Thousand Leaves track once lyrics were added; in this case, the Moore-sung ballad ‘Snare, Girl’. As it was performed and recorded in 1997, the number comes across as a noisy wall of improv and feedback with a ballad lurking beneath it, waiting to be liberated in the mix. The latter two minutes of the track, in which most of the noise subsides and a mellow ‘ditty’ of sorts emerges, come the closest to resembling the number as it would appear on the Geffen release.
The closing track, the three-and-a-half-minute ‘Herinneringen’ (English: ‘Memories’), is a rather restrained and low-key exercise in improvisation musically, and has no obvious derivative or counterpart in the A Thousand Leaves track-list. It is notable, however, as the first track in an SYR release to contain vocals. Not that Kim Gordon’s improvised phrases (“Guitar, guitar… Search the jam… West side…”) and random scatting, mixed from three different voice tracks for what might be described as a ‘stammering’ effect, should be taken as conventional singing, mind you. True, Gordon does chant what sounds like “Mille feuille” (English: “A thousand leaves”) repeatedly throughout the track’s first half. But anyone hoping that the number might provide some further lyrical insight into the mysterious conceptual terrain that is A Thousand Leaves will be greatly disappointed. Still, it is what it is; and ‘Herinneringen’ is capable of holding one’s attention as an intriguing experiment without wearing out its welcome.
Overall, SYR 2 may not be the distinctive and standalone EP that SYR 1 is; but it can serve as a springboard from the band’s ‘mainstream’ Geffen albums into the SYR series, as well as shed further light on the construction of A Thousand Leaves specifically.
It is the third SYR title that many listeners probably think of as the definitive or epitomic Sonic Youth release in the Perspectives Musicales series. Released on CD and 12-inch vinyl (in black and clear editions) in early March of ’98, the Esperanto-titled SYR 3: Invito al ĉielo (English: An Invitation to Heaven) is officially credited to Sonic Youth / Jim O’Rourke, thus formally marking the beginning of a musical partnership that would last some seven years (Chicago “omnimusician” O’Rourke would become a full-fledged member by the time of the Murray Street album in 2002). Clocking in at over 56 minutes, it is also the first indisputably full-length installment in the series. In spite of this, it is still sometimes classified as an EP — probably owing to the fact that it consists of merely three (long!) tracks.
“‘Invito Al Cielo’ is all amp-moan and synth scratch,” an SLR/SYR promotional write-up stated at the time, “yet placid (in the storm-eye sense), featuring some inspired trumpet-Brut and more whispered scats from Kim.” This hip description is a poetic yet fairly accurate summation. The nearly 21-minute title track opens with clanging strings, clashing cymbals and howling feedback; what sounds like a synthesiser bubbling and chirping can be detected moments later. Gordon’s jazzy trumpet comes into play nearing the three-minute mark and soon descends into a dirge of long mournful notes, mimicking the feedback. Shortly after, the infamous 1995 Wibbling Rivalry 7-inch — which captures a meltdown between Oasis’s hotheaded Gallagher brothers during a 1994 NME interview — starts spinning at various speeds in the mix. Nearly eight minutes into the track, Gordon begins her low-key scatting and is soon improvising lyrics (“When it rains / The children don’t play…”). Her vocals continue to weave in and out of the discordant sonic fabric before ceasing at almost exactly the 14-minute mark. Beyond this point, the feedback, percussion, guitar improv, trumpet, squabbling Gallaghers and synthesiser all combine and seemingly build towards a crescendo that either never actually occurs or is so subtle that it proves undetectable upon casual listen. Either way, the number proves anti-climactic, but in a manner that is neither detrimental nor even particularly surprising.
Closing out side one of the vinyl configuration is ‘Hungara Vivo’ (English: ‘Hungarian Life’), a rather sombre yet largely percussion-focussed piece of improvisation that clocks in at a little over six minutes in length. As is often the case with these SYR releases, it’s unclear as to exactly who is playing what on this subdued number; but vibes are definitely detectable in the mix, along with other percussive implements, guitar improv and synthesiser. The aforementioned SLR/SYR promotional write-up insists that the track’s “shimmering vibes and sine-pulse […] actually recalls [sic] the digi-mosaics of oh-so-au curant [sic] electronicsters like Microstoria, yet nonetheless was performed by the band in good ole real time and space.” I have limited experience when it comes to the recordings of Microstoria, but, from what little I’ve heard, I would say that the blurb’s comparison is indeed a fair one.
The third and final track was supposedly so-named due to the fact that there is no exact equivalent of ‘Ham Radio’ to be found in Esperanto. Hence the approximate title ‘Radio-Amatoroj’, or ‘Amateur Radio’. Needless to say, at nearly 29 and a half minutes in length, it comprises the whole of the vinyl configuration’s flipside, and constitutes what was the longest recorded Sonic Youth track released up through that point. Rather ironically, a three-minute edit of the piece would later appear on the (CD) soundtrack to John McNaughton’s documentary film on artist George Condo, Condo Painting (2000). The piece opens, or rather fades in, with a barrage of feedback, cymbal play and guitar improv, including a few moments of the ‘Velvetesque’ variety. This persists for the better part of four minutes before gradually subsiding in the mix, giving way to what sounds like percussed guitar strings taking stern command amidst the lull. From there, the feedback and guitar improv gradually rebuild, sonically constructing numerous peaks and valleys throughout the remaining twenty-something minutes. At various points more traditional drums and percussion come to the forefront. A synthesiser is present in the mix but less obviously so than on the two previous tracks. The band’s own write-up probably summarises the composition most deftly, observing that “‘Radio-Amatoroj’ is another long-form spelunk into an audio architectonics of cathedralic proportion. More cymbal-spray and guitar-gong percussives, shifting textures ebb and fade in some kind of psycho-sensory algebra you don’t even need to know how to solve. Just hear….” Although the number resembles the title track in its volume and length, like ‘Hungara Vivo’ it doesn’t really go to or come from anywhere. The listener is trapped in an aural landscape that is both mesmerising and yet impossible to turn away from.
Certainly not intended for the casual listener or beginner, SYR 3 was the first release in the series that was most definitely a long play, with no obvious connexion to any of their ‘mainstream’ albums. It may not be the best release in the series, but it was the one that clearly illustrated that the band was completely serious about this stuff, and that SYR was now a serious appendage — if not alternative — to their Geffen releases.
Although not officially a release in the SYR / Perspectives Musicales series, any competent chronicler and analyser of said series would be remiss to ignore or overlook Silver Session (for Jason Knuth) and not give it proper consideration. Released in mid July of ’98, the nearly 30-minute CD appears to exist outside the series only by virtue of its arbitrarily named record label, Sonic Knuth Recordings — or SKR (as opposed to SYR), and numbering of 1 (rather than 4). The disc even comes in the same style of cardboard gatefold sleeve as the SYR CDs. According to Thurston Moore’s liner notes, the title and label name are direct references to the late music director for college radio station KUSF-FM in San Francisco. A major fan of the band who was affectionately known in some circles as ‘Sonic Knuth’, the 31-year old had committed suicide the previous February (according to some sources, he was actually 32 and died in March). Proceeds from the disc were used to finance the San Francisco Suicide Prevention hotline, whose number was (incorrectly) printed on the sleeve (the correct and current number is 415–781–0500). So darkly ironic, the CD was manufactured and distributed by a company called Revolver. According to Moore’s notes, the tracks on Silver Session find their origins in an evening (in presumably late 1997 or early ’98) when Sonic Youth were doing vocal overdubs for the A Thousand Leaves album:
“[…] the band upstairs was hammering out some funky metal overdrive and we couldn’t “sing” properly (?!) — we decided to fight fire with molten lava and turned every amp we owned on to 10+ and leaned as many guitars and basses we could plug in against them and they roared/HOWLED like airplanes burning over the pacific [sic] — we could only enter the playing room with hands pressed hard against our ears and even then it was physically stunning — we ran a sick outmoded beatbox through the p.a. and it blew out horrendous distorted pulsations. Of course we recorded the whole thing and a few months later we mixed it down into sections, ultra-processing it to a wholly other “piece” […].”
In all likeliness, the titles — ‘Silver Panties’, ‘Silver Breeze’, ‘Silver Flower’, ‘Silver Wax Lips’, ‘Silver Loop’, ‘Silver Shirt’, ‘Silver Son’ and ‘Silver Mirror’ — are as arbitrary as the disc’s label and catalogue number, and have very little relevance to the actual sounds contained in each mixed-down track — sounds which run the gamut from the roar of burning bomber plane (‘Panties’) to the industrial throb of a metalworks (‘Breeze’) to the cries of tortured humpback whales (‘Wax Lips’) to the drone of the semi-legendary Taos Hum (‘Son’). (It’s worth noting that ‘Silver Panties’ was also included on the Sunday CD single released off of A Thousand Leaves in the summer of ’98.) Of course it’s conceivable that the silver element — glossy silver CD sleeve and all — might be some indirect reference to Warhol’s foil-covered ‘silver’ Factory and the largely hands-off manner in which these recordings were ‘composed’ and ‘performed’. One must remember that Sonic Youth were always a decidedly New York band with strong ties to its art world and an obvious heir to the Warhol-endorsed Velvet Underground. “In a way,” writes Moore in the liner notes, “it’s my favorite record of ours.” Indeed, as odd as it may sound to some casual listeners who are not fully versed in matters Sonic Youth, the disc can be quite easily construed as the band’s ultimate or most definitive album — far more easily so than what a (similar) album like Metal Machine Music (1975) can be in regards to Lou Reed’s repertoire. It is for this reason above all others that Silver Session (for Jason Knuth) — regardless of its dubious status — certainly deserves recognition as an essential installment in the SYR series, if not the entire Sonic Youth discography. At the end of the day, what is probably most odd about the record is the fact that it’s never been released on vinyl.
Easily the most ambitious album in the series and probably in the entire Sonic Youth catalogue is SYR 4: Goodbye 20th Century, an extended set of the band’s interpretations of contemporary avant-garde classical compositions. Recorded and mixed between March and August of 1999, it was released in mid November of that year in both 2-CD and double 12-inch (black) vinyl configurations. The nearly 106-minute album is officially credited to Sonic Youth with William Winant / Jim O’Rourke / Takehisa Kosugi / Christian Wolff / Coco Hayley Gordon Moore / Christian Marclay / Wharton Tiers. It is interesting to note that recording engineer Tiers is given credit on the front cover despite not contributing to any of the recordings in a musician’s capacity. The double album was produced by the band in conjunction with Winant and O’Rourke. Winant, it is worth noting, also served in the capacity of ‘head coordinator’ for the project. It is the only official album in the SYR / Perspectives Musicales series to feature titles, recording details and other minutiae written in English.
Both the vinyl and CD configurations open with ‘Edges’ (1969, according to the liner details; the year prior, according to other sources), one of two pieces recorded for the double album that were composed by French-born American Christian Wolff (b. 1934). Performed by the band, O’Rourke, Kosugi (presumably on violin), Winant (percussion?) and Wolff himself (on organ-synthesiser), the 16-minute track is sparsely populated and crawls along at a snail’s pace. As the title suggests, the piece is dominated by negative space. The actual score is a graphic one, featuring a series of symbols or signs suspended on plain paper with a corresponding legend and additional instructions. Needless to say, it allows for a high degree of improvisation, including vocals. Wolff has compared the score to a photographic negative whose picture “would be realized by the player; or, to use another analogy, the playing would be like movement, dancing say, in a space containing a number of variously shaped but transparent and invisible objects which the dancing generally avoids, but which as the dancing kept on would become evident, visible so to speak, because they are always being danced around” (Wolff, ‘Revolutionary Noise’, Cues: Writings & Conversations; p. 208). The version at hand opens with feedback and cymbal play. Within seconds Gordon is chanting seemingly improvised lyrics (“You go to my head…”) in a purring whisper as the guitars begin to whine and croak. In addition to short synthesiser and drumming sequences, brief instances of what might be described as hesitant piano and violin transpire in the mix over the next five minutes or so, gradually making their presence better known at various stages before the chanting subsides. Piano, synthesiser and what sounds like occasional marimba come to the forefront in the absence of Gordon’s voice. Around the eight-and-a-half-minute mark Gordon resumes her whispering, relating over the next ninety seconds what comes to resemble the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears (e.g., “I did go in there / And I did eat their porridge / And I sat in the chairs / The three chairs…”). Reimagined fairy tale concluded, the piano and marimba rise in the mix again. Moments later, Kosugi’s violin begins commenting in shrill, uneven rasps. Then what sounds like Gordon blowing a trumpet or saxophone enters the mix. Resembling at times some animated cartoon character having its life squeezed out, the unspecified horn more or less persists for most of the remaining five minutes of cacophonous improvisation, with Gordon actually chanting and scatting through its mouthpiece towards the end. Following a cough from Gordon and a final wail of feedback, the performance comes to an end with some brief strumming of down-tuned guitar — an ‘incidental coda’, if you will.
Appearing on disc B in the 2-CD package and side D of the double-vinyl set is a movement from another piece by Wolff. Burdocks, presumably named after the European plant and dedicated to dancer/choreographer Merce Cunningham, was composed in 1970–71 and consists of ten movements. The movement included on Goodbye 20th Century is performed by the same musicians as those who performed ‘Edges’, but with the addition of Christian Marclay on turntable. The piece resembles ‘Edges’ in its improvisation and (obviously, given the performers) instrumentation, but — owing largely to the absence of Gordon’s vocal parts, which tend to suggest or emphasise musical sections — lacks its nuances and coincidental segmentation. It is not stated in the album’s liner notes exactly which of the ten movements it is that they perform, but, based on what I know of the composition’s instructional details, it cannot be movements II or IV, for each of these requires a number of musicians lesser (II) or greater (IV) than the nine musicians performing this particular movement. Each of the ten movements is based on one notational system or another and is governed by its own unique system of musician interplay. According to head coordinator William Winant’s notes on the album in (underground magazine) Bananafish #13, “We chose a movement that involved several melodies and an accompanying rhythm that could be combined various ways. Kosugi, O’Rourke, Wolff, Lee and I played the melodic parts while Kim, Thurston and Steve did the rhythmic parts, along with Christian Marclay, who was adding turntable-electronics.” This brings to mind Wolff’s official instructions for Movement VI:
“The players are divided between the melody (below) and the accompaniment (three phrases above), at least one playing one or the other. Any number of repetitions of the phrases of the accompaniment or the melody (these are marked by the double bar); the rests during the latter are optional or freely multipliable. Each player can (but need not) proceed in his own tempo.” (Publisher: Edition Peters; № 66316)
Regardless of its precise identity, the track in question known simply as ‘Burdocks’ finds all nine musicians contributing more or less equally to a piece that musically resembles a train circuiting the same circular track repeatedly but observing different locations each time. It travels at varying rates of speed, coming to a brief standstill around the 6:15 mark, and making slow detours through exotic territories in the latter half of its run before coming to a full stop. The ‘exotic territories’ are defined by those sections where the dynamic between the aforementioned melodic players and rhythmic players breaks down; specifically, where the melodic parts give way almost entirely to what sounds like clay drums and chimes punctuated by Gordon’s gasping (she can be heard rhythmically breathing at earlier stages in the piece); and where Kosugi’s violin theme becomes fragmented and altered amidst guitar improv and turntable scratching. Both brief and slightly whimsical, it is Kosugi’s theme that serves as a familiar signpost on the journey. It is arguably the standout element of the track, and will probably stay in your head for some time after listening. With such violin and all, I’m actually reminded somewhat of the improvisational ‘We’ll Let You Know’ from King Crimson’s Starless And Bible Black (1974).
Filling out side A of the double vinyl configuration is ‘Six For New Time (for Sonic Youth)’, a new piece written especially for the project by Pauline Oliveros (1932–2016), with lyrics by author/playwright and Oliveros’s partner IONE (b. 1937). According to Winant’s notes in Bananafish #13, the participants’ original intention was to record Oliveros’s To Valerie Solanas and Marilyn Monroe, in Recognition of Their Suffering (1970), “because it’s a prose score”. However, upon discussing the project with the composer, she offered to write something specifically for it. Just over eight minutes in length, the track features Sonic Youth with O’Rourke and Winant, and can be reasonably assessed as the least classical and most rock and roll of the pieces recorded for the double album. Opening with subtle one-two-three pats of cymbal, the piece locks into a hypnotic state of repetition once the guitars start strumming — not unlike some of the live improvisational pieces found on their 1984 Sonic Death cassette and the bonus disc in the 2005 deluxe edition of their 1982 self-titled debut. Nearly ninety seconds in, Shelley’s cymbal play gives way to jam block or woodblock and low-key drumming. Twenty seconds later Moore begins chanting IONE’s lyrics, the minimalism and repetitiveness of which are an apt accompaniment to the music (“And… / This one… / And… / This one…”). A barrage of synthesiser and guitar skronk erupts as the piece approaches the three-minute mark, and the drumming subsequently increases in intensity. When the barrage subsides, the lyrics become somewhat more verbose if not more lucid and tangible:
The queen approaches her throne
Wind over water
Hell’s Angels in a pink van
Escape
The blasts of guitar improv and feedback reemerge at intervals for the remainder of the piece, increasing in duration and sometimes popping up between the verses. Also, the tempo of the piece changes at intervals, increasing and decreasing dramatically in the final two and a half minutes as the lyrics become terse and fragmented again and a synthesiser occasionally chirps. The piece ends after an increase in tempo builds to a crescendo; cymbal play and a final wail of feedback as Moore chants “Time… / Being…” serves as a coda.
Both side B of the double vinyl configuration and disc B of the 2-CD set opens with a nine-minute take on ‘Having Never Written A Note Of Percussion’ by James Tenney (1934–2006). A composition from Tenney’s Postal Pieces, a 1971 series of short scores printed on postcards, it is dedicated to percussionist John Bergamo (1940–2013) and is sometimes referred to as a ‘Koan’. The piece entails a single note being played as an extended roll on a percussion instrument of the performer’s choosing, displaying a volume arch from low to loud to low. Adapted by Winant for multiple instruments, the track features Sonic Youth, O’Rourke, Kosugi and Winant himself. More or less in keeping with the minimalist score, the track fades in very slowly over the space of some four minutes, maintains an apex in volume for about a minute, and then fades out very slowly over the space of another four minutes or so. All the while, four guitars wash over the listener like a tidal wave of sound. Cymbals or chimes of some sort tingle above the guitar roar like sparkles of sunlight on a massive breaker that doesn’t subside. If Kosugi is playing the violin in the traditional manner and not pizzicato (i.e., by plucking), then he must be buried deep in the mix in order to be so indistinguishable from the guitars. Ironically, given the specifics of the original score, the drums are also difficult to discern above the din. True, the piece as adapted functions quite well as an experimental Sonic Youth number; but one must admit, however, that it would have been more satisfying — and certainly more interesting — if they had adhered to Tenney’s score instructions and had had Shelley perform the piece solo upon one percussion instrument.
Following the Tenney piece on the double vinyl configuration and ‘Edges’ on CD-A is the first of two versions of ‘Six’, a 1991 piece by John Cage (1912–1992). Only three minutes in length, the track features Ranaldo, Shelley and Moore from Sonic Youth with O’Rourke and Winant, and is actually the third of at least four takes recorded for the project. Written for percussion sextet in 1991, ‘Six’ makes use of single tones. According to the prose score’s official instructions:
“Single tones are placed within flexible time-brackets. Beginnings and endings of the brackets overlap, resulting in the possibility of short, long, or medium-length tones. Longer tones should be played softly, shorter tones may be played louder. Longer tones should further be played using tremolo or by brushing.” (Publisher: Edition Peters; № 67421)
As others have pointed out, it is unclear exactly who plays what on the interpretation in question, but it seems fairly obvious that the six musicians did not strictly limit themselves to percussion instruments. Guitars are easily discerned, both plucked and percussed, as is amplifier feedback. One is also again left to wonder what exactly violinist Kosugi plays on the track, and how. Nevertheless, the sextet’s performance reflects Cage’s score, and various traditional percussion instruments are used in the creation of the single tones, including several different cymbals and what sounds like woodblock. Even sleigh bells are put to use, bringing Jimmy Smith’s ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ (1962) to mind. In true Cageian spirit, a brief pause around the two-minute mark only serves to emphasise the presence of the tones. Interestingly, and somewhat ironically, no drums are detectable on the track.
The second version of ‘Six’, the fourth (the final?) take, opens side D of the double vinyl configuration and follows ‘Having Never Written A Note for Percussion’ on CD-B. Seemingly by mistake, the CD version runs only some two minutes, omitting the section following (again) a brief pause. As one might only expect — especially given the fact that the same ensemble is performing — the second version is not remarkably different from the first; however, bells of various types stand out rather prominently in the mix at certain points in the second. Although it’s a tough call — and a largely subjective one — the third take may have a bit of an edge on the fourth, which probably explains why both have been included, especially in light of their short durations.
A second Cage composition — arguably the ‘centrepiece’ of the double album — comprises the entirety of the vinyl version’s side C. Clocking in at thirty minutes and twenty seconds, it topped SYR 3’s ‘Radio-Amatoroj’ to become Sonic Youth’s longest official track up through that point. ‘Four6’ was composed between 1990 and 1992, and is partially dedicated to William Winant. It was intended as a work for quartet, “for any way of producing sounds (vocalization, singing, playing of an instrument or instruments, electronics, etc.)”. The official score instructions read as follows:
“Choose twelve different sounds with fixed characteristics (amplitude, overtone structure, etc.). Play within the flexible time brackets given. When the time brackets are connected by a diagonal line, they are relatively close together. When performed as a solo, the first player’s part is used and the piece is called One7.” (Publisher: Edition Peters; № 67469)
According to Winant’s notes, two versions of the piece were recorded for this project: “One version was a quartet by Thurston, Kosugi, Lee and myself; the other one was Kim, Steve, O’Rourke and Wharton Tiers, who was also the recording engineer. We combined both versions in the final — you can hear one quartet in each speaker.” Not surprisingly, there is so much going on in this ‘dual’ performance that it can be quite difficult to follow. The track opens with a deafening rush of static in one channel as guitars noodle hesitantly beneath it in the mix; there’s also what sounds like paper crumpling. As the static subsides, a guitar riff and squeaking string noise grow louder; a Latin-inflected drumbeat emerges shortly thereafter. The drumming and guitar quickly give way to heavy breathing — presumably Gordon’s — and tinkling bells or chimes of some sort. In both channels, a barrage of guitar improv, feedback and string noise soon follows; what sounds like a highly amplified dripping tap can be heard ‘plopping’ in the background. Clashing cymbals and electronics that resemble Morse code transmissions can soon be heard in one channel, while an acoustic blues guitar warbles in the other. More guitar noodling and exotic percussion follow, as well as some strange snoring sound in one channel. Feedback, patch cable noise and an unidentifiable industrial roar come into play as the track approaches the ten-minute mark. About a minute later, a sample of Black Sabbath’s ‘Wheels of Confusion’ (1972) is briefly played backwards in the right channel. Seconds after that, what may be described as the garbled voice of a sci-fi robot — an electronically altered spoken-word passage, possibly? — makes its presence known in the left channel. Both the ‘robot’ and the Sabbath sample become recurring themes as the track proceeds. Amidst ensuing guitar noise and some synthesiser, marimba and other forms of percussion come to the forefront for a duration of two and a half minutes. Also increasingly detectable in the mix is Kosugi’s violin, which sometimes resembles a band saw cutting through wood. As Chris Lawrence (SonicYouth.com) has pointed out, it appears the instrument in such cases has undergone effects. Approaching the fourteen-minute mark, Gordon begins a lullaby-like chant of “La-la-la-la-la” that brings to mind Mia Farrow’s lullaby theme (‘Sleep Safe and Warm’) from the soundtrack of Rosemary’s Baby (1968). The occasional low beat of a large drum (tympani?) buried deep in the same channel instills a sense of impending doom. Half a minute later, Gordon starts chanting “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go! …” in a voice as frantic as what her lullaby voice was foreboding. The demand sufficiently reiterated, mere seconds pass before her ‘lullaby’ resumes. While Gordon is still chanting, a few seconds past the track’s halfway point, the ‘robot voice’ begins speaking again. Shortly after the ‘lullaby’ has given way to two bouts of exotic (clay?) drumming in the same channel, ‘Wheels of Confusion’ rises in the mix again. From this point forward, the piece tends to revolve around the recurring themes in the right channel. The Sabbath sample, the electronic ‘voice’, and Gordon’s ‘lullaby’ and chants of “Let’s go!” become hauntingly familiar signposts or (despite some variability) constants around which the other sounds (guitars, violin, percussion, synthesisers) improvise or mutate and new sounds (whistling, funky wa-wa pedal) emerge. This is the rough ‘pattern’ that the piece tends to follow for the remaining thirteen minutes or so, before fading abruptly on a violin rasp without any sense of climax. The overall impression of the track is that of an overwhelming and often eerie sound collage or montage.
Following the third take of ‘Six’ on side B and ‘Six For New Time’ on CD-A is ‘+ −’ (i.e., ‘Plus Minus’), a 1987 piece by Japanese composer and Fluxus innovator Takehisa Kosugi (1938–2018). Adapted specifically for the project by participant Kosugi himself, the seven-minute track is performed by him and Sonic Youth with O’Rourke and Winant. According to Winant’s notes, the piece is based on “a graphic score with different rows of plus signs, minus signs and vertical lines, which tell the players to rise, go lower, or make an open choice, respectively. The time frame is open, as is how to go from one symbol to the next.” The track opens with a hesitant warble of guitar and a clatter of percussion. A roar of static — presumably from a synthesiser — becomes the backdrop for guitar improv as more of the instruments join the combo. What appears to be tympani can be detected in the mix, as well as more metallic percussion. Marimba or (more likely) xylophone enters the fray just past the two-minute mark and persists haphazardly for nearly three minutes. Most of the guitar and static fade out and in repeatedly during this same time frame. As the mallet instrument and the static subside, hissing splashes of cymbal announce an equally cacophonous mixture of percussion and violin. For better or worse, only a few shrill rasps from composer Kosugi’s instrument can be heard above the chimes and drums before it becomes buried like a squeaking mouse beneath a round of thunderous tympani in the mix. It is during this segment that the guitars come to the forefront and — accented by the tympani — build to a crescendo from roughly the six-minute mark, providing the track a subtle climax. The final thirty seconds of receding guitars, random percussion and general ‘winding down’ subsequently comprise a coda.
Coming immediately after ‘+ −’ on both the double vinyl and CD versions is what is undoubtedly the most peculiar and provocative piece on Goodbye 20th Century. Conceived of by Yoko Ono in 1961, ‘Voice Piece For Soprano’ consists simply of three affected screams. The score’s official instructions are:
“Scream
1. against the wind
2. against the wall
3. against the sky”
For this particular project the screaming duties fell to the most junior member of the cast, namely Coco Hayley Gordon Moore — the five-year-old daughter of Gordon and Moore. For better or worse, the youngster lets loose with three bloodcurdling squeals that would bring the dead to life. One can debate the merits and musicality of such a work, as well as question the novel appeal of recording it. At the end of the day, however, it is what it is: a provocative piece, more concept than practical composition, which compels us to question the boundaries of music and art. If nothing else, the track is noteworthy in that it allowed the young Gordon-Moore to put her distinctive twelve-second stamp on a significant one-of-a-kind album.
The penultimate track on both side B and CD-B is the second-shortest piece in the set and the oldest. Slightly less than ninety seconds in length, ‘Pièce Enfantine’ by Russian-American composer Nicolas Slonimsky (1894–1995) dates from 1951. It is No. 17 in his set of piano etudes known as 51 Minitudes. “As the title says,” writes Slonimsky in the score notes, “it is infantile.” According to Winant in Bananafish #13, the piece was suggested by Lee Ranaldo and transcribed for marimba by Winant. “We recorded the left-hand and right-hand piano parts on separate tracks,” he states. “The Sonics mixed them together later, and the tape was processed further.” Apparently featuring only Winant and Ranaldo, the piece plods mysteriously along and then concludes with an upbeat coda bordering on jovial.
Also relatively brief is the final track on both side B and CD-B. Three and a half minutes in length, ‘Treatise (Page 183)’ is a segment from the 193-page graphic score Treatise, completed by the ill-fated English composer and Scratch Orchestra co-founder Cornelius Cardew (1936–1981) in 1967, before his rejection of avant-garde music. The piece was chosen for the project by Winant, owing to its “open instrumentation” and the “varying degrees of indeterminacy” written into its graphic score (Bananafish #13). Featuring Sonic Youth with O’Rourke, Kosugi and Winant, the track opens with a brief blast of (presumably) pedal distortion followed by some reverb-fueled funky guitar in one channel and a little complimentary string-squeaking in the other. A brief drum fill — which actually brings to mind an Ian Paice intro! — immediately follows the sort of echoing guitar effect that opens ‘Shoot’ from Sonic Youth’s Dirty album (1992). What sounds like xylophone and vibraphone come into play shortly thereafter; at least one instrument tinkling like a glass typewriter as percussed guitar strings reverberate and a distortion pedal whirs in the background. Cymbals and chimes enter the mix seconds later, and then all fade out rapidly as a shrill synthesiser comes to the forefront and ‘vocalises’ for a few moments around the one-minute mark. From there, a more ‘spacey’ synthesiser rises in the mix, along with guitar and vibes. They are joined by some type of keyboard and Kosugi’s violin for a rather subdued exploration before fading out as the track nears the three-minute mark. The remaining thirty seconds consists of a low-fi synthetic rumble, thus comprising a coda of sorts.
Although not synonymous with novelty and brevity to the degree that the Yoko Ono piece is, a definite contender in the extremism department is ‘Piano Piece No. 13 (Carpenter’s Piece) (For Nam June Paik)’. Conceived of by short-lived Lithuanian-American composer and Fluxus founder George Maciunas (1931–1978) in 1962, the composition consists in the nailing down of piano keys with hammers until the instrument is no longer functional. It was first performed as part of Philip Corner’s scandalous Piano Activities at the first Fluxus festival, in Wiesbaden, Germany in September of 1962. Sonic Youth’s interpretation of the piece constitutes the penultimate track on side D of the vinyl version and the antepenultimate track on CD-B. First one at a time, then collectively, Moore, Ranaldo, Shelley and Gordon nail the piano unusable in the space of four minutes — creating what may be described as a subdued discordant ruckus in the process. To emphasise the performance-art aspect of the piece, the band also included an enhanced QuickTime video of themselves performing the said track on CD-A. Regardless of how one feels about the destruction inherent in such a piece, the sight of Shelley using a ball peen hammer and Gordon hammering with both hands is truly something to behold.
Arguably the most memorable track on Goodbye 20th Century, ‘Pendulum Music’ closes out CD-A and is the final track on the double vinyl configuration. “In many ways,” insists composer Steve Reich (b. 1936) in the piece’s companion notes, “you could describe Pendulum Music as audible sculpture.” Written by Reich in 1968, the prose score entails the suspending of “three, four or more” microphones from the ceiling or boom stands by their cables and having them produce variable feedback by swinging pendulum-like over their upturned speakers until they have all come to a standstill “and are feeding back a continuous tone” (Publisher: Boosey & Hawkes / Hendon Music). Presumably four microphones were utilised in the recording of the piece for this project, considering as how only the four members of Sonic Youth are credited with its performance on the album’s jacket. Whatever the exact details, the track starts out as a series of short squeaks and chirps, ‘progresses’ to a crossfire of increasingly longer and entrancing squeals and warbles, and dissolves into a puddle of shrill drones before the amps are finally switched off. Nearly six minutes in length, the performance can be best described as intriguing, trying, and truly mesmerising. In the case of the vinyl listening experience, it is also an appropriate and fitting end to such a double album.
Although it’s a trifle troubling that the participating musicians didn’t adhere more closely to the designated instrumentation in the case of certain performances, this project can still be easily viewed as an overall success and a considerable accomplishment. Goodbye 20th Century is the obvious high point in the SYR / Perspectives Musicales series, and one of the major albums in the Sonic Youth discography in general — regardless of how fine-weather fans and jaded critics have shunned or castigated it.
The fifth official album in the Perspectives Musicales series was released in late August of 2000. Produced by Jim O’Rourke, the Japanese-titled SYR 5:ミュージカル パ一スペクティブ (transliteration: Myūjikaru Pāsupekutibu; English: Musical Perspectives) clocks in at nearly 55 and a half minutes and was issued on CD and double 12-inch (black) vinyl. Interestingly, the vinyl release is the only one in the SYR series that plays at 45 RPM rather the standard 33.3. As well, the album cover is the only one in the series to feature the song titles in English in addition to the chosen alternative language. On the front cover, Kim Gordon’s face appears in green beneath spiral op art in imitation of Luc Ferrari on the cover of his Interrupteur / Tautologos 3 album (1970) in the original Perspectives Musicales series. In spite of particulars such as this, in some ways SYR 5 might be looked upon as the first glitch in the series.
One technical curveball that the album throws attentive fans — indeed, before they even listen to its contents — is the back-cover reference to Sonic Youth’s Echo Canyon studio as the Tribeca Recording Center. Apparently this was Gordon’s preferred, personal name for the facility.
A more obvious stumbling block for many listeners would be the fact that Kim Gordon is the only member of Sonic Youth who contributed musically to the album — an album in a series that by now had been perceived as primarily an outlet for the more experimental work of Sonic Youth. True, Jim O’Rourke was the producer, but O’Rourke was not yet a full and proper member of the band in 2000. The album is officially credited to Gordon, DJ Olive, and Ikue Mori, establishing it intrinsically as the work of a band side project. The unfamiliarity of most Sonic Youth fans with disc jockey and turntablist Olive (born Gregor Asch) and the Japanese-born sampler, drummer and DNA co-founder Mori drives a wedge between said fans and the album. This is compounded by the fact that, like previous albums in the series, the specifics of the contributors’ instrumentation — in simplified terms, ‘who played what’ — is not credited in the liner notes. Unlike in the case of SYR 3 and SYR 4, this becomes problematic when there’s only one contributing musician (Gordon) with whom the fans are familiar.
Largely the result of such decidedly different contributors, SYR 5 is probably the most difficult album in the series to analyse and write about. This factor of the unfamiliar — specifically, the matter of determining who played what — is exacerbated by the fact that DJ Olive and Ikue Mori, by the very nature of their musical roles, may bring ‘found’ or sampled music from virtually anywhere, thus making it also a matter of from where did it come. Regardless of how much or how little traditional instrumentation may have been utilised in the construction of any given track, one can be safe in saying that SYR 5 is primarily an electronic album.
Nevertheless, with a little patience and adjustment, one can still digest the rudimentary aspects of the tracks and offer up an analytical summation.
The album’s opener, ‘Olive’s Horn’, is essentially an example of ambient music — if not illbient music, to use Olive’s term for that special branch of hip-hop-inspired electronic music that he helped originate in mid-’90s Brooklyn. The four-and-a-half-minute instrumental starts out mellow with synthetic ‘cricket chirps’ and bird-like noises, becomes loud and noisy, and then goes through a phase of ‘plumbing echoes’ before flattening out and ending with a brief passage of melancholic saxophone. As the title suggests, it appears to be primarily a DJ Olive composition, although undoubtedly one or both of the other musicians contributed to its construction. Regardless of its components, the track functions relatively well as an introductory ‘overture’ that prepares the listener for the unique suite of numbers that’s to come.
Gordon enters the picture vocally on ‘International Spy’. Under three minutes in length, this laidback yet funky number has dark overtones that suit such a paranoid concept as international espionage. Gordon’s lyrics, however, are minimal, surreal (“I spy into your ear…”), and possibly a product of improvisation; their connexions to said concept peripheral and abstract. As was often the case by this time in her career, Gordon’s enunciation of the lyrics is rather compromised, as well. Despite such perceived shortcomings, the number proves greater than the sum of its parts, and works relatively well as a vocal introduction on an experimental album.
As quickly as ‘International Spy’ sputters out, another short, minimalist track sputters and clickety-clacks its way in (at least on the CD configuration — tracks 3 and 4 are reverse-ordered for the double vinyl version). ‘Neu Adult’ — the title possibly a reference to ’70s krautrockers Neu! — is built upon a catchy synthetic beat that persists for the entire length of the two-and-a-half-minute number. Nearly twenty seconds in, what sounds like a layer of sampled guitar-string squeak and fuzz is laid on. Gordon’s sparse vocals enter the mix about ten seconds later and prove unintelligible for the most part, sadly. Her delivery is appropriate, though, given the apparent subject matter — her voice actually reminiscent of that of a stupefied or spellbound young girl, confronted with the realities of the adult world. Following a barrage of extra chirps, the number concludes with an extended jolt of sampled guitar noise and a rumbling, clickety outro.
‘Paperbag / Orange Laptop’ has for its basis a down-tuned, folk-tinged guitar riff that would not have sounded completely out of place on an early Led Zeppelin album. Initially floating beneath it in the mix are crowd sounds, like one would associate with a party or other such gathering (Lou Reed’s ‘Kicks’ comes to mind). Gordon’s vocals, which begin fifty seconds of the way in, demonstrate more of the attributes of traditional singing this time. Her ‘bedroom lullaby’ voice entails better enunciation of the lyrics — which are no less surreal or minimalist than those of the previous two numbers, but are simply better suited phonetically to the given music. The guitar riff, presumably Gordon’s own, gradually ‘deteriorates’ through a series of filters, effects and embellishments as the track progresses over its six-and-a-third-minute course. The embellishments take the form of every rattle, warble and chirp that Olive and Mori can possibly wrap around said riff. Before any sort of real climax is reached, everything flattens into sheer ambience and fades out — including Gordon’s vocal, as it’s reduced to a few gasps and murmurs.
One of the more nuanced, structured and generally interesting tracks on the album is immediately followed by one of the most simplistic and stationary. ‘Stuck on Gum’ is basically four minutes of Gordon strumming flat notes on an ‘alternatively tuned’ guitar backed by simulated percussion that resembles multiple basketballs bouncing on a hardwood floor. Olive or Mori supplies some complimentary engine growls and other sounds, while Gordon chants on rather inanely about the delights of gum ‘addiction’ (“I can’t get up / ’cause I’m… / stuck on… / ’cause I’m… / stuck on… / gum!”). Minimalism and discordance are obviously the key principles at work here. Oddly enough, the track holds together well, and is at least consistent if not exactly imaginative.
At over eight and a half minutes in length, ‘Fried Mushroom’ is the longest track on SYR 5. Musically, it is also the track that most resembles the material from the two previous SYR titles. The piece commences with a woman’s utterance in a foreign language followed by an electronic ‘silence’. It begins proper with what might be described as the sound of hundreds of electronic beads being emptied into the audio cosmos while other synthetic life-forms chirp, caw, burble and cluck. Not unexpectedly, a momentary rhythm develops amongst said life-forms, causing Pink Floyd’s ‘Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict’ (1969) to spring to mind. As the assorted noises persist, Gordon begins gasping and grunting in seeming imitation of them. A sampled flurry of distorted string-bending gradually rises in the mix to overtake and replace the heretofore prevailing cacophony about fifteen seconds past the two-minute mark. The guitar sample, in turn, quickly gives way to a din of white noise from various sources. As these channels of static fade out, ambient music comes to the forefront and Gordon begins vocalising. Her vocals are relatively strong with an aria-like quality on this particular track, making them somewhat reminiscent of Bjork’s on her more experimental numbers. Gordon’s own ‘Early American’ on Sonic Youth’s Kill Yr. Idols EP (1983) also comes to mind. As well, the lyrics are decidedly less laconic and more poetically fluid than on most of the other numbers:
Come cry to me
To set you free
I’ll say again
It’s not the end
Increasingly accented by various noises, the vocals and its accompaniments ‘drain out’ at the five-and-a-half-minute mark, giving way to more sampled guitar noise and a synthetic turbulent roar. This sonic maelstrom soon breaks, as well, with the ambient tones returning and celestial vocal sounds and cymbal-like splashes providing them accentuation. The ambient tones and other sounds gradually drop out of the mix one by one until all that remains is what sounds like a jam block or the electronic replica thereof. With seventy seconds remaining, a free-jazz jam of industrial elements emerges, featuring a soprano sax or some similar horn — be it natural or synthetic — creaking like a squeaky hinge before succumbing to a roaring wave that breaks into nothingness.
The following number — the opening track on the second 12-inch in the double vinyl version — is similar in its simplicity to ‘Stuck on Gum’. Like the earlier track, ‘What Do You Want? (Kim)’ features (presumably) Gordon playing the same basic riff on a guitar from more or less start to finish. On this occasion, however, the riff is decidedly downbeat, if not outright melancholy. Also, Olive and Mori’s electronic ‘treatments’ over the course of the four-minute number are less intrusive and more complimentary, providing mournful yet tasteful touches. Equally effective are Gordon’s vocals, which are relaxed and reasonably mellifluent as the singer seems to reflect bittersweetly on her own midlife situation (e.g., “Kim… / Do you think you’re happy? / Do you think you’re fine?”). The realities seem to tip her over the edge, in fact, for Gordon pauses to let out a bitter scream at the song’s midpoint and again near the end, just prior to the synthetic accompaniments ‘draining’ to a stop. All these elements and factors combine for a pleasantly surprising and insightful listen that somehow actually borders on conventional.
‘Conventional’ certainly doesn’t describe the next track. ‘Lemonade’ has for its basis a noisy, discordant guitar riff (Gordon’s? A sample? Both?) that persists for about two thirds of the track’s 6:42 length. Ambient accents are applied along the way, as are various samples. The sampled sounds are… interesting. A car horn’s honking is repeated several times, and a toilet can be heard flushing at what might be deemed the number’s musical and vocal apex. Gordon’s dramatic vocals begin close to a minute and a half into the track and continue until they devolve into heavy breathing and panting towards its end. Seemingly improvised on the spot, the lyrics are largely unintelligible amidst the cacophony. The few that can be discerned with any degree of assurance sound surreal and nostalgic (e.g., “I bought you for a… a memory / Now I give it back… for a glass of your… lemonade”). The guitar having given way to the samples, percussion effects and allsorts during the vocal section, all channels in the mix gradually fade out in the final thirty seconds.
Despite its relative brevity (three minutes and 38 seconds), ‘We are the Princesses’ can be considered as a two-part number. The first half of the track consists of Gordon serving up a frenzy of pedal-effected guitar improv with occasional thrash-metal overtones while a sample of a revving engine plays and Mori seemingly hammers out complimentary drumming of the sort that first brought her attention in her pre-electronic days (it’s on occasions like this one when instrumentation credits are truly missed). The second half is marked by the guitar’s subsiding and ambient tones coming to the forefront as the drum fills continue. It is also marked by Gordon’s vocalising of what are arguably the album’s strangest and most extreme lyrics. “We are the princesses,” chants Gordon repeatedly before entering into her surreal ‘recitation’: “Donald Duck will follow her / Kill! Kill! / Kill Minnie!” The percussion and ‘cosmic’ sounds persist for another minute in the wake of the vocal segment, finally fizzling out in a wave of echoes and chirps. In all fairness, this number may not be the most thematically conventional track ever recorded, but it is notable for the (ostensible) presence of Mori on drums.
The fact that ‘Take Me Back’ follows on the heels of ‘We are the Princesses’ is rather appropriate, for it resembles the previous track in its apparent use of Mori’s drumming and in its consisting of what may be interpreted as two distinct phases, the latter containing a limited amount of vocals. The first phase involves Gordon playing variations on a moderate, down-tuned guitar riff that actually brings early Joy Division to mind (e.g., ‘Insight’), while Mori and Olive provide complimentary percussion and synthetic effects and samples. The second phase begins at the three-minute mark, as the tempo changes momentarily and the guitar drops out of the mix. The remaining minute and a half features Gordon adding sparse guitar accents to her own brief scatting and improvised lyrics (“If you were… taking me back / If you were… taking me back”) before the number ends with a drum roll and all resounding elements fading out.
At nearly eight minutes in length, the album’s final track is its second-longest. ‘Take Me to the Hit’ begins with high-pitched electronic chirps and warbles of the 1970s sci-fi sound-effects variety, as well as what sounds like synthetic marimba. Fifty seconds in, a layer of snarling, distorted guitar enters the mix. The guitar competes with the purely synthetic elements for the remainder of the track, fading from the mix momentarily for the first time approaching the two-minute mark, when the ambient tones and ‘cosmic’ noises come to the forefront for about ten seconds. Gordon begins singing a minute later. Her vocals prove appropriately ethereal and decidedly countermelodic — or ‘against the grain’, as one should only expect in the context of such discordance. She enunciates relatively well (e.g., “Get on the track… / Take it to the hit”), but some of the surreal lyrics are still unintelligible amidst the plethora of sounds. The rumble of guitar subsides around the six-minute mark, giving way to some funky electronics and samples, only to rise in the mix again some twenty seconds later. At this point, Gordon begins chanting about “round roses” or the like. She murmurs other lines as her voice is swallowed up by the many sounds in the mix, including that of a siren. Most of the channels fade out in the concluding seconds, before a final minor surge of guitar squeak and ambient ‘bird squawk’ heralds Gordon’s murmuring of “Round the roses…”. A final muffled phrase from the singer (“I wanted more”…?) brings the album to an end.
SYR 5:ミュージカル パ一スペクティブ, with or without instrumentation credits on its jacket, is an album that blurs the lines between natural and synthetic sounds. Regardless of how one feels about this, it is an undeniably intriguing album — at least for anyone with a serious interest in Sonic Youth collectively or (especially) individually. For one thing, it is notable in that it provides the opportunity to hear Gordon performing distinctly on guitar — i.e., as opposed to bass guitar, and without the accompaniment of other guitarists, as in the case of Sonic Youth and side projects such as Free Kitten and Harry Crews. For another thing, it can be looked upon as one of the final stepping stones in the process of bringing the album’s producer, Jim O’Rourke, into Sonic Youth as a full-fledged member. The album can also be seen as a major step towards Gordon’s latter-day solo career, its sounds often foreshadowing those of her No Home Record LP nearly two decades later.
Despite such important factors as these, the album does not have the Sonic Youth name on it, and has subsequently been seen as somewhat irrelevant to the band’s cause in some quarters, apparently. Alas, maybe if they had pressed the double 12-inch version on transparent green vinyl….
Gordon, DJ Olive and Ikue Mori had played live sets together on occasions prior to the recording of the SYR 5 album, and would again. Their subsequent performances would also include SYR 5 producer O’Rourke, and sometimes percussionist Tim Barnes (of Silver Jews fame). It’s interesting to note that this quintet would release its 2005 one-track 12-inch Perfect Partner via London-based art agency Electra Editions — not the Perspectives Musicales series.
The aforementioned Barnes would play a key role in the construction of the next installment in the SYR series when it was recorded on April 12th, 2003. Why it would take another two and a half years to release — making it over five years since the release of SYR 5 — is open to speculation. Whatever the case, the Lithuanian-titled SYR 6: Koncertas Stan Brakhage Prisiminimui (English: Concert in Memory of Stan Brakhage) would finally see the light of day in early December of 2005. Credited to Sonic Youth (which by 2003 included Jim O’Rourke) with Tim Barnes, SYR 6 is a live album that was recorded at a benefit show at the Anthology Film Archives on the aforementioned date. It was released exclusively on CD. Dedicated to the memory of American experimental filmmaker Stan Brakhage (1933–2003), the improvisational music was performed as an accompaniment to a screening of a series of his silent films.
And therein lay a problem. As some more acute fans and critics were quick to point out, Brakhage’s films were emphatically silent for a purpose. “It claims to be an imaginary soundtrack for movies that deliberately detest sound in general,” wrote Pitchfork’s Alex Linhardt of the album upon its release. “Witness Brakhage’s famous words on the incompatibility between his silent films and any form of musical accompaniment: ‘I don’t make my films out of caprice. I feel they need a silent attention [rather than] a non-stop soundtrack of the most distracting order.’” Linhardt went on to opine that “to extol Brakhage by denying his wishes is both awfully disturbing and darkly amusing”.
It should be pointed out that this notion of providing improvised soundtracks to Brakhage films in live settings actually began in 1999, four years before the recorded event in question, with the founding of Text Of Light. Taking its name from a 1974 feature-length by Brakhage, this side project of Lee Ranaldo also featured Tim Barnes on occasions, and would go on to issue at least eight CD and 12-inch releases between 2004 and 2006. With this taken into consideration, one can envision how SYR 6 might be perceived by some niche music fans as an exploitative or opportunistic work by a big-name band, built upon the ideas of a lesser-known side project.
Also problematic with many fans of the series was the fact that it was the first installment to have no vinyl release. Although the three tracks that comprise the CD could have fit fairly comfortably over three sides of a double 12-inch vinyl edition, no such double package has ever materialised. For those who paid attention to matters of aesthetics and visual consistency, the CD’s cover art presented a similar problem. Unlike the covers of the five previous SYR titles, there was no op art — or the monochrome picture of a band member — to mirror that used on the original Perspectives Musicales covers. Gracing the digisleeve instead were stills of Brakhage in New York City’s Central Park, taken from a 1966 film by fellow filmmaker Jonas Mekas (who was also entrusted with translating the album’s title and liner notes into Lithuanian).
Of course these complaints all involve elements and minutiae that can be construed as superficial, ‘beside the point’ or ‘after the fact’. The main focus of any listener should still be the audio contents, and listeners of SYR 6 have a considerable 65 minutes’ worth to ponder.
Possibly for the sake of mitigating any intimidation inherent in those 65 minutes, the live performance has been divided into three tracks for the compact disc. Although not officially titled — indeed, not even acknowledged on the digisleeve — these three tracks register as ‘Heady Jam #1’, ‘Heady Jam #2’ and ‘Heady Jam #3’ when the disc is played via a computer or CD player that has such display capabilities.
Over 24 minutes in length, the first track opens with a low, pulsing bass guitar against an anxious stirring atmosphere like one would expect at a live setting. A xylophone or toy piano soon begins playing single ringing notes. The tempo gradually increases as intervallic squeaks from a synthesiser increase in volume, and wind chimes, strange crumpling sounds and rattling rim shots enter the sound frame. The bass begins to fade and ‘change course’ nearing the four-minute mark, and low drum rolls and sustained cymbal rolls start to fill the channels shortly thereafter. Five and a half minutes into the piece, a guitar is tremolo-bowed by Ranaldo for two brief stints. Seconds after that, hog-like grunts and bird-like chirps emanate briefly from undetermined sources. Over the next few minutes the guitars gradually come to the forefront, with Moore and Ranaldo strumming on six-strings in various tunings. There is also an increase in tempo for a duration, with a dominant bass and drums driving the number forward. The rhythm section fades as cymbals, wind chimes and a wailing synthesiser rise in the mix to challenge the guitars for dominancy. Some wah-pedal-effected plucking emerges to accelerate the tempo approaching the ten-minute mark, and the bass and drums resume their forward momentum. Beginning with the guitars, the tempo gradually decreases from about the fourteen-minute mark, levelling off about two minutes later. Most instruments also drop out of the mix over these two minutes, leaving the guitars to briefly noodle in a manner reminiscent of the subdued latter moments of the ‘The Wonder’ section from Sonic Youth’s ‘Trilogy’ (Daydream Nation, 1988). Percussion of the cowbell or wood-block variety slowly enters the picture as the guitars gradually ‘dissipate’. The said percussion serves as a bridge, keeping the piece afloat for a few moments just past the eighteen-minute mark. Then the guitars gradually return, screeching and rumbling in a flurry of up-down strumming and feedback. This barrage of guitar persists for the remainder of the piece, more or less, hitting several minor crescendos in the process without actually reaching a definite climax. The drums and other percussion remain for the most part in the background, occasionally in sync with the guitars, but usually playing ‘against the grain’. Over the course of the final minute and a half, the guitar sounds dwindle into nothingness and the percussion slows to a stop, bringing the first phase of the performance to an end as the uncertain audience responds with a hesitant but fairly enthusiastic round of applause.
The second phase, track two, runs a little over fourteen minutes in length. It begins with a sequence of low-toned bowed guitar, feedback, crunchy static, bongos, and flashes of ‘cosmic’ synthesiser. Although there will be pauses and changes in instrumentation throughout the next thirteen minutes, this sequence establishes the second phase of the performance as primarily a drone — or, more precisely, a series of drones. Gordon’s vocal contributions to this portion of the performance can also be construed as drones, by and large. Beginning about twenty seconds past the one-minute mark, the bassist provides a slow-moving wave of breathing, moaning, humming, scatting and vague verbalising — all somehow muffled or filtered. On at least one occasion, nearing the five-minute mark, her vocal output sounds orgasmic; on other occasions it sounds like that of a person drugged or hypnotised and experiencing suggested trauma. Any actual words that Gordon speaks during her delivery are largely unintelligible; but she can be heard to utter “Come on, come on, come on” following the ‘orgasmic’ moment, and snippets of a one-sided conversation are discernable around the seven-minute mark; e.g.: “I was just wondering… Just come a little bit closer… closer… closer… Look!” Regardless of their exact content and meaning, the vocals dominate this portion of the performance. The instrumentation serves almost as incidental music, subtly shifting in the background or blending with Gordon’s unique phrasing. Vocals and instrumentation together reach a crescendo of sorts around the twelve-minute mark. When all the droning and repetitive play subside, what remains is Gordon’s affected hums and Shelley’s subdued backbeat of bass drum and woodblock — the latter serving as a bridge to the performance’s third phase. It is at this point that the third track begins.
The backbeat that leads into the 27-minute third phase is quickly streamlined to simple two-stick woodblock play, which somehow perseveres for three minutes without being completely swallowed up by a sea of bowed-guitar ambiance and low-key improv. As the percussion subsides, the guitarists casually plot their improvisational courses, with one (Ranaldo?) subtly noodling while the other (Moore?) picks and percusses his strings as if he were performing minor surgery on the instrument. All the while, birdlike calls and chirps emit from a synthesiser. The guitars continue to go off on tangents of picking, strumming and feedback over the next several minutes. Along the way, they are joined by the bass, clanging and clashing percussion, and — beginning around the eight-minute mark — what sounds like samples from multiple British radio and/or television broadcasts. Shortly past the ten-minute mark, the two guitarists launch into a segment of fast, pedal-effected picking vaguely reminiscent of Robert Fripp’s on certain mid-1970s King Crimson numbers. The bass, percussion and synthesiser gradually follow the guitars as they go higher and higher up the scale, with all instruments increasing in tempo and volume in the process. The resulting crescendo is a veritable sonic maelstrom. The piece goes through several similar peaks and troughs over the course of the next three minutes or so, with the guitars taking the lead and the other instruments following or — as sometimes in the case of Shelley’s drums — providing dissonance. Virtually all instruments subside and gradually disappear from the mix leading up to the eighteen-minute mark. At this point Moore begins playing a tremolo-driven lead that borders on bluesy twang. One by one, the drums, chimes, synthesiser and a second guitar start adding accents to Moore’s lead, which begins to slowly recede in the mix. The tempo starts increasing and decreasing at intervals shortly past the 21-minute mark, and more instruments come into play; including Ranaldo’s bowed and pedal-effected guitar, which comes to the forefront in the mix and remains there for over three minutes. Resembling a fire-alarm bell ringing, a brief roll upon some sort of minor gong by percussionist Barnes is discernable shortly before the 24-minute mark. All instruments build to a final crescendo around a minute later, and then gradually ‘deescalate’. The guitars slowly subside in a whirring, snarling manner that’s actually somewhat reminiscent of Ritchie Blackmore’s final moments on Deep Purple In Rock (1970). The final waves of guitar reverb fade to nothingness, bringing the track, the performance and the CD to a conclusion. Interestingly, the audience’s applause has been omitted from the ending.
Sonic Youth must have been intent on capturing this live performance for posterity, otherwise a soundboard wouldn’t have been present on the Anthology Film Archives stage. And a soundboard was obviously present, given the audio quality and the multi-track mixing and editing that the recording has undergone. For example, the first phase of the performance (‘Heady Jam #1’) runs at least three minutes longer than the original phase that was captured on video and uploaded to the band’s YouTube channel in 2022. (It is this shadowy single-camera footage that was consulted to confirm some of the instrumentation and its players during the analysis of the album.) It’s obvious that a lot of thought and care went into the performance and the resultant live album, and Koncertas Stan Brakhage Prisiminimui is a fairly decent effort overall.
Still, one cannot escape the feeling that there is something missing — and I don’t mean merely a vinyl edition. Yes, a double vinyl pressing of this album would be a nice addition to the series and one’s record collection, but I’m talking about something more fundamental or innate. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that SYR 6, with its Stan Brakhage dedication and inspiration, spoken-word phase, and media broadcast samples, can be construed as something of a concept album. As a result, one is left feeling that one is listening to the live version of a previously released record. To demonstrate, imagine if John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, The Nice’s Ars Longa Vita Brevis, Pink Floyd’s Atom Heart Mother, or even The Who’s Quadrophenia or Tommy only existed in live editions.
A live recording would comprise one half of the next title in the Perspectives Musicales series when it finally materialised in late April of 2008, two and a half years after SYR 6. Similar to the situation with the previous SYR title, the two tracks that comprise SYR 7: J’Accuse Ted Hughes were recorded five to eight years earlier. The album’s title and liner notes were written exclusively in Arpitan (a.k.a. Franco-Provençal), a minority Gallo-Romantic language of France, Italy and Switzerland. In direct contrast to SYR 6’s formatting, the album was released exclusively on 12-inch black vinyl.
Not unexpectedly, this caused a bit of an indignation amongst series followers who were CD completists, with at least one fan demonstrating on Sonic Youth’s official forum how he had burnt the album to disc and designed and printed his own digisleeve in imitation of previous SYR disc packages. The package’s cover art again presented a problem for those concerned about visual sincerity. As in the case of SYR 6, there was no op art or monochrome picture of a band member featured in imitation of album covers in the original Perspectives Musicales series; but instead a photo of a guitar-hoisting Thurston Moore — bearing the caption ‘Goodbye 20th Century, Goodbye Talent’ — ripped from a negative Melody Maker review of the band’s performance at the All Tomorrow’s Parties (ATP) festival in 2000.
The album’s A-side, ‘J’Accuse Ted Hughes’ (‘I Accuse Ted Hughes’), was recorded at the said ATP festival in Camber Sands, East Sussex, England on April 8th, 2000 — before Jim O’Rourke had joined the band. According to some sources, it was originally referred to as ‘New Drone’. Nearly 23 minutes in length, the track opens with a few seconds of eager crowd sounds, complete with some young woman shouting “Thurston!” The number begins unassumingly with some repetitive and moderately fast plucking of the top string on the part of one of the three guitarists. (As was increasingly her custom both on stage and in the studio by this time, Gordon played guitar for this particular gig). Video footage of the performance that has surfaced online reveals the guitarist to be Moore. The basic drone-like rhythm established, the other two guitarists soon begin strumming along or adding improvisatory accents. Drumming is not immediately discernable in the mix, but Shelley provides what sounds like low drum rolls at various points, as well as a little complementary cymbal play. This hypnotic theme, slight variations and all, persists instrumentally for roughly six minutes, and then Gordon begins improvising a spoken-word segment. “Long way… A long way…” chants the vocalist in a somewhat frail and unsure voice. She proceeds to relate in first-person narrative the surrealistic and somewhat vulgar account of a young poetess on the way up:
I send my poem
To Good Housekeeping
They paid me ten dollars
For my poem
But you’re a poet and I fuck you
Given the title that was eventually attached to this number, it is obvious that the lyrics are a cynical take on the early life of short-lived American poet Sylvia Plath (1932–1963) and her burgeoning relationship with future British Poet Laureate Ted Hughes (1930–1998). By the time this spoken-word segment has concluded at the twelve-and-a-half-minute mark, Moore is playing a fast ‘cheese-grater’ up-down stroke reminiscent of that used on the ZZ Top-inspired ‘Eliminator Jr.’ section of Daydream Nation’s ‘Trilogy’. Shelley soon brings some complementary woodblock play to the groove in the absence of Gordon’s vocals, and shortly thereafter one of the guitarists (Ranaldo, apparently) plays a brief discordant lead. Then, at the fourteen-minute mark, most of the guitar momentarily dissipates, and Moore brings the number back to square one by suddenly reverting to the single top string and a rhythm and tone very similar to that of the number’s opening notes. From there the piece rebuilds, increasing in tempo for a considerable stretch as Ranaldo and Gordon play variations on Moore’s theme and Shelley improvises subtly on the drums before jangling up a veritable frenzy on the cymbals. The number then slows to a near stop around the twenty-minute mark before fragmenting intro three strands of feedback and flipped-out guitar improv. This persists for the remainder of the number (i.e., close to three minutes). Over this is laid a final segment of spoken-word vocals. Sadly, the majority of Gordon’s improvised lyrics cannot be discerned amidst the guitars; but the lines “Lay my poem down… / to the seaside” and “Ma, she left her coat to me / Let him come to me” can be quoted with a reasonable degree of certainty. The track ends with some crunchy static, a final blast of squeaky feedback, and about ten seconds of fading applause from the ATP audience.
In stark contrast to the A-side, the album’s B-side was recorded in the studio sometime after Jim O’Rourke had joined as an official fifth member. Over eighteen and a half minutes in length, ‘Agnès B. Musique’ was composed for an unrealised collaboration with French fashion designer Agnès B. According to the band’s official website at one point, the track was recorded at the band’s own Echo Canyon studio on Murray Street sometime in 2001. However, according to the liner notes, it was recorded at Echo Canyon on the 19th of January, 2003 and mixed by Jim O’Rourke on the following 4th of July. Whatever the truth, it opens with what sounds like an organ (Ranaldo’s Korg?) being played through a wah pedal or its equivalent. One is reminded of Richard Wright’s organ sound on the early Pink Floyd records. As if to reinforce this analogy, Shelley is soon mitigating the droning vibe with a restrained but uplifting beat that recalls Nick Mason’s work on ‘Echoes’. The organ and the drums establish a basic groove from which variations can arise and upon which other instruments can build and improvise. Shelley, for example, a minute into his performance, briefly foregoes the drumming for cymbal play while the organist sustains a few notes, emphasising the drone element. Half a minute later, a guitar begins adding subtle melodic touches to the basic rhythm. About a minute after that, Shelley begins modifying the rhythm by adding extra beats. Then, at the three-and-a-half-minute mark, the drumming ceases for thirty seconds as amp static and feedback come into play. The static and feedback gradually rise higher in the mix as the drumming resumes and stops three times at varying intervals over the space of the next ninety seconds. The organ fades substantially in the mix from about the four-minute mark onward, lending extra attention to the amp noise. By the time Shelley’s drumming and cymbal play have ceased a few seconds past the five-and-a-half-minute mark, the number has (d)evolved into what is essentially a guitar-based drone — the improvisatory strumming and plucking providing an additional layer of texture to the feedback and static. The drumming resumes as the number approaches the eight-minute mark, but is quickly rendered as good as inaudible in the mix. Owing to effects pedals and possibly post-production filters, the guitars and feedback are soon washing over the listener in veritable waves of lonely, haunting sound. This sparse and foreboding soundscape persists for virtually the remainder of the track. It is unclear whether or not any organ is used beyond the early minutes of the number, but some peripheral beeps and squeaks of the otherworldly variety — detectable at various intervals from around the ten-and-a-half-minute mark onward — may be the result of a synthesiser if not an organ or guitar pedal. Shelley’s cymbals come back into play for a little over two minutes, starting at the thirteen-and-a-half-minute mark, but any drums are not discernable in the mix. The cymbals give way to minor chimes, which persist for about half a minute. Most of the effects and feedback gradually fade from the mix from about the sixteen-minute mark onwards, while the plucking and strumming become more subdued. There are two subtle crescendoes of repetitive string-tingling and pedal effects, and then the number peters out into a slow sequence of improvised notes against droning feedback. There’s a whisper of chimes, and seconds later a guitar signs off with a snarl just before a plodding note and the drone quickly fade.
Considered objectively fifteen years after its release, the B-side is obviously the superior of the album’s two tracks. Given its studio origin and resultant production values, ‘Agnes B. Musique’ is definitely more in keeping with the perspective and spirit of the first four or five SYR releases. The A-side, lyrics and all, is an intriguing exercise and concept, but it sounds unpolished and rather novel when juxtaposed with the flipside studio track. No doubt the piece was not conceived entirely on location at Camber Sands; therefore a studio recording of the same basic improvisational sequence and spoken-word passages was certainly achievable, and would have greatly improved its overall impression. As it stands, ‘J’Accuse Ted Hughes’ would be a much better fit comprising side A of a double album documenting the band’s entire 2000 ATP performance.
Regardless of preferable alternatives, however, the album as we know it is a good and certainly interesting one — just not the most consistent and exemplary volume in the Perspectives Musicales series.
A second SYR title appeared in 2008, one that proved more consistent if not more anodyne. Released in late July, only three months after J’Accuse Ted Hughes, the Danish-titled SYR 8: Andre Sider af Sonic Youth (English: Other Sides of Sonic Youth) is a live album officially credited to Sonic Youth with Mats Gustafsson and Merzbow. The album was recorded at the Roskilde Festival in Roskilde, Denmark on July 1st, 2005, and features the band improvising with Swedish free-jazz saxophonist and frequent Sonic Youth collaborator (e.g., Diskaholics Anonymous Trio) Gustafsson and Japanese electronic noise musician Merzbow (born Masami Akita). According to the liner notes, the album was mixed by Jim O’Rourke in 2006. This would have been several months after he had already left the band.
Given the particulars of the two previous SYR titles, fans had become accustomed to recordings in the series having been recorded and edited a number of years earlier. The fact that the album was issued only in the CD format, however, still caused a few ripples amongst vinyl purists at the time. As in the case of the two previous SYR titles, there was no front-cover op art in imitation of album covers in the original Perspectives Musicales series; though fuzzy, ‘multiple-exposed’ images of Merzbow (front and centre) and other participants grace the CD digisleeve drenched in shades of yellow — vaguely reminiscent of the green monochrome images of Luc Ferrari in the original series and Gordon on the front cover of SYR 5.
The performance captured on SYR 8 is actually the second of two appearances that Sonic Youth made at the Roskilde Festival in 2005. The first appearance, on the day before, consisted of the band’s ‘mainstream’ material, with a focus on the Sonic Nurse album from the previous year. The appearance in question, featuring Gustafsson and Merzbow, was devised so that the performance would employ both an additive process and a subtractive process. This involved starting the set with Gordon and Shelley and having all other participants join the performance one at a time at roughly five-minute intervals until all seven were performing together; and then having them depart the stage individually according to the same scheme until no-one was left, thus ending the set and surrendering the stage to Black Sabbath, who performed immediately after. The entire performance was released as the one 57-and-a-half-minute track, simply entitled ‘Andre Sider af Sonic Youth’.
The track opens, not surprisingly, with much applause and some chanting as the duo of Gordon and Moore take to the stage to begin the set. With Gordon on guitar and Shelley providing drum fills, the pair strikes up a minimalist, almost bluesy, ’70s-style rock jam. In fact, the interplay between the two is actually somewhat reminiscent of that between Jimmy Page and John Bonham in the 1970s! Gordon begins singing about a minute into the performance, but her improvised lyrics are mostly unintelligible owing largely to her apparent hoarseness. This is of little matter, though, for vocals and lyrics aren’t central to this set; nor do they establish a theme or comprise a major section (as in the case of ‘J’Accuse Ted Hughes’). The apparent prime reason for vocals is the same reason that the group chose a basic drums-dominated jam for the intro: to create the illusion of rock conventionality in an attempt to draw the attention of the general Roskilde audience from the opening moments. Their attention drawn, the duo begins luring said crowd down the proverbial rabbit hole. Joined by Moore and then Ranaldo on guitar, and later O’Rourke on synthesiser, for over twelve minutes they expand the boundaries of the vague theme; its tempo increasing and decreasing at various intervals as the drums follow the other instruments on improvisatory tangents. Gordon returns to the mic to provide sparse vocals between roughly the fourteen-minute and sixteen-minute marks, but her lyrics prove even less intelligible amidst the extra instruments. It is during this brief vocal reprise that the drums cease to provide fills and a steady beat, and all remnants of the opening sequence dissolve. At this point the performance enters a realm more akin to that of free jazz or ambient music, with more emphasis on individual improvisation and drone, and little to no reliance on beats and recurring themes. Appropriately, then, Gustafsson is the next participant to take to the stage, with his free-jazz tenor sax coming into play at the nineteen-minute mark. For the next five minutes or so, Gustafsson strews the set with every note, grunt and anguished moan he can manage to squeeze out of his instrument. Along the way, a second horn can be heard joining him in the mix. Amateur video footage found online reveals that Gordon indeed contributed trumpet to this section of the piece. Gordon also finds the wind to vocalise a brief passage of indiscernible lyrics beginning around the 23-minute mark. There’s a brief lull in the wind instruments shortly after the 24-minute mark as Merzbow enters the picture, upping the ante on electronic noise by means of his laptop computers. With all seven participants on stage, the performance enters its most cacophonous phase. For approximately seven minutes — until Gordon leaves the set around the 31-minute mark — the septet delivers a free-jazz onslaught of blaring horns, warbling synthetics, dissonant guitars, and fast triplet-based drumming and cymbal play. Gordon even manages to squeeze in a final segment of wailing and vocalising. The remaining musicians carry on as a sextet for roughly five minutes after Gordon leaves the stage, each rising and falling in the mix at various intervals for the (perceived) sake of nuance. The drumming plays no less of an important role during this time — its final minutes, providing tense comments and complementary grooves before Shelley walks off around the 36-minute mark. The final twenty minutes of the set reinforces the process of elimination already underway, with Moore and later Ranaldo leaving the stage during the ten-minute period immediately following Shelley’s departure; their feeding-back guitars blending with the droning and chirping electronics before disappearing respectively from the mix. In the process, the saxophone reemerges as the lead instrument. For roughly three and a half minutes, Gustafsson again riddles the air with honking and snortling exotic enough to rival that being produced electronically. The laptops and a wailing guitar (presumably Ranaldo’s in his final hurrah) overtake the sax around the 46-and-a-half-minute mark, but Gustafsson regains his competitive chops shortly thereafter, and the remaining trio proceeds to build the piece to a cacophonous climax in terms of both tempo and pitch. A video shot by Ranaldo post-performance and uploaded to Sonic Youth’s official YouTube channel reveals that this climax involved O’Rourke waving about what appears to be a multi-coiled long length of metallic tape pulled from a spring tape measure that he’s rigged atop an amplifier. The video’s descriptive blurb refers to the musical implement as an “electric measuring tape”. Regardless of such peculiar contrivances — and without taking into account any discrepancies that may exist between the video and the finished album as a result of possible editing that either may have undergone — it appears that O’Rourke leaves the stage around the 51-and-a-half-minute mark, the tape left strewn about the amp. Gustafsson walks off less than two minutes later, after taking a final strident lead following the climax. Merzbow is left to close out the set with a prefab array of overlapping soundscapes, filling nearly three and a half minutes with layers of droning static, electronic ‘thunder’, and what sounds like multiple space-balls bouncing off a cosmic force field. Following a major round of applause, Moore returns to thank the audience and introduce Gustafsson and Merzbow; the crowd sounds and track subsequently fade out.
By sheer virtue of its nature — a recording of an entire experimental concert set — SYR 8: Andre Sider af Sonic Youth is obviously a more consistent album than its half-live/half-studio predecessor in the series. In spite of said consistency, however, one can still make the argument that such a seven-piece improvisational performance would have worked just as well as a seventeen- to 25-minute studio recording. This would certainly have been a better fit aesthetically alongside the first four or five releases in Perspectives Musicales, especially if comprising a portion of a 12-inch vinyl LP. I don’t wish to outright belittle it by any means, but it should also be pointed out that SYR 8 sounds in many ways like an extended live take on what would otherwise be a rather basic or average studio improv session. Similar to the live title track from SYR 7: J’Accuse Ted Hughes, ‘Andre Sider af Sonic Youth’ as we know it might have been better suited to release in a different context; such as a CD on another label, or as a track on a more extensive live album or box set.
Nearly three years would pass before another album in the Perspectives Musicales series would see the light of day. Released in mid February of 2011 in both CD and 12-inch black-vinyl editions, the French-titled SYR 9: Simon Werner a Disparu (English: Simon Werner has Disappeared) would prove to be Sonic Youth’s final studio album while the band was still in existence. Entirely instrumental, it was composed and recorded at Echo Canyon West in February and March of 2010 for the purpose of serving as the soundtrack to French director Fabrice Gobert’s film of the same name (English title: Lights Out), which debuted at Cannes on the 20th of May. Indeed, one of the tracks and fragments (or ‘aspects’) of four others would later comprise a bonus CD in the film’s 2011 DVD release. The thirteen tracks were developed thematically while screening scenes from the film. With O’Rourke having departed nearly five years earlier, the band performed as a quartet with Gordon on guitar rather than bass. Both Moore and Ranaldo also contributed piano to certain tracks. Not surprisingly (by this time), there was no front-cover op art. Stills from the film grace both the front and back covers, with two additional stills featured on the CD digisleeve’s inner gatefold. Unlike previous Perspectives Musicales releases, the title and series logo are not contained in a solid bar across the top of the front cover. Probably owing to its musical consistency and availability in both popular formats, the album was well received by most fans and critics alike.
Probably the first thing that strikes one about SYR 9 is the brevity of the tracks in comparison to those on most of the previous releases in the series. This no doubt stems from the fact that the compositions are, at their core, incidental music, having begun life as musical reflexions of scenes in the film. Naturally they would be brief owing to the sheer number of scenes that would require music of a particular tone and tempo. It goes almost without saying that the alternative approach — linking the music from various scenes together in order to construct longer tracks — would sound rather contrived to a lot of ears.
The opening track, ‘Thème de Jérémie’, starts with a short sequence of guitar improv dominated by percussed strings and complemented by subtle cymbal comments. Shelley begins playing rhythmically on the cymbal and a tom-tom around the 1:20 mark, establishing a steady beat against which the discordant guitars are juxtaposed. The guitars quickly but individually fall in line with the percussion and maintain an eclectic groove until the three-minute mark. At this point the rhythmic sequence gives way in the mix to a roar of white noise that rises seemingly out of nowhere. Ten seconds later the drums reemerge with a more up-tempo and somewhat looser beat. Seconds after that, the fog of static lifts and the guitars start turning out moody reverb-effected notes that sound like the anxious bastard grandchild of Duane Eddy’s ‘Peter Gunn’. The segment, which would not have sounded out of place on a David Lynch film soundtrack (e.g., Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me), cruises along for roughly a minute before the track ends rather abruptly at the four-and-a-half-minute mark.
The following track, ‘Alice et Simon’, unfolds in a fashion almost the reverse of the opener. A little more than two and a half minutes in length, the upbeat number rocks along unpretentiously in 4/4 time until the fifty-second mark, when the drums cut out and the guitars are left to their own devices. Again with a touch of late-’50s-style reverb, Moore, Ranaldo and Gordon noodle tastefully and tunefully for the remainder of the number, the track eventually fading out as one of the guitars is droningly down-strummed.
Piano comes into play on the next track, the appropriately titled ‘Les Anges au Piano’ (‘Angels at the Piano’). With its laidback tempo, droning acoustic guitar and organesque effects, the three-and-a-half-minute piece’s opening sequence owes a lot to ‘Snare, Girl’ from A Thousand Leaves thirteen years earlier. Shelley’s percussion, which appears to be hand-played and of Asian or African origin, rises very gradually in the mix as the number approaches the one-minute mark. Then, leading up to the 1:20 point, the opening sequence fades relatively quickly as ambient guitar hum rises to serve as a background for the piano, which begins momentarily. This subsequent section, featuring either Moore or Ranaldo on contemplative piano, persists for two tranquil minutes before fading out with the track.
‘Chez Yves (Alice et Clara)’ [or ‘(Alice and Clara) At Yves’s’], another three-and-a-half-minute number, comes next in the tracklist. It features a hard-rocking opening section reminiscent of the band’s 1992 B-side ‘The Destroyed Room’. The number undergoes transition when Shelley ceases drumming around the one-minute mark, and the heavy, distorted guitar riffs are subsequently subdued and eventually subside. In the process, Shelley begins playing rhythmically on a cymbal and a tom-tom in the same manner as he does during the first half of the opening track. The percussion is soon juxtaposed with the same low-volume, raspy, recurring guitar strums that punctuate the said section of the album opener. Meanwhile, the other two guitars function as subtle rhythm instruments in the background (the version of Joy Division’s ‘insight’ recorded for the John Peel Show comes to mind). This restrained groove persists until the track fades. With the noted reprise taken into consideration, one might quite rightfully describe ‘Chez Yves’ then as a variation on ‘Thème de Jérémie’.
The following track, ‘Jean-Baptiste à la fenêtre’ (or ‘John the Baptist at the Window’), is a varied piece indeed. Clocking in at just over three minutes, it goes through multiple phases over a minimal time span. The track begins and ends as a mellow piano piece with improvisational guitar accompaniment. Along the way, it undergoes four shifts in tone and/or time signature. The results are three brief internal segments, two of which rely on a steady drumbeat and the other featuring a lead guitar ‘solo’.
Closing out side one of the vinyl version is ‘Thème de Laetitia’. Six minutes in length, this piece is among the few tracks more typical of previous SYR material. It opens with sputtering static and ‘cosmic’ sounds of unknown origin (synthesiser or simply effects pedals?). Multiple guitars begin rising in the mix as the number approaches the one-minute mark, gradually overtaking the ‘white noise’ and developing into a cacophony of improvisation. So quavering and seemingly tensioned are some of the guitars that they actually bring to mind the late Angelo Badalamenti’s haunting soundtrack representation of high-voltage power lines and transformers in David Lynch’s Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. This free-form section persists until the four-minute mark. At this point all the guitar tracks drop out of the mix except one. Using what sounds like timpani mallets, Shelley comes into play with heavy drums shortly thereafter, accompanied by the other guitars. Not inappropriately, the more repetitive guitar notes that emerge from the brief jam that follows resemble those of King Crimson’s Robert Fripp in the 1970s. The piece ends abruptly with two final heavy drumbeats and a dash of guitar.
Only half the length of ‘Thème de Laetitia’, ‘Escapades’ is one’s basic rock instrumental in 4/4 time. In this respect, it functions well as a side-two opener. As is the case with virtually every Sonic Youth number, the focus is on the guitars. However, Shelley’s rather bluesy drumming comes into play nearing the half-minute mark, establishing the track as primarily a ‘beat’ number, albeit a moderate or laidback one. Against the rhythm section of Shelley and (presumably) Gordon, Moore and Ranaldo play droning or repetitive leads. When the drummer and rhythm guitarist drop out of the mix, only Moore — on an acoustic — continues soloing, thus creating an outro that soon fades (somewhat abruptly) to silence.
A little more than two minutes in length, the next track consists of two brief segments that appear to have been joined. ‘La Cabane au Zodiac’ (English: ‘Cabin to the Zodiac’) starts out as a mellow guitar exercise with some subtle tom-toms in the background. Then, around the fifty-second mark, it changes direction when the segment apparently crossfades with another; a repeatedly struck piano key coming to the forefront in the mix as two guitars improvise hesitantly beneath it. Gradually other keys come into play, and shortly before the ninety-second mark Shelley adds a moderate 4/4 drum rhythm to the section. This rhythm persists for the remainder of the piece, which fades in its final seconds. In the process, Moore or Ranaldo returns again and again to that one high note as he continues to play a simple melody on the piano.
The following piece is one of the few longer-than-average tracks on the album, and is accordingly multi-sectioned. ‘Dans les bois / M. Rabier’ (or ‘In the Woods / Mr. Rabier’) is close to six minutes long, and features an opening section of dirge-like, down-tuned guitar riffs and plodding drums vaguely reminiscent of Saint Vitus or early Black Sabbath. Shortly past the one-minute mark, a third guitar that has been rising droningly in the mix changes the course of the number as the other guitars subside. The guitar begins producing jarring, discordant notes as it’s stroked rather haphazardly. This persists until nearing the two-minute mark, when the guitarist ceases playing and only a sound resembling bouncing tennis balls (percussion? percussed guitar?) can be heard momentarily. From this point a different rhythm section rises gradually in the mix, crossfaded from a completely different track. Based around Shelley’s upbeat drums and some low-amped, acoustic-sounding guitar, this segment of the piece is augmented by another guitarist playing a reverb-effected lead similar to those found in ‘Thème de Jérémie’. This groove persists until the approach of the four-minute mark, when it’s overtaken in the mix by a separate track of amp noise, static and ear-splitting feedback. This in turn gives way to a track of guitar ambience and improvisational allsorts that lasts until the entire piece fades to silence. Complete with percussed strings and complementary cymbals, this section is similar to the initial section of the aforementioned album opener, and may have evolved from the same compositional idea if not partially drawn from the same source tape.
Just under eighty seconds in length, ‘Jean-Baptiste et Laetitia’ is basically a brief piano study by Moore or Ranaldo with at least one accompanying guitar. As the mellow piece unfolds, the guitar(s) and amplification intensify, taking on an almost cello-like quality. Always a band to keep us guessing with even the most rudimentary or inconspicuous of compositions, an effect resembling the sound of a classic synthesiser can be heard in the seconds before the track fades to silence.
The vinyl version’s penultimate track is similar in structure to side one’s ‘Les Anges au Piano’. Like the earlier track, the nearly four-minute ‘Thème de Simon’ has an initial section that, gentle repetitive melody and effected acoustic guitar and all, owes a lot to 1998’s ‘Snare, Girl’. Shelley’s pounding 4/4 drums rise very gradually in the mix from about the eighty-second point and persist until roughly the two-minute mark, when all instruments momentarily cease playing. Then an electric guitar is strummed hesitantly and occasionally for the better part of a minute, before the piano and rasping guitar strings come into play. Gradually, the guitar concludes and the rasping strings drops out of the mix; the remaining twenty seconds is dedicated to the somber piano notes alone.
‘Au Café’, the vinyl edition’s five-and-a-half-minute closer, is a moderately upbeat number that features Moore and Ranaldo playing variations on its main riff for the majority of the track’s duration. It’s unclear exactly what sort of acoustic guitar Moore is using on the track, but its sound is comparable to the general vibe found on his instrumental 12-String Meditations for Jack Rose solo acoustic album that was also released in 2011. Slightly pronounced and typically consistent, Shelley’s drumming propels the number forward right from the start and doesn’t cease until nearing the five-minute mark. The remainder of the track is dedicated exclusively to the guitars, with Moore still plucking the basic melody as the track fades out. One can make the argument that the number overall is fairly standard fare — certainly as far as Sonic Youth instrumentals go — but, guitar outro and all, it functions well as a closing track.
A bonus track, the lengthy ‘Thème d’Alice’, closes out the CD version. Apparently the track features bass guitar by Jim O’Rourke, who had left the band before the recording of their 2006 album, Rather Ripped. A portion of this track also comprises the second section of ‘Dans les bois / M. Rabier’, but without O’Rourke’s bass track. So one is left to wonder if the bass line was recorded sometime prior to O’Rourke’s departure in the fall of 2005. Whatever the case, the track’s basic rhythm and structure mirror that of the second section of the earlier track, as one would only expect. The number chugs along in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Credence Clearwater Revival’s take on ‘Suzi Q’ (1968), but with splashes of reverb-effected guitar at regular intervals. It gradually increases in tempo and volume over the course of several minutes, particularly from the five-and-a-half-minute mark onwards. There is also a gradual increase in variations on the basic theme, with all instruments finally reaching a free-form crescendo around the nine-minute mark. The piece attempts to ‘rebuild’ in the wake of the crescendo, with Shelley’s 4/4 drumming leading the way. The guitars are still trying to assert themselves and establish a dominant lead or drone when the track fades to silence just past the thirteen-minute mark.
One can easily argue that Simon Werner a Disparu — regardless of the fact that it’s a relatively solid album — was a rather arbitrary release in the SYR series, and could have been issued just as readily and appropriately on some French label (as in the case of the band’s 2002 Demonlover soundtrack) or even Matador (to which they had switched from Geffen in time for 2009’s The Eternal and Battery Park live album). Although entirely instrumental, the record’s contents exhibit little to none of the extreme improvisation and expansive lengths that mark the previous releases in the series. Seen from another angle, the album can stand as a good introduction to Perspectives Musicales for novice fans, mind you. One might say that what the album lacks in experimentation serves it well in the role as a ‘gateway drug’ into the series.
Eight months after the release of SYR 9, in October of 2011, the band officially announced that Moore and Gordon were separating after 27 years of marriage. The band played their final shows in Brazil the following November, and word leaked out in the weeks and months ahead that they were disbanding indefinitely. For many, it was the end of a musical and cultural era.
Of course, nothing ever seems to really end in the world of Sonic Youth.
Reportedly spearheaded by Shelley (who seems to function as tape archivist), in 2018 the former members of the band began issuing a series of previously unreleased live performances exclusively as digital files. The first dozen of these ‘electronic albums’ were released by Nugs.net into 2019. Then, in June of 2020, in the midst of the pandemic and lockdown, Shelley and company switched to Bandcamp and resumed their releasing of said files, which persisted into April of 2022. Oddly enough, among this batch of releases was what appears to be an official installment in the Perspectives Musicales series.
Released in August of 2020, Live At Cat’s Cradle 2000 consists of 24 tracks recorded at the titular club in Carrboro, North Carolina on the fifth of August, 2000 during the tour in support of NYC Ghosts & Flowers (Geffen, 2000). The album’s ‘cover’, or thumbnail, features an image of a bespectacled young woman’s partial face rendered by NC artist Casey Burns in red, yellow, blue and black dots for a pop-art effect. With the exception of the series title, all the pertinent information was written in English for the first time since Silver Session (for Jason Knuth) — if one counts the sole SKR title; otherwise, for the first time since SYR 4 / Goodbye 20th Century. Interestingly, the release is not credited to Sonic Youth on the thumbnail, but rather Perspectives Musicales. Nor is the official title present, but instead the venue’s name, its address, and ticket-purchasing information for the gig in question. Unlike the cover of SYR 9, the title, series logo and minutiae are all presented in a solid bar across the top in the usual fashion again. In contrast to previous titles in the series, however, the digital album is not represented by a number in the upper left corner (i.e., SYR 10), but rather the date of the performance in 2000: AUG 5.
The show was recorded by one Cory Rayborn using Core Sound binaural microphones and a Sony D8 DAT recorder. According to his notes on the album at the Bandcamp site, 8.5″ × 11″ fliers started appearing in the Chapel Hill area in mid July, advertising a twelve-dollar evening show in August billed as “SYR Records Presents: Perspectives Musicales”. Rayborn remembers wondering at the time if it would be some sort of “showcase” for SYR, albeit a label that “only releases Sonic Youth material”. No-one was absolutely certain if it was a Sonic Youth show that was scheduled for that Saturday evening; and, if indeed so, what sort of performance was intended. Exclusively improv, maybe, as Rayborn hoped?
As it turned out, the show consisted of two lengthy sets. The first was dedicated primarily to side interests and solo material — including that of then-member Jim O’Rourke — and acoustic works in progress that would not see full development until Murray Street; and the second was a “full-on” five-piece electric performance that focussed on NYC Ghosts & Flowers but also included numbers dating as far back as the Sister album of 1987. Two decades and Jeremy Lemos’s remastering later, the resultant digital album is eclectic to say the least.
Following a four-minute ‘Intro’ that consists basically of Moore talking to and joking with the audience, the first set opens with a fairly decent take on the title track from Moore’s 1995 Psychic Hearts solo album. Judging from its sound and Moore’s introductory comments, it appears to feature merely Moore on vocals and guitar and Shelley on drums. This is followed by Ranaldo reading a lengthy quotation by American Beat poet Gregory Corso from Jack’s Book: An Oral Biography of Jack Kerouac by Ranaldo’s friend Barry Gifford and Lawrence Lee. As Ranaldo points out when introducing the passage, Corso was gravely ill at the time; he would succumb to prostate cancer in January of the following year. From there, Ranaldo goes into a sprawling eighteen-minute version of his ‘Mote’ from Sonic Youth’s Goo album (1990). This rendition features Ranaldo performing the verses with solo electric guitar over the course of the first three and a half minutes. He is then joined by Moore, O’Rourke and Shelley for a lengthy improv section of feedback and electronics (which served as the musical backdrop for a screening of experimental short films by Ranaldo’s wife, artist Leah Singer). Up next is Moore performing three numbers solo on (twelve-string?) acoustic guitar — the instrument borrowed from Beck, according to comments made by Moore to the audience. First he delivers inchoate instrumental versions of what would become ‘Rain on Tin’ and ‘Disconnection Notice’ on Sonic Youth’s Murray Street album two years later. He then pulls off a third instrumental, a brief piece entitled ‘Marika’, which he explains was “written in celebration” of his friend Rita (Ackerman, the visual artist who did the cover art for Moore’s Psychic Hearts album) “who had a baby a couple of years ago named ‘Marika Thunderbunny’”. The number would be later recorded during the sessions for Moore’s 2007 solo album, Trees Outside the Academy, but was used instead on the Peach Sampler promo CD released the same year by his Ecstatic Peace! label. The acoustic instrumentals are followed by — in the words of Moore — “some sick shit” by Gordon, O’Rourke and Shelley. The aptly titled ‘Trio’ is an intriguing five-minute blend of mostly understated guitar, old-school electronics and somewhat funky drums. Over this minimalist mixture Gordon delivers her trademark stream-of-consciousness lyrics in a flighty voice that borders at times on feverish or snarling. “You won’t be hearing that on my forthcoming release on SYR,” she tells the crowd upon its conclusion. While at the mic, however, Gordon carries on with two tracks that would indeed appear on the forthcoming SYR 5 with Ikue Mori and DJ Olive; namely ‘International Spy’ and ‘Paperbag’. Although she, Shelley and O’Rourke do just basic run-throughs of the numbers, it is interesting to hear them performed live and with a more familiar duo accompanying Gordon. The spotlight on Gordon’s side project is followed by a representation of newcomer Jim O’Rourke’s solo ventures. Concluding the first set are his solo acoustic performances of ‘Fuzzy Sun / Not Sport Marital Art’ and the title track from his Halfway to a Threeway EP that was released the previous year. It’s interesting to note that these two are the only tracks on an official Sonic Youth release to feature O’Rourke on lead vocals. Sadly, it’s also worth noting that O’Rourke’s portion of the show is also the portion met with the most audience indifference — the crowd loudly chatting throughout his mellow ballads; and his attempt at the instrumental ‘Not Sport, Martial Art’ (erroneously but comically entitled ‘Not Sport Marital Art’ for this release) is abandoned when O’Rourke concedes that he’s playing in the wrong key. “I’m scorned tonight,” he adds jovially to lighten the atmosphere.
As mentioned, the second set of the show draws heavily on the NYC Ghosts & Flowers album, with six of its eight tracks featured. For openers, however, the band calls upon two tracks from their 1987 album Sister: the twisted, morphing rocker ‘Schizophrenia’, which features vocals by both Moore and Gordon, and the rip-roaring Moore-sung ‘White Cross’. Well rehearsed and brimming with enthusiasm, the performances are worthy of the originals and provide proof that the ’80s SY catalogue was still relevant and standing the test of time by the turn of the century. The two Sister numbers are followed by four tracks originally from NYC Ghosts & Flowers; namely ‘Free City Rhymes’, ‘Small Flowers Crack Concrete’, ‘Nevermind (What Was It Anyway)’ and ‘Side2Side’. With their Beat-poetry-inspired lyrics, subdued rhythms and often extended lengths, the then-new material may not seem upon initial consideration to be a natural match with the band’s later-’80s material. However, a diverse and decades-spanning mixture appears to have been the general goal of the show to begin with; and besides, Sonic Youth always arbitrarily included a handful of older numbers in their sets, which were otherwise exclusively dedicated to the lion’s share of the current album that they were touring behind. Regardless of juxtaposition, the new numbers are performed deftly as one would only expect. True, Gordon’s vocals on the latter two numbers sound a little weak and strained in comparison to Moore’s on the former two; but Gordon’s has never been the strongest and most consistent of voices, and fortunately her two numbers in question don’t require bellowing, guttural vocals. Unfortunately, the following number — ‘Kool Thing’, from the Goo album ten years earlier — calls for stronger, more baritone vocals, and Gordon has a somewhat difficult holding her own while the rest of the band rock out like 1990 was yesterday. Gordon’s most famous commercial showcase is followed by a notable take on Ranaldo’s moody ‘Hoarfrost’ — possibly the best track on the band’s previous major-label album, 1998’s A Thousand Leaves. This rendition of the ballad not only affords Ranaldo a turn at the mic, but also provides an outlet for improvisation in the form of a singular two-and-a-half-minute intro dominated by guitar skronk and feedback. On the heels of this comes the Moore-sung ‘Renegade Princess’, the hardest-hitting if not the most exemplary number from NYC Ghosts & Flowers. This is followed by a pretty decent attempt at another Gordon-sung favourite, ‘Bull in the Heather’ from 1994’s Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star, and the show’s official closer: the Ranaldo-chanted title track from NYC Ghosts & Flowers, which is arguably the best number from the 2000 album. A closer almost automatically entails an encore in any context, and a basic run-through of the Moore-sung rave-up ‘100%’ — the opener on the band’s 1992 album Dirty — serves well in the mandatory role despite its brevity.
It goes almost without saying that Aug 5: Live at Cat’s Cradle is a rather arbitrarily assigned addition to the Perspectives Musicales series. If it wasn’t for the fact that the show had been billed as a Perspectives Musicales event, then some might even call its ‘assignment’ merely an afterthought. As an album in the series, its credibility is largely buoyed up by the first set’s focus on the more eccentric solo and side-project material (including Gordon’s SYR 5) and the fact that the second set draws so heavily on NYC Ghosts & Flowers — the most experimental and least commercial of the band’s major-label albums. Regardless of its association with Perspectives Musicales, the digital album may indeed be the best live overview of the band — collectively and individually — that’s ever been given any kind of official release. In fact, it’s probably safe to say that had such a show been given the green light for release in the early years of Perspectives Musicales — or maybe if it had been officially recorded by the band themselves — then the event would have been documented more appropriately with a 4-LP and/or 2-CD physical release.
Considered linearly and as a whole in 2023, the SYR / Perspectives Musicales series seems to revolve around, if not hinge upon, the bulk of releases that appeared from 1997 through 2000 — i.e., the first five records (and the one SKR CD). After 2000, releases in the series were relatively few and far between: only four physical albums spanning eleven years, and a digital album nine years after that. There was also a definite move towards live improvisational recordings in the mid to late 2000s, suggesting that studio improvisation was being utilised elsewhere. Indeed, much of the creative spirit and impetus that had gone into the early SYR titles was increasingly channelled into their mainstream releases and other projects. For example, the Kali Yug Express 10-inch EP that was included with the Murray Street LP in France, or the Demonlover soundtrack CD from the same sessions — such experimental and non-commercial works would have most surely comprised Perspectives Musicales releases if they had been recorded three to five years earlier.
It may sound like undue suspicions of eccentric behaviour, but the fact that the original, French Perspectives Musicales consisted of only nine albums could have semiconsciously incited the band’s reluctance to release further installments in their own series at the pace they were being released in the late 1990s. There can be no denying that the fact that there have been only nine official physical releases in the SYR series is rather uncanny.
There’s also the fact that the band’s belated 2001 concert tour of Europe in support of Goodbye 20th Century did not garner a receptive response at most venues. In a 2011 interview, Moore claims that the Vooruit art centre show in Ghent, Belgium is one of the few venues where the audience “got it”. Such a poor reception in most cases may have put a damper on their enthusiasm for the series.
Whatever the specific reason(s), the series has all the earmarks of one in which the proprietors lost interest.
Of course, a loss of interest and a relative shortage of titles don’t subtract from the innate quality of that which has been released — especially where the earlier, more consistent and multi-formatted titles are concerned. Some detractors mightn’t like to admit it, but Perspectives Musicales filled a void for the band and music listeners alike in the later 1990s and early 2000s. Thankfully, not everybody wanted to jump on the dubious bandwagon of commercial post-grunge, nu metal and electronic dance remixes. After seven years and four ‘mainstream’ albums on Geffen, the series was the next logical step for Sonic Youth.
It’s interesting — some otherwise boorish music critic once rightfully observed that the MC5’s High Time (1971) was “an album about the future by a band that didn’t have one”. Perspectives Musicales may be looked upon as a series of cutting-edge albums that didn’t have a future by a band that, despite their long-ago breakup, will probably always have one.
