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Manja Ristić is best known for her hydrophone recordings in and around the island of Korčula, and her resulting concern for the effect of noise pollution on local environments. In a pair of new albums, she demonstrates expanded horizons; her collaboration with murmer is particularly notable as it unfolds during a time of compression.
We all have our own pandemic stories; each of these artists was confined to a too-small space, yearning for physical and spiritual escape. In Belgrade, Ristić was under strict curfew and could be arrested for walking her dog late at night. Meanwhile in Metsküla, Estonia, Patrick Rubin McGinley (murmer) was yearning for a glimpse of woodland outside his balcony, but found his view obstructed by scaffolding. In a case of sonic serendipity, McGinley found fascination in the sound of the “singing scaffolding,” and sent this sound to Ristić, who was similarly entranced; this sound became the basis of a new collaboration. The first piece, translated “The Imaginary Shadow of the Wind,” reflects the sound of the outdoor pipes, while serving as a metaphor of the winds of change blowing through society. Ristić writes that she was “imagining what sort of scaffold our society would need to rebuild this mess, or at least to stop the structure from crumbling completely.” The scaffold obstructs, but it also sings; society, and the scaffold, may tip in one direction or the other.
The recording at the heart of “kaugpääs; antenn” reflects a different type of escape. Overwhelmed by a crush of tourists in Dubrovnik, Ristić ducked into a local church for breathing room. A group of priests began to practice Gregorian chants behind the altar. The artist experienced a deep sense of solace, which she shared with her collaborative partner. He contributed his own sounds of rain dripping from an antenna and of “played” oil tanks in Latvia. When intermingled, these sources reveal the peace that one may obtain even in the hardest of circumstances by turning without to the sound of wind and water and within to the whisper of the spirit. Toward the end of the track, one hears the bustle rushing back, and struggles to retain that sense of blessed peace.
Ma is a very different sort of recording, with a diverse set of sound sources: some natural (an anthill, a silent lake, a river), some mechanical (ventilation in the men’s toilet of the Museum of Contemporary Art Ljubljana, recorded by Mark Vernon), the electro-magnetic field of a broken socket, “Dad’s boiler”) and some overtly musical (bowing cymbal, violin). In a way, this release is also collaborative, as Abby Lee Tee makes a contribution and breath and tape recorder hum are extracted from Toru Takemitsu.
Ma is a Japanese concept that refers to the void between things, which may refer to the distance between objects, the space between notes, or the suspension of time. On this album, Ristić investigates the relationships between sounds and environments, expanding on the idea of the mystical. The sense of solace is transferred from the monks back into nature, which ebbs and flows with its own harmonies and densities. The space between the chirps of a cricket and the tweets of a bird hold a different significance for the creatures themselves; the full moon affects the tides, the human body and the resonance of instruments. The gap between the known and the unknown ofers comfort to the seeker. one can never know it all, which means one can always learn and grow.
Ma may be the most intensely calming of Ristić’s releases, a journey from the home to the river, from the earth to the moon, compressed until all distances seem to disappear. The artist calls the effect a “Ma of the soul.” Over the course of these two albums, she has experienced a form of transcendence, and translated it into sound. (Richard Allen)
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