Twine

Twine: “Disconnected (Edit)”

from Violets (Ghostly)

Ambient trouble boys  // Out June 17

(orig. pub. late May or early June 2008)                    

So you know that twine is “a strong string of two or more strands twisted together,” and certainly that applies to  Twine (AKA Greg Malcolm and Chad Mossholder), who like to juxtapose and then mess with different sequences, strands of sounds, so that twine as verb can mean “to form by twisting.” Ouch! Per the musical requirements of Twine, it is not enough to mess with identities, they are twisted, and twisting, by definition, and those peaceful, cute little sounds we may hear at the beginning of a track are just zygotes—they may stay small, cute, even quiet, but they’re never gonna get back to “being themselves.” That’s like your roommate saying, “Sorry, I wasn’t myself last night.” “Oh? Who were you?” Don’t ask---just be glad that  twine can also mean “to stretch or move in a sinuous manner,” because Twine can do that, especially with a rippling, reverberating guitar-chime, calmly announcing the time, over beats fluttering like moths, guttering like candles, muttering like bums, in and out of existence (there’s a dubwise ricochet through pauses, sometimes like intentional or at least salvaged leakage between tracks, so call it glitchwise too, like painting with mistakes). Yet, despite lulling moments and art school alibis, basically, on Twine’s 2006 set, Surfaces (but also at least as far back as their 2003 self-titled album), it’s all about that hand ‘o’ fate on the mixing board.  Which may, for instance, be nailing, blurring, stretching a single piano (?) note, before stretching it, and then its hapless scale-mates, into/across thin, now-stratified, re-defined space--even empty space isn’t safe in here, nor are the heavens! Lines of maybe-piano are made into an atmosphere, and finally strummed like a damn guitar---such indignity for the piano! If it ever was a piano—b-b-but why not just start with a recognizable guitar, o trifling Godlings of sound? Perhaps because  this is truly the scenic route.

 Still, when the proceedings are strictly instrumental (including the use of vocal sounds as “abstract” or too-decontextualized instrumentation), the ideas can get stretched pretty thin too. Things get more interesting when the more vulnerable-seeming sound-sets turn the beat, and sometimes the plot around, especially with voices. So the early “Girl Song” (currently playing on Twine’s MySpace page) is basically a distant, leisurely siren song, towards which the instrumentalist swims confidently, growing his own fantasy sounds, his smoochy underwater garden of how-it’s-gonna-be---nothing she needs to morph into, nothing she bothers to offer him; he’s doing a good job of doing himself.

 “In Through The Devices,” a track on Twine’s new Violets, involves a real-seeming phone tape, of a male voice trying to persuade a younger, female voice that, “If they have a warrant out on him and you’re harboring him, you’re breaking the law,” not just running away from home. He’s not scolding her, he’s just sayin’. He’s the more reassuring for not trying to be too soothing; he doesn’t mind expressing his fears succinctly: that the cops are ”…gonna find your body up the road, in some freak murderer-rapist’s broken down car.” So yeah, she’s got them upset, “But that’s part of growing up, dealin’ with people who are bein’ upset with ya.” The guitar is careful, but sometimes jolting, and jolted: family life is a stretch, a learning experience for all involved. That’s an example of Twine employing or implying an idea, which, despite its familiarity, isn’t stretched too thin, but is carefully nurtured (so heart-warming and suspenseful, plus the discreet pleasure of eavesdropping).

“Disconnected,” also on Violets, profiles the guitar as a sleek beast at twilight, on a park bench, perhaps. Contemplative, slightly down, but there’s something besides autumn in the air. Notes ring alertly, watchfully, as kiddie-sized beats squirt around around the perimeter. No hurry—it’s playtime, but soon enough, gonna be (somebody’s) snacktime too.