sihl jason kahn | cd | sirr023 | 2005


Sometimes, in Jason Kahn’s soundworld, the computer adjusts certain parameters of his percussion, and sometimes it’s vice versa. But fundamentally this is an acoustic music that sounds electronic. For Sihl, the principal instruments in use are a cymbal and a floor tom, various microphones, the resonance characteristics of the Zurich studio in which the recordings were made, and an analogue synthesizer. The synthesizer is used, in part, to focus on specific resonances and investigate their sonic potential. Kahn plays the music live, processing it as he goes along. Many players in his position would be tempted to use a sampler, but after a period of experimenting with one Kahn now prefers not to, and for good reason: sampling can’t help but create a music of memory, at one remove from the moment, whereas Kahn’s fluid, organic music resists memory. In that, it bears some similarity with (though no strong resemblance to) the late music of Morton Feldman. What Feldman and Kahn often manage to do is suggest that what you’re hearing when you’re listening to their compositions is a continuum: moment without time.
Sihl is named after the slow-moving river that runs through Zurich, which Kahn observed every day that he visited the studio. Like the river, the twelve pieces on Sihl demonstrate, at times, no appreciable momentum, but the water is never still, its inconstant eddies hint at greater activity occurring just beneath the surface, and Kahn’s pieces behave somewhat similarly. If one gives them only a cursory listen, nothing much seems to be happening. But closer attention pays dividends. There’s a lot of activity going on in these pieces, though much of it is small-scale. The fact that it’s hard to concentrate for long periods of time on such music, and that the listener tends to drift in and out of focus, may have encouraged Kahn to keep these pieces short – all are roughly four minutes in duration. In each instance, Kahn recorded between 15 and 30 minutes of music, chose a portion that best represented the whole, then topped and tailed it. The music starts abruptly, plays, stops abruptly, and while you’re listening to it it’s hard to gauge where you are in the piece and how many minutes have elapsed. That’s just one of its modes of fascination.
BRIAN MARLEY, WIRE MAGAZINE

The Sihl and the Limmat are two rivers in Zürich, Switzerland, that run parallel to each other for a stretch before inevitably converging. Jason Kahn, electro-acoustic and lowercase composer, had a studio near the two river's alignment when he began working on the pieces that comprise this release. Crossing a bridge over the Sihl each day, Kahn was struck by the differences between the two rivers: the Limmat a deep, clear and rapidly moving river, while the Sihl is shallow and moves slowly, with many rocks and whirlpools interrupting the flow of the muddy water. His affinity for the Sihl and it's evolving condition became an influence on the development of the compositions he created during that time, and therefore the title of the album encompassing these twelve short tracks.
The sense of the Sihl couldn't translate more appropriately in the murky and slowly moving compositions of this release. Kahn is credited with percussion and analogue synthesizer, and his playing is subtle and staid. Each piece is played and processed in real time, using room reverberation from various miking techniques to affect cymbals and a floor tom, while investigating the sonic properties of the synth interacting with those sounds. The pieces develop without hurry, tonal works of resonant synthetics, high pitched whines, quietly howling electronic currents with slow counterpoint from deceptive percussive sounds. Each track is an opaque tonal world, connected in color to the other compositions, uniquely transporting the listener into a submerged and flowing world that ends shortly after it begins, drifting the listener to the next eddy or pool.
Phil Zampino, http://www.squidsear.com


One of the latest releases on Sirr-ecords is by no less than Jason Kahn,
one of the main composers in minimal electronics. This Zürich-based
composer again delivered a masterpiece, this time named after a river
running through his home-town. That the slow-running Sihl was a source of inspiration for Jason Kahn can be heard. Long drawn-out electronic musical currents end abruptly. It's the detail that counts; the slight differentations in tone and pace. The tones are too differentiated to call them sine-waves and the music is too lineair to call it soundscapes. Altough the structure remains the same, each track breaths a different atmosphere, ranging from high-pitched to robust. A lovely collection of meandering music expressions.
http://www.xs4all.nl/~phosphor


On Sihl, Jason Kahn refines and perfects the form he used for Miramar, his previous album for the Portuguese label Sirr. Again, identifiable percussion sounds are reduced to tinting bells and the occasional rumble of a floor tom, either played or set to resonate by a synthesizer tone. High-pitched sine waves, queazy mid-range tones and low growls account for the backbone of the music, with various textural drones and extremely light percussion work (brushes on cymbal, for instance) providing subtle nuances. Kahn is credited for percussion and analogue synthesizer, but, listening to Sihl, one is more prone to think of computers and field recordings made in extremely remote locations. Miramar was a 70-minute set of five pieces. This one clocks in at a little over 45 minutes and racks up a dozen pieces. Brevity is the key: Kahn devises an aural landscape, selecting a combination of tones and textures, lets it unfold for four minutes or so, then abruptly pulls the plug and sets up again. It feels like watching a slideshow of evocative photographs, with someone regularly startling you out of contemplation by shouting “Next!” A strange feeling indeed. Yet, Kahn’s studied settings reclaim your attention every time and, in the end, the short durations work out for the music. Is the crude editing making a point? Not sure, and some listeners will find that annoying, but don’t let it deter you.
François Couture, http://www.allmusic.com

The most striking thing is that Kahn has twelve tracks here, in forty-six minutes, so that is somewhere between three and four minutes per track, which may seem odd for someone who is known for his somewhat longer, improvised pieces. In each of the twelve tracks, Kahn explores one or two tones of his analogue synth (sometimes high pitched frequencies, some more mid range), which stick right into your ear, and to that extent he uses the somewhat more softer rumble of his percussion - although it's hard to tell what this percussion is all about. Maybe small amplified objects or gadgets? Maybe parts of a drum-kit? It really doesn't matter. The pieces are most delicate, even when some of the tonal qualities go right into your brain, of static and minimalist music.
FDW, VitalWeekly

Jason Kahn is an expatriate American who lives in Switzerland. His musical evolution has taken him from the disaffected jazz fringe of the LA punk scene, where he used to play drums with Cruel Frederick and Universal Congress Of, to his current solo work and collaborations with the likes of Günter Müller, Toshimaru Nakamura, and Tetuzi Akiyama. He also operates Cut Records, which surveys the intersection of electro-acoustic improvisation and sound art. Over time Kahn1s instrument of choice has changed from standard drum kit to electronics and selected percussive devices, but the set-up he uses on this record brings it all together. He runs the output of a Doepfer analog synthesizer into the bottom of a snare drum, using it as a resonator, and manipulates its emanations with a single mallet and a cymbal held between the drum1s skin and a suspended microphone. By adjusting the cymbal1s position or placing it on the drum, he intervenes with electronic sounds in a very physical way. Kahn also used this set-up on his 2003 recording Miramar, which explored the interaction between long tones and the space in which they were sounded. Here the concern is more with his hybrid instrument1s range of possibilities. Sihl's twelve unnamed pieces are shorter, each sticking to a circumscribed sound area. The third track (they1re all unnumbered) opens with the audible strike of mallet against cymbal, which sets up vibrations that feed back throughout the sound system. The discrete, slightly irregular beats on tracks four and twelve add a human counterpart to the pixilated high-end blast of five, which reminds me of a jet1s ventilation system, and one, which strikes a balance between a steaming tea kettle and shortwave noise. Sihl is a fine example of how little you have to massage good sounds to make them worth contemplation.
>Bill Meyer, Signal to Noise, 5.2006


The thing I like most about "Sihl" - and Jason Kahn's music in general - is that these sounds start as a clearly perceptible entity but, after a while, inhibit our body from performing its ordinary activities by gulping our mental disposition, making a pincushion of the brain through hypnotic waves, malleable percussive rolling and bowing, frequency-based earpricking. Jason uses just two sources - percussion and analogue synthesizer - to arrive right there where more verbose composers fail, as they become titubant in a sea of useless sounds when a genuine conciseness would be the easiest path to the core of the matter. All the pretty short segments forming this album - which was inspired by Kahn's reflections on one of the rivers crossing his hometown of Zurich - abandon us abruptly after having lulled various fragments of our life with their scintillating effectiveness; Kahn seemingly admonishes against the excessive trust in an unstable immunity to the pain of conscience, instead welcoming the apparent struggle between unusual sounds and saturated silence, meanwhile confirming himself at the very front of that echelon of deep-thinkers who try to develop a minimalism for the new millennium.
Massimo Ricci, www.touchingextremes.org

It’s a purely hypothetical question, of course, but how would you imagine your life as a pre-natal foetus? According to some, hearing capacity is fully established after four months, so you could already perceive the sounds of your closest environment: Your mother’s heartbeat, her voice, possibly the music she’d listen to. You’d be able to process this information and it could possibly make you happy or unhappy, but you probably wouldn’t be able to remember it. These sounds would just come up, stay with you for a while and then disappear again – and all that mattered was how they made you feel in that very instant. With “Sihl”, Jason Kahn explores this state of being.
Maybe that is already too much of an interpretation for an album that will conjure up many images, but makes it hard to find the words to describe them. And Kahn, who was born in California, moved to Berlin in the 90s and now resides in Switzerland, is hard to pin down anyway – a fervent former member of the improvisation scene, he still yearned for arranging songs outside of the concert situation and from his drumming days he has moved on to a music that seems to do its utmost best to stand still. There is actually still a hint of percussion left, albeit merely in the form of an harmonic twinkle, floating like a sunbeam over these twelve short pieces. Most of what you can hear are frequencies without a pulse, without a beginning or an end. Some of them will sleep in the lower regions, in a state of sweet slumber. Others will linger in the higher end of the spectrum, sending soft but yet penetrating waves of just audible noise your way. Kahn himself felt reminded of the river he crossed each day on his way to the studio: Muddy, flowing slowly, sometimes almost drying up. And indeed there is a strong feeling of things changing, but yet staying the same: Even though there is an ever-so-gentle movement in these compositons, there is no such thing as a development.
In its best moments, this music becomes a part of your direct surroundings and when tracks end, they leave you with a gentle sorrow of having lost something. Strangely enough, however, you will not be able to remember what it whas you just listened to, what made it so appealing or whether there was a melody or not. These sounds just come up, stay with you for a while and then disappear again – and all that matters is how they make you feel in that very instant. It’s a purely hypothetical assumption, of course, and possibly not even intended at all – but maybe that’s what life feels like as a pre-natal foetus.
http://www.mouvement-nouveau.com

»Sihl« nennt Jason Kahn sein neues Album nach einem Fluss in der Nähe seines damaligen Aufnahmestudios in Zürich. Dieser Fluss war aber offenbar nicht nur Namensgeber sondern auch eine starke Inspirationsquelle, so dass gängige Assoziationen auch in den fertigen Stücken nicht zu überhören sind. Die Aufnahmen selbst entstanden unter Verwendung von minimalem Perkussionsinstrumentarium – Cymbals und Floor Tom – sowie einem Analogsynthesizer und Einbeziehung des Raumklanges, wurden live ohne Zuhilfenahme eines Samplers digital bearbeitet um daraus schließlich insgesamt zwölf mal mittels zweier harscher Schnitte jeweils etwa vier Minuten lange Auszüge zu extrahieren. Diese zeichnen oberflächlich einen kontinuierlichen, mit Obertönen aufgehellten Flow von elektroakustischen Soundscapes, reich an Details und minimalen strukturellen Verschiebungen. Konzentrierte Momentaufnahmen, die, wie Jason Kahns minutenlanges Verweilen auf der Brücke über dem scheinbar endlos mäandernden Fluss auf dem Weg ins Studio, keine Dramaturgie kennen, den reinen Moment unmittelbarer Wahrnehmung zelebrieren. Und doch erzeugt dann letztendlich gerade die zeitliche Beschränkung auf ein klar begrenztes Aufmerksamkeitsmoment eine Ahnung von Unendlichkeit, lässt diese Klangfragmente weit über ihre tatsächliche Spieldauer hinaus transzendieren – in beiden Richtungen.
http://www.quietnoise.org

Registrazioni live di sole percussioni ed un synth analogico, operate direttamente nello studio di Jason Kahn a Zurigo, nei pressi del fiume 'Sihl', dal quale il titolo, per corrispondenza elettiva a quell'ambiente naturale, caratterizzato dallo scorrere lento delle sue acque fangose fra rocce affioranti e un'apparentemente atipica vegetazione. Nonostante questa compartecipazione con il luogo in cui vive e lavora Jason Kahn in realtà è cresciuto negli Stati Uniti e solo nel 1990 si è trasferito in Europa. Da allora però può vantare una miriade di collaborazioni, tutte con sperimentatori di rango, fra questi Kim Cascone, Dieb 13, Arnold Dreyblatt, Toshimaru Nakamura, Günter Müller, John Hudak, solo per citarne alcuni. L'esplorazione di Kahn in questa occasione è affidata a brani tutti insolitamente brevi rispetto ai suoi soliti standard, comprendendo al massimo lo sviluppo di uno o due toni del suo sintetizzatore per ogni incisione (dodici in totale). Alte e medie frequenze, operando di pitch, inserendo microsonorità percussive, con tenui disturbi e trattamenti minimali. Un album affascinante e delicato, rigoroso ma emotivo nella sua essenza profonda, che riesce a sfatare i luoghi comuni sull'elettronica, spesso percepita esclusivamente come un sentire impersonale.
Aurelio Cianciotta, Neural.it


There’s an appealingly similar feel to all of the tracks, rather like snapshots of the same river at different points—here muddy, there reflective, there eddying but each with an underlying aqueous character. As stated above, they are all pretty much steady state, with various hums and drones receiving the odd inflection during the course of the piece. The feeling is far more overtly electronic than percussive though, on occasion, you can pick out a soft mallet tapping on a small gong, some bowed metal or a quiet rattle. The pieces are quite attractive on its own and often very lovely; listeners to Kahn’s previous work with find themselves in fairly familiar territory. In particular, the ringing tones of the sixth track and the final cut, with its muted, insistent gongs over a jangling sizzle are stunning little episodes. My major quibble, and it’s a strong one, is that each and every one of these selections is abruptly snipped off, ruthlessly amputated right around the four minute mark. It’s as though your meditative view of the portion of the river you’re examining is suddenly interrupted by a passing freight train. Whap! Gone. While this is clearly intentional on Kahn’s part and one imagines he’s making a point on the necessarily transitive nature of such musings, I couldn’t help but want to hear at least half of these tracks continue on at far greater length. This ends up making “Sihl” a frustrating experience to some extent even if I have to presume that the frustration is one of the intended effects.
Brian Olewnick http://www.bagatellen.com

Auf seiner zweiten Solo-Einspielung für das portugiesische Label "Sirr", greift Jason Kahn auf das gleiche Instrumentarium (analoger Synthesizer und Perkussion) zurück, wie schon auf dem Vorgänger "Miramar". Wie der Name schon andeutet, wurde das vorliegende Werk in einem Studio gleich neben der durch Zürich fliessenden Sihl aufgenommen, einem Fluss, der wegen seiner langsamen Gangart, dem tiefen Pegelstand und trüben Wasser eine grosse Faszination auf Kahn ausübt. Parallelen zwischen den Eigenheiten des Flusses und der Musik lassen sich durchaus finden: So wie sich das Gesicht des Flusses je nach Pegelstand verändert und zuweilen mehr oder weniger Steine und Landstücke zum Vorschein kommen, so kommen auch bei der Musik unter der statischen Oberfläche bewegte, unregelmässige Strukturen zum Vorschein, welche die Schwingungen und den organischen Fluss der vordergründigen Flächen konkurrenzieren und ergänzen.
______Tomas Korber, Jazz n' More, 11.2005

Jason Kahn elude alla grande il proverbio ‘tanto va la gatta al lardo che ci lascia lo zampino’. Con “Sihl” prosegue, senza spostarsi di una virgola, lo studio iniziato ormai da anni su drones, trance e ripetitività. Solo qualche strumento a percussione e un synth analogico fanno da sfondo a questi dodici brani senza titolo, e proprio la mancanza di orpelli extra-sonori – latenti in una copertina ancor più scarna - è un invito a concentrarsi soltanto sulla musica. La divisione in dodici tracce, venate dallo stesso mood, esalta la ricchezza e la varietà di un approccio che troppo superficialmente definiamo spesso minimale. Vorrei qui sottolineare che una microvariazione è ‘una variazione’ allo stesso modo in cui lo è una macrovariazione: due tonalità di rosso sono tanto differenti quanto lo sono un rosso ed un verde, ed il fatto che si assomigliano di più non annulla certo la loro differenza. Kahn è uno sciamano, a suo modo, una specie di stregone che batte e tempera il metallo creando suoni e risonanze che vanno a saturarsi, e le cui vibrazioni sembrano determinate più dalla consistenza dei materiali utilizzati che dalla densità o dalla intensità dei suoi battiti. La sua è una ricerca solipsistica, lontana dai luoghi comuni e dalle mode, da quelle passeggere come da quelle durature, a volte quasi sgradevole e sempre incompromissoria. So bene che è difficile consigliare il nuovo disco di un musicista dalla produzione forse eccessiva, tanto da rischiare una saturazione e una reazione di rifiuto da parte dei propri estimatori stessi, e pure…
che ne pensate se vi dicessi che questo è il Jason Kahn più convincente che ho ascoltato dai tempi di “Temporary Contemporary” dei Repeat?
e. g. (no ©) http://www.sands-zine.com

Anche se oramai sono diversi anni che la sua presenza è più che costante, Jason Kahn è riuscito ad inseguire e condurre un’affannosa analisi, volta allo sviluppo del micro-environment sonoro, contagiato con effetto da soluzioni radicali e da scenografie musicali, intrepidamente, spartane. La bravura si è riscontrata nell’equilibrio, mostrato dal percussionista americano, nel non inciampare mai dentro le strette morse di un discorso-monotematico, privo di emozioni e purtroppo non-assente in simili ambienti di lavoro.
Dall’approccio semi-classico alla batteria - mutato già in qualcosa di ‘diverso’ dai tempi del duo Repeat con Toshi Nakamura – si è aperto un varco in cui la visione per i drones, per la percussione-alterazione dei metalli e per le tecnologie digitali – i synth, ad esempio – hanno dato forma ad una identità, sempre più congeniale al mood dell’artista. Jason Kahn acquista nel tempo il gusto e l’idea del suono-snello e impalpabile, seguendo le orme aperte poco prima dal vicino Günter Müller. Credo che per la maggior parte dei lettori non sia certo una novità quella che Kahn si sia trasferito, già da parecchi anni, presso la fredda Zurigo e abbia, proprio da lì, avviato una personale metamorfosi ‘oltranzista’, nel modo di vivere ed intendere il suono e le note.
Per i tipi della SIRR avevamo già visto licenziare un altro cd solista, “Miramar”, attorno il 2004 ed eravamo rimasti – particolarmente il sottoscritto – colpiti dalle bassissime modulazioni di tono. Registrazioni live di sole percussioni ed un synth analogico, operate direttamente nel proprio studio di Zurigo, vanno a comporre questo “Sihl”; il cui titolo, va detto, è preso in prestito dal fiume, sito nelle prossimità del luogo di registrazione.
Non conosco in toto l’opera del meticoloso batterista, ma se non vado errando, sono stati sempre pochi i riferimenti geografici, come motivo d’ispirazione nel lavoro di Kahn; forse, possiamo appellarci solo al passato cd per la Rossbin, “Songs For Nicolas Ross” che vedeva la creazione di veri e propri brani con il solo ausilio di registrazioni ambientali e/o quotidiane pure.
In un caso come questo il sound che si forma custodisce una sua purezza, ma i lineamenti ancor più individuali, ne accrescono la componente spirituale…
Del resto, il buon gusto per un’estetica dell’essenziale, congeniale ad un autentico spirito zen, si scruta sin dalle forme geometriche, nette e chiare, riempite da tiepide pennellate di acquerello nella cover.
In definitiva: 12 saggi di lucente e pungente (new) ambient isolazionista al vostro servizio.
Sergio Eletto, http://www.kathodik.it

Na tę niejednoznacznie ocenianą płytę składa się dwanaście dość podobnych, a przecież jednocześnie odmiennych, utworów. Podobno (co zresztą sugeruje tytuł) tworząc je Jason Kahn, kontemplował nurt przepływającej przez Zürich rzeki Sihl, niegdysiejszego źródła energii napędzającej tamtejsze manufaktury i młyny. Być może zróżnicowanie, zachowujące wzajemne podobieństwo poszczególnych nagrań, ma być odpowiednikiem obserwowania tej samej rzeki z różnych punktów. Równie dobrze może być po prostu zapisem ćwiczeń kompozytorskich, próbą przedstawienia przez Kahna fragmentów swoistego muzycznego dziennika, w którym muzyk ten zapisuje swoje twórcze koncepcje. O ile mi wiadomo, pracując nad Sihl, Kahn zarejestrował przeszło dwadzieścia kilkunasto- lub kilkudziesięciominutowych utworów, z których następnie wyciął trzy-czterominutowe fragmenty najlepiej oddające charakter danej kompozycji. Stworzył je wszystkie, posługując się instrumentami perkusyjnymi (co z niewielkimi wyjątkami jest słabo słyszalne) oraz analogowym syntezatorem (którego brzmienia dominują). Poszczególne utwory to dość statyczne studia dronu, różniące się pomiędzy sobą głównie wysokością dźwięku. Stąd zapewne pojawiają się różnice w ocenie tej płyty. Niektórych razi minimalizm muzyki, innych odstręcza dyskomfort towarzyszący jej słuchaniu (pojawiają się brzmienia nieprzyjemne, drażniące, wręcz przyprawiające o ból głowy), inni z kolei zachwycają się płytą, monotonię zwąc subtelnością, a brzmienia nazywając nasyconymi. Radzę, by na własne uszy przekonać się, do której grupy się należy.
Tadeusz Kosiek

Die Inspiration für Sihl (sirr 0023), seine neuen, wiederum konsequent dröhnminimalistischen Wellungen des Klangraums, verdankt JASON KAHN dem Anblick des Flüsschens Sihl, das er in seiner Wahlheimat Zürich täglich überquert. Im Unterschied zur Limmat, die kräftig und gleichmäßig dahin strömt, wird die flache und langsame Sihl oft von Hinternissen gebeugt und verwirbelt und trocknet im Sommer manchmal fast aus. Illustriert ist die Sirr-CD allerdings nicht mit Sihlblicken, sondern mit Fotos, die Marc Behrens von fein gesprenkelten Steinplatten gemacht hat, grau-bräunlichen Flächen, die man auf Gehwegen unter den Füßen hat oder als Häusersockel abgestumpft übersieht. Mit Dröhnpercussion und Analogsynthesizer erschafft Kahn akustische Äquivalente der unruhigen und unregelmäßigen Aspekte von etwas scheinbar Gleichmäßigem. Was sich oberflächlich als Variationen von sirrender Monotonie der Wahrnehmung eher entzieht als aufdrängt, öffnet sich bei näherem ‚Blick‘ als Fächer von 12 detailreichen und auch mehrschichtigen Wellenbändern mit jeweils einem metallisch funkelnden, flatternden und bebenden Muster. Die Impressionen umkreisen, so könnte ich mir vorstellen, wie Monet seinen Heuhaufen und seine Seerosen, minimalistisch zwölfmal das gleiche Motiv, aber bei immer wieder wechselndem Tageslicht. Insofern wäre das - und seinesgleichen - auch keine Musique d‘meublement und statt einer passiven und hintergründigen Klangtapete eine sensuelle und psychoaktive Schule der Wahrnehmung? Mir ist solche Klangpsychologie etwas zu subtil.
Rigobert Dittmann, bad.alchemy


excerpts from an interview:
http://www.tokafi.com/15questions/15-questions-to-jason-kahn

“Sihl” has just been released on Sirr. I was intrigued by the fact that there seems to be hardly any movement in these twelve pieces and yet this is only increasing their intensity. Was it part of your intention to allow listeners to “look” at these aural objects, as they slowly change their perspective in the course of their duration?
What is important to me is the act of listening and attention to sound. I'm interested in having people "actively listen" to my work. This isn't' to say I'm on some mission to get us all listening better, but my compositional approach places the listener in the position of having to really "look" at sound.
The pieces on "Sihl" illustrate this, as with a cursory listen it might seem as if nothing is happening. This has to do with two things: the very idea of "what should happen" in a composition; and listening. In my compositions I'm not particularly interested in narrative, drama, even development. I want to create an environment the listener can enter into, where they will have to listen. Something is shimmering there, but if you don't really follow it you will lose sight of it.
You started out as a drummer. Was it hard restraining yourself with an almost a-rhythmical album? Or are you merely featuring a very different side of “rhythm” with “Sihl”?
What got me interested in playing the drums was their sound. Rhythm was also important, but first and foremost was the sound of the instrument.
The way I've been working for nearly the last ten years now reflects my original interest in the sound of the instrument and using this as a starting point for composition and improvisation. I've approached this using various electronic means (sampler, computer, analogue synthesizer) but also acoustically.
Therefore, Sihl doesn't represent a departure from my original interests in the drums, though it does perhaps raise some questions for people who might be confused with my reference to percussion being used on the recordings.
“Drones” have become almost a synonym for relaxation and warmness. With you, they are (at least in my experience) more estranging and very physical. Were you looking for something more direct and confronting?
In any case, I am interested in direct sound. I think Phill Niblock summed this up nicely in saying "no rhythm, no melody, no harmony, no bullshit." The listener is being confronted with sound which has little to distract  from the sound itself. The sound is central for me and especially important are the physical aspects of sound: I want the listener to not only pay attention to the sound but also to "feel" it. I can accomplish this best live, it seems, though I hope this comes across in my recordings as well.You mentioned that the title of the album relates to a small river which you crossed every day on your way to the studio – and which you later thought to be an appropriate title.
Would you, looking back, say that you were subconsciously influenced by your surroundings while composing or that this is one of those amazing coincidences, when something outside of your music suddenly makes for a perfect description of your intentions?
Being inspired by this river in Zürich reflects a broader influence I feel from environmental sound on my compositional approach. I want my music to sound like a river flowing, or a walk in the woods, a refrigerator humming, or even like the way light looks dancing on the water. In a way, I feel like Sihl is a collection of environmental recordings, or maybe "imaginary" environmental recordings, as each piece represents an environment for me. These are compositions but I want them to sound like snippets cut from various audio topographies.