Los Angeles-based electronic musician Katie Gately
employ collages of processed vocals (and, proudly, no instruments)
to craft the cassette Pipes (Blue Tapes, 2013), which contains
two extended computer-based compositions.
The 14-minute Pipes layers droning and psychedelic gimmicks of vocals
and, despite the playful mood that interferes with sorties in musichall and circus territory, attains a symphonic and hypnotic quality three minutes from the end.
The nine-minute Acahella is both more teasing and visceral, swinging and chaotic, a journey both to the future (the hypersonic blenders of sound shards) and to the past (echoes of the vocal trios of the 1950s), through both cartoons and dancefloor.
She may have not known it, but this was the continuation of something begun in 1965 by the Fugs' Virgin Forest and a few years later by Robert Wyatt's End of an Ear.
The six-song EP Katie Gately (Public Information, 2013)
opens with the harsh industrial dissonance of Ice
and the gloomy loop of Last Day, signaling a mood change from
the jovial capricious mood of the cassette.
The spacey acid lamentation over distorted drones of Dead Referee
is one of her most powerful collages, worthy of Karlheinz Stockhausen.
Gately's music was the natural consequence of a process of computer music begun in the 1950s: eliminating the performer. Which begs the question: if practice makes you perfect, what does no practice make you?
The 15-minute Pivot (2014), released on a split EP,
sounds like a slow-motion time-dilated version of Pipes in which the
childish verve has been replaced by a sort of cosmic languor.
Melodies are intelligible and rhythms are regular. Six minutes from the end,
Gately even intones a simple singalong, although an industrial marching beat
wants to turn it into some kind of witchy sabbat.
The fully-arranged album, Color (2016), was a much more relaxed and user-friendly effort, more in line with the trend started by
Holly Herndon than with computer music.
The dancefloor novelty Lift (Caribbean hip-hop?) and
the festive shuffle Tuck are hardly related to her first cassette,
although highly successful in the dance-pop genre.
Rive is also quite original, boasting a melody and
and a rhythm that evoke the atmosphere of a French cabaret of World War II.
The nine-minute Color morphs its suspenseful symphonic drones into a
soulful folkish lullaby that limps on soothingly for several lazy minutes.
If the seven-minute Sift is confused and pointless, and the manic
Frisk tries a bit too hard to shock,
Sire is a dignified follow-up to the original avantgarde project,
with a thundering syncopated beat, hysterical wavering organ, a vocal melody
and plenty of vocal counterpoint.
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