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Timing in Search of Timelessness
The pews of the Concert Hall at the New York Society for Ethical Culture, a secular auditorium built like a small tabernacle, made appropriate seats for Robert Fripp's solo performance, "Soundscapes," on Thursday night. The wordless, continuous 40-minute pieces are secular music suffused with meditative awe and reverence. They are also a coalition of man and machine.
In the early 1970's, Brian Eno turned two Revox reel-to-reel tape recorders into the looping, layering system that became known as Frippertronics. Now, Mr. Fripp uses a laptop and mixers instead to process recurring material derived from sustained notes on his guitar. His soundscapes are improvisations with some advance planning. As they build, or accrue, notes turn into disembodied, hovering chords that evolve as new elements arrive, shimmering above or humming deep below. Nothing is rushed. The motion is tectonic, and the timing seeks timelessness.
The soundscapes are, in some ways, the diametrical opposite of the music Mr. Fripp writes for King Crimson, with its pointillistic guitar counterpoint and ratcheting momentum. But they share Crimson's fascination with patterns. It's just that in the soundscapes, the patterns unfold in almost subliminal slow motion, and instead of finding closure they are disassembled and faded out.
On Thursday night, each of the two soundscapes Mr. Fripp performed began with ominous, elegiac harmonies, rich with dissonance; in the first, there was a passage of notes midway through that cracked like trees struck by lightning. The second was a soundscape on top of a soundscape; while Mr. Fripp took a short break, he played a recorded soundscape from Nov. 29, 2000, and, after about seven minutes, plugged in his guitar and began to add new elements. Eventually, each soundscape resolved toward a serene major chord and its more soothing overtones.
The processed guitar tones were orchestral, like violins, cellos, horns, bells and, in one passage, female voices that could have been electronic Lorelei. Symphonic as the soundscapes were, longtime Fripp fans may have missed the sound of his guitar itself, with its searing liquid-nitrogen chill.
While there's a sense of reverence in the soundscapes, there was also reverence in the room for Mr. Fripp, who doesn't mind playing the guru. After the first soundscape, which he performed sitting on a stool facing his laptop, he strolled to center stage and jovially called for questions from the audience. He was asked how he chose the harmonies for his soundscapes; partly from the resonances of the rooms he performed in, he replied.
He was also asked about the balance of the demonic and sublime in his music, and about his faith, which he said was in "the irrepressible benevolence of the creative impulse, despite all evidence to the contrary." Then the professorial Mr. Fripp turned back into the enigmatic one, conjuring eerie forces beyond explanation.
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