U78 | Standard Grey | peregrination
peregrination_1. Mucking/Yanagimoto Portal to Oak Hammock_excerpt
peregrination_3. Iphone Drowning in a Koi Pond_excerpt
format : glass mastered CD ltd to 200 hand numbered copies/Digital
Regular edition of 180 copies packaged in clear vinyl sleeve with folded insert + an additional art card both on 350gr satin paper
Special edition of 20 copies packaged in black mass-tinted cardboard digisleeve with frame.
it holds a set of 2 double-sided art cards with a different artwork from the regular edition on 350gr satin paper.
+ Standard Grey’s unique “kōfun”acrylic monoprint and watercolor on 247 gm Orion Sirius watercolor paper (all different !), signed,numbered, and name red stamped in japanese on the back.
Inner sleeve features a strip of paper mentioning edition number, artist’s name + title.
release year : 2023
length : 55’43
tracks : 1. Mucking/Yanagimoto Portal to Oak Hammock
2. Saille/The Monday Spot
3. iPhone Drowning in a Koi Pond
4. Gravol Tora
5. Palace Grass Wind Drum/Omiwa
status : OUT NOW !
>>> order via Paypal : chalkdc@unfathomless.net
Regular edition
(Belgium) : 14 € (inc.postage)
(Europe) : 15 € (inc.postage)
(World) : 16 € (inc.postage)
Special ultra ltd edition
! SOLD OUT !
(Belgium) : 17 € (inc.postage)
(Europe) : 18 € (inc.postage)
(World) : 19 € (inc.postage)
~
: info :
As of this writing, I’ve called Nara, Japan home for almost 12 years. Nara was the capital of Japan 1300-odd years ago. Before Tokyo, before Kyoto, the Nara Period was a short, but essential era in the foundation of the country. The history here is deep. Fast-forward a millennium and change, the winding backstreets in parts of the city and its outer surroundings retain an ancient atmosphere. It’s a wanderer’s paradise with countless temples, shrines, rural roads and ancient trails leading into the mountains. There is a mysterious undercurrent to this place, a long reverberation in the landscape. After 12 years here, I know that I’ve barely scratched the surface. When I pack my recording bag and head out on a ride or ramble, there is always the feeling that with the proper attention, something interesting might reveal itself around any corner. And it usually does.
My dictionary defines “peregrination” as : a journey, especially a long or meandering one, usually made on foot- often with an element of pilgrimage. It seemed like a fitting title, since this album was made during an extended period of exploration on foot and by bicycle around Nara and its temples, shrines and trails, before and during the current plague times. It’s a document of wandering motivated by curiosity, always with camera and some form of recording gear in tow- my trusty Zoom H6, a pair of janky cassette recorders, and any combination of cheap mics, nice mics, contact mics, hydrophones, percussion mallets…failing any of the above, iPhone voice memos or recording in situ into granular synthesis apps on my iPad. Whatever works.
My main happy place is the Yamanobe no Michi trail that runs along the foot of the mountains in the east of the Nara Basin. From Tenri to Miwa Shrine, it’s an easy 12 km walk through farmland, forest, persimmon groves, small villages and smaller settlements, past rural graveyards, temples, shrines and self-serve produce stands put out by the local farmers that operate on the honour system. Look out for the stones with poems carved into them, and the small jizō statues who protect passing travellers. And then there are the kōfun.
Like many residents, I am fascinated by the giant megalithic burial mounds that dot the landscape along the trail. Ringed by moats and off-limits to regular folk, they are mysterious, solemn things -simultaneously a source of worship for the locals and occasional speculation as to who’s actually buried there. Their signature keyhole shape can only be viewed from above and unless you know you’re right by one, or happen to read the historical plaques and place markers, you’d think you’re standing next to an ordinary grove of trees by a pond, rather than an imperial burial chamber.
Another key location on this album is the Heijo Palace grounds in Nara city. Separated from the cluster of main tourist attractions like the big Buddha at Todaiji temple, the bowing deer of Nara Park and Kasuga shrine, the former sprawling imperial residence acts as a sprawling, open green space that fills up on the weekends with families letting the kids run free, and is wonderfully quiet on weekdays. Bisected by the Kintetsu Railway line and with plenty of shady groves and quiet corners, on any given weekday you can find people jogging, reading, walking the dog, playing catch, working on their dance moves, and most interestingly, practising their wind and brass instruments of choice. Space is at a premium here and there are neighbours and family members to consider, so whether it’s high school students doing scales on tenor sax, a guy blowing cool jazz standards on trumpet, or the French horn guy in his usual spot on Monday afternoons, the palace site is large enough to let people have room to do their thing without getting in anyone’s way. Somewhere in the mix is the strange foreigner attaching contact mics to fallen branches and dragging sticks through leaves, or recording the sound of the wind through the pampas grass in summer or trying to register the swarms and murmurations of birds feeding at dusk as summer turns to autumn. Maybe you’ve seen that guy.
Ultimately, this release is a bit of a thank-you letter to my chosen home. Or at least my favourite parts of it, since it’s not all quiet and bliss; there is a trade-off for having easy access to so many visually, spiritually and sonically-rich spots. In the city, I live right downtown, close to the main train station in a neighbourhood full of noisy bars where the ever-present thud of bass along with the high comedy of drunks having any combination of laughs, drama or scraps in the middle of the night is punctuated by road work, motorbikes, ambulances, firetrucks and police sirens on the main thoroughfare that sets my dog a-howling – and my teeth on edge- at bedtime.
Noise pollution? Maybe. To me, it’s a location that sounds like any other in its natural state: the city sounds like the city; the forest sounds like the forest. That said, this album is about being grateful for having paths that easily lead me away from the din, out of my own head, and into the forest around Kasuga and Omiwa shrines, down anonymous gravel paths, narrow backstreets, along verdant rice fields and small rivers. This is where the pilgrimage aspect comes in, as I see visiting all my numerous secret- and now that I’ve told you, not-so-secret happy places as a form of taking refuge. That said, I’m keeping a couple of sonically-rich locations to myself. I’m not going to give you directions to my Monday sunset spot in particular. Wherever you are in the world, dear listener, you’ll have to find your own.
(Christopher Olson a.k.a. Standard Grey, 27 February 2023)
: reviews :
A peregrination is a journey akin to a pilgrimage. Over the course of two years, Christopher Olson (Standard Grey) undertook such a pilgrimage in Nara, Japan and surrounding areas, investigating rivers, trails, mountains and shrines. This journey began before the pandemic and ended mid-COVID, which made the process of recording a panacea.
Having lived in Japan for a dozen years, the artist accumulated a collection of “favorite places,” both physically and sonically. Even though acclimated to the city sounds some might call “noise,” he cherishes the times when he can escape to quieter climes. This sense of spiritual transition is first apparent in the breakdown of the quarter-hour opening piece, as the natural cacophony recedes, if only for a brief period. A fragile peace rushes through the sonic cracks, replaced by an encroaching drone. When one has lived in the city for so long, does one yearn more for industrial sounds while in the forest, or forest sounds when surrounded by industry? Splitting the difference, Olson presents both, blurring the lines between organic and inorganic. The crackle at the end of the piece may be precipitation, sparking wires or a hybrid of both.
When “Saille” introduces the sound of abraded chimes, the spiritual aspects become more evident. Keyhole-shapes burial mounds called kōfun decorate the Yamanobe no Michi trail that leads to the Miwa shrine. Mallet percussion contributes one sort of harmony, the amplified wildlife of “The Monday Spot” another. One understands why the artist wants to keep this location secret; this is his private refuge, a place for rejuvenation. When the artist invites listeners to “find their own” spot, he’s not being territorial as much as he is open-handed. The water is flowing at the Monday spot as the sun sets and the waterfowl bid each other goodnight.
If peregrination has a unique teaching, it is that one’s Monday spot may not be a nature spot, but a generator, a railway, a city square. “iPhone Drowning in a Koi Pond” is surprisingly lovely while open to interpretation: is this the actual sound of a drowning iPhone, or is it a hydrophone? If the artist is in no hurry (8:38) to rescue said iPhone, is it because the device is a distraction, or because it is doing its job so well it cannot be interrupted? The title is a metaphor for the poles of tech and peace, although to be fair, koi ponds are usually human-made.
“Gravol Tora” sounds like a slow avalanche, an answer to those who believe that escaping the city means escaping the din. When the sound suddenly stops and resets, one realizes that it has been manipulated to make a larger point: steady sounds, no matter how loud, may be lulling (which is the foundation of drone music), while interrupted sounds can produce a fight-or-flight response. The downpour of the closing piece explores this facet further; the rain is so loud it drowns out everything but the thunder, but without lightning strikes, the effect is soothing. From this white noise emerge separate strands of sound, one animal and one human, a dual comfort zone. On peregrination, nature can be a temple, but any sound can be a shrine.
Richard Allen
A Closer Listen
Unfathomless 