William Fowler Collins - Perdition Hill Radio - 15 Июля 2009

Lovers of Dark Ambient's shadowy recesses take note: this latest Type release brings the haunted New
Mexican soundworld of William Fowler Collins to the world - and it's one of the most relentless collections
of dense and harrowing midnight music you'll likely have the pleasure of hearing. Flicking through this
record - skimming the surface of these crumbling, derelict sonic constructions - feels like intercepting a
shortwave broadcast from the hereafter. It all points towards something sinister and most unwholesome,
but to give all this context, it's worth noting that Collins' talent has been incubating for some time: his CV
tells of years spent studying electronic music at Mills College under the tutelage of iconic figures like
Pauline Oliveiros, Alvin Curran and Fred Frith (having also performed and collaborated with Matmos, Ikue
Mori and Brightblack Morning Light in the lead up to this album's making). This musical background
combines with the harsh, desert topography of Collins' Albuquerque home in rendering a sonic portrait of
Americana's dark underbelly, beginning with 'The Hour Of Red Glare', whose stormy introduction - full of
thunderclap noise surges - announces the album's nefarious intentions. Immediately, images of a guitar-
slinging, American gothic counterpart to the Nordic doom merchantry of Deathprod and Svarte Greiner
spring to mind; its maudlin intensity and dust-devil dynamics serving as a powerful introduction, teetering
on the verge of outright black metal - imagine Xasthur wearing a stetson, if you will. 'Grave Robbing In
Texas' offers a slightly more introspective slant on that sound, retreating into a quivering mass of tape
murk and snarling sustains that's likely to give your ears friction burns if you spend too much time with it.
The vast 'Dark Country Road' soon comes along, opening with a lighter, more outward-looking sound,
initially howling harmoniusly like some ghouls' choir before retreating into an uncomfortable near-silence
around the eight-minute mark. During this stint, static hangs in the air while unidentifiable clanking,
scratching and whining from various obscured field recordings creeps under your skin. At over twenty-one
minutes this might be the most engrossibg piece of music on the album, but it's arguably the most striking
too - luring you away into its uncanny nightscape. There's still plenty more to come, however: you'll hear a
more vicious, metallic take on Tim Hecker's saturated drones during 'On Perdition Hill' and even better,
'Slow Motion Prayer Cycle' grinds away like a decrepit old phonograph cylinder worn down to nothing.
Finally, you can hear a few strands of sunlight starting to break into the mix during closing track 'The
Ghosts Of Eden Trail'; warm, major-key tones shimmer across its expanse before eventually evaporating
into the harsh New Mexico wind from whence it came. An immense and fiendish album - ESSENTIAL
PURCHASE.

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