Monday, July 6, 2009
Christopher Riggs - Riggs Home Security (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)
Is it me, or is Holy Cheever fast becoming essential listening? Every release Chris puts out is as interesting/exciting/impressive as the next, and this latest trifecta is of course nothing no light fare either. Of course the heaviest thing is that nearly every one of the Holy Cheever releases features Chris himself, meaning that he is rapidly becoming a real force to be reckoned with.
This one is a solo offering by the head honcho himself, and it's another winner no doubt. I have to confess though, that I had a crazy experience with this when I first threw it on. The first side is a slow bowed electric number that, according to Chris, was played on a broken amp. So I was listening to it and at weird moments the sound kept fritzing out or slipping into these slow electronic screes and I thought shit, he's really pushing the envelope with this one. Eventually the sound dropped out entirely, making me think this was sort of a Bug Incision redux, but then I flip it over and it's still totally dead silent. Turns out the ol' walkmen was on the fritz, go figure. Still, it's a real testament to just how wild and foreign Chris' stuff is, if not also to my stupidity. Still, the thing is packed with weirdness, with super slow bowed geetar that meanders in long and fluid and richly textured loops raga style for a while. The drenched repetition here really splays out loosey-goosey style, unrelenting and almost classicist in its unbending commitment to the cause. One, two, one, two, Riggs drags the bow across like a scalpel over a fiberglass strung sitar before burying deep into some clouded fuzz buzz that, I dare say, really will have you thinking the tape deck's on the out were it not for the taut sonar blips that keep it unified in its writhing.
The second side is even less guitary, instead finding a playful sort of sproing rebound that calls to mind the harsh realities lying in wait beyond the pogo stick travels of our youth. Remember filming the kids out in the street, bounding along, harkening the end of days? It arrives too, in the form of metal power chords fed through so many dangling daggers that it gets spliced apart into a carnal wreck of dystopic smatterings before cutting off and heading toward high end hiss, so numb as to create worlds within its oneness. When the singular tone disengages with itself it goes into some seriously dark spaces, total schizophrenia slash and burn stuff. Always pushing the meter higher, Riggs' special breed of cerebral demolition is nigh unstoppable. A crazy one, again.