#005: Nagual LP
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Spawned in Oberlin, Ohio's proliferating experimental circles, the duo of Ian McColm and David Shapiro have since 2010 become adept at coaxing damaged shades of Frippertronic drone from their extended guitar rigs. Finally distilling their inspirations into three deliberate pieces, this 44-minute LP of structured improvisations marks the culmination of a string of cassettes on McColm's own Pidgin imprint and is Nagual's most accomplished statement to date.
Meticulously crafted loops comprise the phonetic basis of Nagual's vernacular, with clusters of decayed piano and spluttering ARP seamlessly shifting in and out of coherence while deep tones expand across the stereo field. The muscular tear of side A crescendos into a dexterous burst of McColm's machine-gun percussion (first showcased on a Feeding Tube collaboration with Daniel Bachman) worthy of his years studying under Billy Hart; and side B unfurls with the patient serenity of music's eternal theater.
Meticulously crafted loops comprise the phonetic basis of Nagual's vernacular, with clusters of decayed piano and spluttering ARP seamlessly shifting in and out of coherence while deep tones expand across the stereo field. The muscular tear of side A crescendos into a dexterous burst of McColm's machine-gun percussion (first showcased on a Feeding Tube collaboration with Daniel Bachman) worthy of his years studying under Billy Hart; and side B unfurls with the patient serenity of music's eternal theater.
Edition of 300.
"a studied, stunning work of loops and zonular textures galore. It's worth a listen if you wish that Kranky's golden era featured Keith Rowe."
—Mike Sugarman, Ad Hoc
"Their tools are more varied than what you might find on a Pandit Pran Nath record, but Ian McColm and David Shapiro’s aim is trained on the same trance-inducing throb. They fold six-strings, bass, a baritone guitar, and an assortment of synthesizers into one another, stack a few drums and piano on top, then melt it down into a stream of molten copper and hissing electronics, all tuned to the same shimmering key."
—Lucas Schleicher, Dusted Magazine