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dustedmagazine · 5 months ago

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Listening Post: Gastr Del Sol

Photo by James Crump

Gastr Del Sol was the convergence of two individuals who had not spent their youths like anyone else and were on their way to lives quite unlike most lives. Between 1991 and 1998 David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke made a sequence of records that simultaneously pointed out what a lot of music listeners were missing and where music might go next if it was really interested in being interesting. Grubbs came from Louisville, Kentucky’s hardcore scene; he played in Squirrel Bait while he was in high school, and took Bastro with him to college. Jim O’Rourke grew up tracking down recordings from the far reaches of every fringe and then setting about making his own place within each method he learned. Before he was out of college, he’d already made connections with Henry Kaiser, Derek Bailey and the folks at Ina GRM. Each was a guy who knew what the other did not, and their collaboration pushed both to make music that they would never make again with anyone else.

Gastr Del Sol began when Grubbs decided to let Bastro get quiet, and made one LP before O’Rourke came aboard. Their first album together, Crookt, Crackt, Or Fly, was assembled from miniaturized poetry, elongated post-punk riffs, frozen improvisation and fluid, texturally-focused compositions. Their last, Camofleur, is a droll pop statement completed just weeks prior to the collapse of the duo’s relationship. The acrimony between them took a couple of decades to die down, but around the same time that they buried the hatchet, a live recording of their final concert surfaced. We Have Dozens Of Titles shuffles together that performance plus every compilation, single, or EP track that Gastr Del Sol released outside their core Drag City discography.

Intro by Bill Meyer

Jonathan Shaw: I have admired Gastr del Sol from a sort of distance. I like “At Night and At Night,” from the terrific Hey Drag Citycomp; I know Upgrade & Afterlife quite well and dearly love “Dry Bones in the Valley...”, the Fahey cover collab with Tony Conrad. The first song on this new-ish record sidles in alongside those wooden textures, but is a more anxious affair. I like that it never quite boils over or takes its propulsive energies to catharsis. It’s sort of a complement to the conversation with the French kid blowing up firecrackers at the track’s close: it can’t quite move forward, in spite of all of the things that want it to.

That’s also a handy metaphor for my relationship to the music. When I have listened to Crookt, Cracked..., I get the sense that these are really, really smart folks, doing some smart stuff, but I haven’t quite connected with and moved into the sounds. They can be forbiddingly remote. So, I am glad for this record, and its invitation to revisit the band’s trajectory.

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Bill Meyer: Each record is so different that I can easily see someone liking one and not likening others, and if you held a gun to my head, Upgrade & Afterlife is the one I would name as my favorite. Which makes it all the more interesting that this collection spans their existence from O’Rourke’s first presence (the Teenbeat single — and it’s pretty amazing that they ended up on that label) to the very last concert (that trip is probably when the encounter with the Francophone child occurred, since the concert was in Quebec).

By virtue of its length and timespan, We Have Dozens Of Titles shows more sides of Gastr Del Sol than any other record.

Bryon Hayes: I think that’s one of the band’s traits that I find appealing, that their sound and approach shifted from record to record. “At Night and At Night” was my introduction to the band, and it also seems to encapsulate multiple faces of Gastr Del Sol in a single track: a drone intro, followed by a guitar/poetry passage, and then a dollop of minimalism accompanied by backwards cymbal splashes. I bought Hey Drag City for Pavement, Silver Jews, and Smog but was introduced to some new and intriguing sounds across the whole of the comp. That track, and Gastr Del Sol as a whole, always felt like a riddle or a logic puzzle to me, albeit one that continuously changed, so it wasn’t possible to “solve” it. But I actually like that fact: the thrill of the act of investigating is pure enjoyment itself.

I never did get to experience Gastr Del Sol in a live setting, so those tracks on We Have Dozens of Titles are particularly revelatory for me. I like the more stripped-down setting of “The Seasons Reverse,” for example. Maybe even more than the version on Camofleur. I’d also bet that the field recording of the kids came from Victoriaville. The town is far enough into Quebec that it’s likely there was a language barrier between O’Rourke and the local youth at the time. Also, the drawn-out version of “Blues Subtitled No Sense of Wonder” feels much fuller and richer in the live setting than it does on Camofleur. I’m not saying I dislike that album, but I too would pick Upgrade & Afterlife as my favorite...

Bill Meyer: Because I lived in the same town as Gastr Del Sol, I was fortunate to see them a lot. The concerts were pretty different from one another, and didn’t always sound much like the most recently released record. When they played with John McEntire, things could be more rock-ish, and I have one fond memory of them getting pretty wild with the feedback. Afterwards O’Rourke seemed embarrassed, like he’d lost control and done the wrong thing. There was room for spontaneity, but they were not an improv act. In 1997 they did lock into the two guys with two acoustic guitars thing for a while, probably because they had a fair number of out-of-town gigs in their later years; they didn’t necessarily want to lug a lot of gear around.

Another aspect of living in the same town with them was seeing the other things they had going. O’Rourke could often be seen accompanying someone whose work he championed (ex: Rafael Toral), and they both played with Red Krayola (although O’Rourke bailed for a while and Grubbs kept going), Edith Frost, and Arnold Dreyblatt.

Jonathan Shaw: Never saw the band, and the live material on this comp is what’s impressing me most. Given my proclivities toward their work with acoustic guitars, I am most compelled by “Onion Orange,” which works a space between gentle and tense to very satisfying effect. The repetitive sequence of notes in that initial six-or-so minutes is really engaging; it invites anticipation, flirts with letting that become apprehension. I can imagine that would be even more powerful in a real room, with the players really making the noises in front of you. But even here, via the mp3 I am playing on a device, it’s strong stuff.

Bill Meyer: I still need to a-b that with the original on Grubbs’ solo album.

That album, Banana Cabbage, Potato Lettuce, Onion Orange, seems not to be on Bandcamp, and Table of the Elements is long defunct. I’ll have to pull out my CD and play it. On the original edition, Grubbs plays everything, but O’Rourke recorded two of the album’s three tracks. I remember it being very still, a Grubbs take on Morton Feldman. What you hear in this live performance, Jonathan, is probably what makes me think I like this new version better than the original. There’s a management of tension that probably comes from two people playing it together in real time.

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The way that We Have Dozens Of Titles is sequenced, with live tracks littered throughout the collection, makes it easy to forget that we’re hearing a complete set here.

Ian Mathers: There’s a relatively well-known tweet (for those of us that are too online, at least) where a guy who’s only ever seen one movie sees a second and immediately compares it to his only experience. As someone who’s never heard Gastr del Sol before (although they’ve lingered somewhere on my impossibly long “get to this someday” list) and only really knows Jim O’Rourke’s work via his Bad Timing album, I had my own “Getting a lot of ‘Boss Baby’ vibes from this...” moment playing the opening live version of “The Seasons Reverse.” The guitar playing there immediately put me in mind of Bad Timing, which isn’t a bad thing! I was slightly relieved when this compilation pretty immediately shows off different aspects of his and Grubbs’ sound, even in the other live tracks.

And while I did enjoy all of We Have Dozens of Titles, enough so that I’m wondering based on the comments here which of their albums I should check out next, the live tracks do feel like a cut above everything else. I’m probably going to try listening to just them, and while I respect the choice to scatter them throughout this release despite being one show (do we have any idea if they preserved the order of the setlist, or jumbled that up as well as splitting them up?) there is a part of me that wishes it was a separate release. Which is kind of silly, I know — absolutely nothing is stopping me from just playing the live stuff whenever I want, and I’m very glad to have the rest of the material here. My first question for those more knowledgeable: is the album version of “Blues Subtitled No Sense of Wonder” as amazing as the live one here, and should I make that my next stop?

Bill Meyer: If you like the live version of “Blues Subtitled No Sense of Wonder,” you definitely need to check out the studio version. For that reason, I’d point you to Camofleur and then suggest that you work your way backwards through the catalog.

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Bryon Hayes: The album version has beautiful vocal harmonies with lyrics that are dryly humorous; the title of the box set is derived from them, actually. The music on the box set version feels fuller and louder than that on the album, the electronics bolder and noisier, accompanied by rich organ tones. Also, that interlude of shouted movie dialogue (or whatever it is), is not in the Camofleur version. Both are appealing, but I enjoy the live version slightly more. If Grubbs sang on the live version, it might be the clear winner for me.

Ian Mathers: Interesting, thanks for the tips! If I’m remembering correctly, there’s no vocals on this collection for at least a while, and I was slightly nonplussed when they came in; not bad, certainly, but it felt slightly out of place with the music. (I was working while listening, which might be the culprit there.) I’ll be interested to A/B the two versions and see what I think.

Bill Meyer: I just drove past the Lyon & Healy building at Lake and Ogden, which prompts the question — what do you make of “The Harp Factory On Lake Street”?

Jonathan Shaw: I sort of like it when there are vocals — in part because of the poetic nature of what’s sung (see “Rebecca Sylvester” on Upgrade & Afterlife), in part because it feels grounding in musical contexts that frequently get very abstract.

Bill Meyer: I like the way you frame that, Jonathan. Grubbs’ words do have a way of anchoring part of the music, bringing a sonic fixedness that contrasts with the music around them, but also introducing an uncertainty of their own because of their sometimes-oblique content.

Roz Milner: I’ve just been lurking this thread. I’m not familiar with this group, although I do like what little Jim O’Rourke’s music I’ve heard (Bad Timing, Happy Days). Any recommendations on where to start with them?

Tim Clarke: I’d start with Camoufleur, which is easily their most accessible album. I have a bit of an uneasy relationship with Gastr Del Sol. I got into them soon after I became obsessed with Jim O’Rourke’s Eureka, but it was quite a shift in tone from that album. I do enjoy Camoufleur a lot, and the album versions of “The Seasons Reverse” and “Blues Subtitled No Sense of Wonder” are, in my opinion, far superior to the live versions on We Have Dozens of Titles.

Gastr Del Sol are quintessentially experimental, in that much of their music sounds so open-ended, as though O’Rourke and Grubbs are constantly wondering what x would sound like played at the same time as y, whether it’s an open, suspended acoustic guitar voicing alongside a sour synthesizer drone, or some piano with some field recordings or samples. Upgrade & Afterlife actually freaks me out! The first time I listened to it after buying it from Rough Trade in London, I couldn’t venture past the opening track as a massive gnarly insect flew in through my open window while I was listening to it on a spring evening. It scared me so much I don’t think I’ve revisited the album since. There are moments on We Have Dozens of Titles that are truly magical, so I think I’ll have to get over my fear and revisit Upgrade & Afterlife after all this time.

Christian Carey: The timing of this release is interesting. David Grubbs was just appointed Distinguished University Professor by CUNY, the highest faculty distinction possible. In addition, he was just awarded the Berlin Prize, and will be in residence there next year. Wonder if the awards might have helped to fund the recording project.

Jonathan Shaw: Distinguished Prof at CUNY — pretty swell. Makes sense. Some of Gastr del Sol’s headiest stuff has the feel of the “experimental,” and in ways that engage the connotations of knowledge and concept in that term (which often gets used lightly and lazily, IMHO). That might have something to do with why I like the live tracks so much. There’s an organic quality to them. Still thorny and challenging music, like the ebbs and flows that make “Dictionary of Handwriting” disorienting and strange. But it’s happening. It’s made, not just thought or assembled.

Jennifer Kelly: Once again, not super immersed in this band, though I had a copy of Crookt, Crackt or Fly at one time, which I can’t find and don’t remember very well, though I’m listening to it on YouTube right now, and the combination of Grubbs’ wandering vocals and aggressive, stabbing guitars seems familiar-ish. So, coming to this a bit cold, though I’ve enjoyed Grubbs’ more recent work with Ryley Walker and Jan St. Werner — and there are definitely some common threads. Nonlinearity, an elastic sense of key and rhythm, a haunted room kind of aesthetic.

I found this track-by-track exposition at the Quietus, which I was trying to read as the songs came up and it’s quite good. I especially liked the paragraphs about “The Bells of St. Mary’s,” written for what sounds like a truly bizarre Christmas comp with Merzbow and Melt Banana on it. Gastr del Sol’s lone concession to the holiday form was sleigh bells, though Grubbs says the main reference was to “I Wanna Be Your Dog” not “Jinglebells.”

Anyway, you might enjoy this.

Tim Clarke: In addition to the Quietus piece, this recent podcast interview is also very enlightening in regard to the history of the band. A rare opportunity to hear Jim O’Rourke chat lightheartedly too.

Having spent more time with the album now, I realize that my listening gets derailed by a couple of Grubbs’ and O’Rourke’s tendencies with this music. The first is when Grubbs does a kind of scat singing that follows the spiky contours of the acoustic guitar parts. And the second is when they retreat into near silence.

Bill Meyer: Near-silence is an O’Rourke strategy to make sure that the volume is set high enough when you get to the loud part.

Christian Carey: I’m curious what connections to later projects people hear in the recording. As TJ mentioned, there are some mannerisms that seem to forecast avant moves by both Grubbs and O’Rourke, with greater assuredness in the idiom. The post-rock vibe is unmistakable, and I am finding the songs with connections to Tortoise et. al. to be the most compelling music-making here.

Bill Meyer: Re: similarities with Tortoise, it’s worth keeping in mind that John McEntire of Tortoise was also a member of Bastro and a key non-member contributor to Gastr Del Sol. Re: the term post-rock, I appreciate the irony that Gastr Del Sol was actually O’Rourke’s entree into rock following years of intense work in improvisation, musique concrete, etc. with people like Henry Kaiser, Eddie Prevost, Christoph Heemann and Illusion of Safety. It was his “I’m almost ready to rock" project.

Ian Mathers: Roz, if you still haven’t settled on a way to check out Gastr del Sol, I was in a similar position to you and honestly, I found this compilation a pretty welcoming (and broad-ranging) introduction! I haven’t moved on to checking out any of their albums yet, but I have played We Have Dozens of Titles a number of times, and while I’m still experiencing it more as a gestalt than I am picking out specific elements (so I’m not sure how I’d answer Christian’s question at the moment, for example), I find the time just slipping away when I do. I was reading Steven Thomas Erlewine’s newsletter recently where he was discussing this collection and he described Gastr del Sol as “music that changes the temperature of the room,” and I keep coming back to that as an apt description of what I’m experiencing.

Bryon Hayes: I read somewhere that Grubbs’ The Plain Where the Palace Stood is his solo album most similar to his work in Gastr Del Sol. I’m listening to that record now and it actually reminds me of the little Bastro that I’ve heard along with parts of The Serpentine Similar.

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Bill Meyer: Gastr Del Sol’s existence corresponded with Grubbs’ time at University of Chicago, where he was getting his PhD. I believe it was in poetry, and the words he wrote for the band’s songs reflect that study.

Christian Carey: I've been having fun poring over David Grubbs’ trilogy of books and guessing which stories might be about Gastr del Sol. He's excellent at being covert, but I would be surprised if they weren't featured in some of his writing.

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