Sometimes one knows it's coming, sometimes it's unexpected, but the time to hang up one's boots will always come. It's better when one has total control over the moment, even better if things end on a high (or on a low). After seven years of sonic interferences, calibrating the soundscape of field recordings and helping to recreate the old sounds of today, Gonzo is retiring from music. It's a goodbye, and a well-crafted one at that. But Ruído(s) doesn't sound like an intentional farewell. It won't be heard on any of the thirteen tracks that scavenge for a solution in the space between ambient music and field recordings. It won't be felt in the intense connection between human and natural sounds; how sometimes everything oscillates in opposite states of mind. One won't even read it in the intense-yet-subtle humor present in some of the pieces. This is all because it's not an intentional goodbye. What is it then? It's a celebration of random sound. How can one experience something scholastic and simultaneously deeply hilarious? Just think about the amazing triad formed by "A Fuga Dos Grilos." "Degredado(s)," and "Cantiga Parva". First, one is blessed with six minutes that build up on the idea that sound can be an intense religious experience, echoes going back and forth to create a fantastic Boiler Room feeling (one populated with raving Gonzo's doing dabs in front of the camera) that eventually ends with a cinematic touch - someone saying the title of the song out loud. One second after we are into the Flying Lizards world, with two songs that shake any pretentious seriousness of the previous track. Is it serious or not? It is. But it doesn't have to be. On Ruído(s) Gonzo recounts pop/electronic history through field recordings and weird-soft beats. More than compiling his seven-year history, Gonzo is more worried about understanding where he's leaving his ideas, Caretaker-style. As the album progresses and the need to revisit it grows, it becomes clearer that Ruído(s) is more than an artist self-indulging in his work - in a very good manner. It's also a condensed catalog of Portuguese music and it's sounds, a circular trip down the memory lane of a forgotten country and it's landscape. Ruído(s) is a goodbye to a country and it's traditions. It does it without sulking but with the most respectful loud laugh - the Gonzo way.
Sometimes one knows it's coming, sometimes it's unexpected, but the time to hang up one's boots will always come. It's better when one has total control over the moment, even better if things end on a high (or on a low). After seven years of sonic interferences, calibrating the soundscape of field recordings and helping to recreate the old sounds of today, Gonzo is retiring from music. It's a goodbye, and a well-crafted one at that. But Ruído(s) doesn't sound like an intentional farewell. It won't be heard on any of the thirteen tracks that scavenge for a solution in the space between ambient music and field recordings. It won't be felt in the intense connection between human and natural sounds; how sometimes everything oscillates in opposite states of mind. One won't even read it in the intense-yet-subtle humor present in some of the pieces. This is all because it's not an intentional goodbye. What is it then? It's a celebration of random sound. How can one experience something scholastic and simultaneously deeply hilarious? Just think about the amazing triad formed by "A Fuga Dos Grilos." "Degredado(s)," and "Cantiga Parva". First, one is blessed with six minutes that build up on the idea that sound can be an intense religious experience, echoes going back and forth to create a fantastic Boiler Room feeling (one populated with raving Gonzo's doing dabs in front of the camera) that eventually ends with a cinematic touch - someone saying the title of the song out loud. One second after we are into the Flying Lizards world, with two songs that shake any pretentious seriousness of the previous track. Is it serious or not? It is. But it doesn't have to be. On Ruído(s) Gonzo recounts pop/electronic history through field recordings and weird-soft beats. More than compiling his seven-year history, Gonzo is more worried about understanding where he's leaving his ideas, Caretaker-style. As the album progresses and the need to revisit it grows, it becomes clearer that Ruído(s) is more than an artist self-indulging in his work - in a very good manner. It's also a condensed catalog of Portuguese music and it's sounds, a circular trip down the memory lane of a forgotten country and it's landscape. Ruído(s) is a goodbye to a country and it's traditions. It does it without sulking but with the most respectful loud laugh - the Gonzo way.
5055869544788

Details

Format: Vinyl
Label: DISCREPANT
Rel. Date: 09/13/2019
UPC: 5055869544788

Ruidos
Artist: Gonzo
Format: Vinyl
New: Not Currently Available
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Sometimes one knows it's coming, sometimes it's unexpected, but the time to hang up one's boots will always come. It's better when one has total control over the moment, even better if things end on a high (or on a low). After seven years of sonic interferences, calibrating the soundscape of field recordings and helping to recreate the old sounds of today, Gonzo is retiring from music. It's a goodbye, and a well-crafted one at that. But Ruído(s) doesn't sound like an intentional farewell. It won't be heard on any of the thirteen tracks that scavenge for a solution in the space between ambient music and field recordings. It won't be felt in the intense connection between human and natural sounds; how sometimes everything oscillates in opposite states of mind. One won't even read it in the intense-yet-subtle humor present in some of the pieces. This is all because it's not an intentional goodbye. What is it then? It's a celebration of random sound. How can one experience something scholastic and simultaneously deeply hilarious? Just think about the amazing triad formed by "A Fuga Dos Grilos." "Degredado(s)," and "Cantiga Parva". First, one is blessed with six minutes that build up on the idea that sound can be an intense religious experience, echoes going back and forth to create a fantastic Boiler Room feeling (one populated with raving Gonzo's doing dabs in front of the camera) that eventually ends with a cinematic touch - someone saying the title of the song out loud. One second after we are into the Flying Lizards world, with two songs that shake any pretentious seriousness of the previous track. Is it serious or not? It is. But it doesn't have to be. On Ruído(s) Gonzo recounts pop/electronic history through field recordings and weird-soft beats. More than compiling his seven-year history, Gonzo is more worried about understanding where he's leaving his ideas, Caretaker-style. As the album progresses and the need to revisit it grows, it becomes clearer that Ruído(s) is more than an artist self-indulging in his work - in a very good manner. It's also a condensed catalog of Portuguese music and it's sounds, a circular trip down the memory lane of a forgotten country and it's landscape. Ruído(s) is a goodbye to a country and it's traditions. It does it without sulking but with the most respectful loud laugh - the Gonzo way.