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 Vertical Ascent sees Moritz von Oswald return to the fray after a hiatus to conspire with fellow tech-vets, Vladislav Delay and Max Loderbauer. Signatures of von Oswald's legendary Basic Channel operations seep through its hybridized form, crossbred with Miles Davis, Can, and Fourth World fusion; the timbral density, low- and high-end science, and a certain recursion are remotely familiar, while something wild comes from a live performance element - from a clattering loosely improv spirit to an opened out sound palette. Though all three of the Moritz von Oswald Trio are firmly situated within a post-soloist club culture, with a BC shadow cast, what strikes is this marked diversity of textures coming from the aleatory aspect of navigating uncharted terrain through live performance.
At first listen, it's somewhat impenetrable: four seemingly static rhythmic chassis wreathed with whorls of synths and some echoing dub effects, but no obvious way in. But such artists of esteem raise the sense-making urge, and gradually fore- and middle-ground start to shift, what had initially seemed all too solid melts to become a latticework of light and dark; a dense filigree emerges from within its density, inducing a merging with a floating field of sound. Its four ‘Patterns’ seem as if a series of variations on a theme exploring a delimited set of sonic resources, resulting in a post- version of the bass-drums-keyboards jazz trio (note the nomenclature). A distillation of a number of live shows, you get a sense of a fusion of a (restrained) form of organic improvisation; plenty of patter and clatter from Ripatti, vaporous over/under-lay from Loderbauer’s electronics and ripples and thrums from von Oswald’s Rhodes. Stretching out, on a tight leash. As if blowing, under the breath. The live band vibe is pronounced on “Pattern 1”, cymbal and hi-hat work, burbling keys, s(h)immering synth curtains. Think the Miles of In a Silent Way and On the Corner through the prism of dub and ’90s/’00s eletronica. On “Pattern 3” a driving rhythmic pulse builds around a deep talking drum thrum, shimmering sounds serially accrue and are shed like snakeskin from within a rhythmic matrix shimmying like dancefloor gamelan. There are some pretty slow and low bass depths here and there, especially on “Pattern 4” – heavy thump manners and reverbed-out snare bringing (space) echoes of MvO’s Rhythm & Sound.
 The leader’s name, and Delay's, shouldn't put in the shade Max Loderbauer, of Sun Electric, NSI, occasionally of The Orb. It points the formative input, as much as the mid-1990s of BC/CR minimalism, of dank chill rooms and live-to-DAT collabs. This may be an album of the early 21st century, but it bears the stamp of men who made their mark in the late 20th. Still, there is, it must be said, something unpindownable about the record, from its odd cover to its clanking middle, its oft unentrancing recursion to its unfinished feel. This music's precursors - especially those BC and CR releases, which two of MvOT had a major hand in, and which laid the foundations of minimal techno - have coalesced into a by-now legendary tradition. Those records sounded like postcards from a dank future, but Vertical Ascent, for all its fascination, lacks that culture-shock tension; in its place is another kind of modesty that recalls Jon Hassell's Fourth World; but this inarticulate Klang has the spare-parts feel of an ersatz street music, minus the romance and the exotica with which Hassell endowed it. In sum, though it creates a largely unique sound world of great power and distinctiveness, somehow Vertical Ascent doesn’t quite reach the heights of either von Oswald or Delay's best. It's quite a cold, cloudy, remote experience, whereas Delay’s Multila or von Oswald’s BC 12"s offer a contrasting warmth, for all their technological cores – their smeared sound is somehow more engaging and (especially Delay) more human than the machine-like MvOT. Carping aside, though Vertical Ascent may not be the peak of either Moritz or Delay’s output, it’s still a landmark of sorts in the intensity and distinctiveness of its soundworld – albeit one that may not be returned to often.
NOTE: As well as my own words/thoughts, the above text contains (adapted and quoted) contributions made by others to an Mp3 discussion group on Marc Weidenbaum's estimable disquiet site. I'd like to acknowledge Marc, as well as Julian Lewis, Colin Buttimer, and Joshua Maremont. I might add that Julian's Lend Me Your Ears and Colin's Eleventh Volume are also great value.
Review by Alan Lockett
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