Over the last decade, Toronto-based composer Nick Storring has become well known for his unique, painstaking compositional style of layering performances on a plethora of objects and musical/electro-mechanical instruments to deeply moving effect. ‘Newfoundout’, his seventh album, follows last year’s lush and nocturnal ‘My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell’ (Orange Milk Records) with more rhythmical material and an almost theatrical, phantasmal sensibility. The music here doesn’t just evoke imagined landscapes or unique sonic worlds, but it seems to be toying with the idea of a protagonist or a narrative. The pieces move with intent, unravelling in their course moving tales, haunting ancient stories and whispered rumours. There is an underlying aura of mystery and ghostliness which is also reflected in the track titles: all are named after ghost towns around Ontario, Canada. ‘Newfoundout’ is a truly fascinating new entry in Storring’s discography; one which not only highlights his strengths and refines his approach, but also showcases the breadth of his vision. It’s an album where hyperrealism meets psychedelia, where strange dreams meet cinematic grandeur.
- Adam Badi Donoval
All selections are named after ghost towns around Ontario, Canada.
Dome is dedicated to the memory of Noah Creshevsky
Composed, performed, recorded, produced, and mastered by Nick Storring using acoustic and electromechanical instruments/ treatments, and only the minimum of effects processing.
Photography by Nick Storring
Artwork and layout by Richard Čecho
Words by Eric Chenaux and Adam Badí Donoval
Special thanks to: Nathalia Sanches, Colin Fisher, Katrina Orlowski, Yvonne Ng, Peter Hatch, Noah Creshevsky, Seth Graham, Keith Rankin, Jakub Juhás / mappa, and John Farah (for the continued use of his Rhodes and Pianet).
Available as a 320k MP3 or 16bit FLAC
1. Dome - 12:40
2. Dome Extension - 05:56
3. Frood - 05:18
4. Khartum - 05:55
5. Silver Centre - 14:18
6. Vroomanton - 07:54
7. Newfoundout - 11:51
I hear Brazilian singers.
And clearly they are not there.
The music seems convinced of the presence of Brazilian singers.
That was my first coherent thought after listening to Newfoundout
In what must be a profound list of instruments or sound sources heard on this record,
I doubt we will find Milton Nascimento, Nana Caymmi, or Maria Bethânia.
I hallucinated them.
Because hallucinations are clear.
And there is a lot of hallucinating going on here.
The music hallucinates itself.
And leaves space for us to hallucinate along with it.
The instruments play, and they play wildly, in a state of hallucination.
The music slides in a slow and light state of relocation.
This is a balade.
And as we sway we may notice things, they may come to us,
often only for mere seconds before evaporating in a clear decay.
The hallucination is the space in between us and the music.
The space, ever-modulating, of the encounter itself.
An encounter constantly and slowly composing and decomposing,
forming and deforming and sensually blurring the lines in between.
A clear haze.
The music guts and lushes without rising or falling.
This is not an orchestra
This is not a paragraph.
A bordel of instruments.
Clumps of moss.
Stretched out like rubber bands.
Flat on the ground.
Hanging under a tree.
A band in a hammock.
In the grass.
They are squatting in the heat.
This music thinks birds sing just for joy.
A radical obedience of joy.
There is a rub.
This is some kind of rubbing music.
Everything breaths here.
Tropical lungs. Steamy courtyard. A clear sweetnighter.
- Eric Chenaux