A Session One (excerpt, around 5:00)
B Session One (excerpt, around 5:00)
Online: Session Two 31:03
在2018年10月的日本之行中，赵丛和旅居东京的美国乐手Dave Knapik进行了一次二重奏录音。那天下午一共录制了两段。
磁带里收录的是第一段录音的片段：这段录音被录制到了一些90分钟的高品质二类带（TYPE II）中，每盘C-90又被手工裁剪成9段，重新分装入盒。故此，你听到的是这段录音的”2/9”（磁带的两面是不同的内容）。
购买磁带亦会赠送下载。下载的是那天下午的第二段录音。2024年，这个录音公布在了bandcamp页面上。
这张专辑没有试听，不过我们依然希望你在购买前对音乐的内容有一些了解。所以我们邀请了两位朋友以文字的形式，描述他们所听到的音乐（是被录成磁带的第一段录音）。或许可以作为参考。需要特别提及的是，这两位朋友在听音乐的时候，并不知道这张专辑的任何信息以及最终呈现形式。
“2/9” is a duo recording by Zhao Cong and Tokyo-based American musician Dave Knapik, recorded by Dave on Oct. 27, 2018, in Shinjuku, Tokyo.
They recorded two sessions that afternoon, the first of which was copied to a vintage TYPE II blank C-90 cassette and then cut into nine pieces. These nine segments were each spooled into empty green shells to produce nine unique variations of the session.
The cassette comes with a download code for the second session. Streaming is not available for this album. (UPDATE: Session Two was put on bandcamp on 2024)
We invited two friends to listen to the first session and describe what they heard, which we hope will be useful when deciding whether to order. It is worth mentioning, in particular, that they didn’t know anything about this album, including its final presentation.
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你将听到音色、节奏和空白，在经历虚拟与现实后，你得到的是游戏与陪伴。
在这张专辑中，放下你的聆听经验，专注于这些声音来自于什么，金属的摩擦、响铃音、打印设备，在这些最容易猜到的之外呢？好奇引发你的思考，最终你将在这次类似猜谜的过程中得到你自己的答案。在满足之余你对这些触手可及的“乐器”们的看法也会改变，它们变幻出的声音能够融入你赶地铁时的快走和工作时的发呆，因此适合在任何时候任何地方聆听。
—— 马萌 (路新配, Fat City)
Let’s start with what I don’t know, and I’ll tell you, it’s a lot. I don’t know how these noises were made or even who made them. I don’t know what the creator was thinking or what goals they were trying to achieve. I don’t know what rules or ascetics they were following or what influenced them to make the sounds they did. Was this meant as a composed piece or just a coincidental recording of random experimentation? All of the context that we usually apply and which helps us to situate music into neat little boxes is missing here, at least for me, and this becomes irrelevant as the track is reduced to pure noise and me to the act of pure listening.
Rustling, static, low-intensity hum, sounds on the very edge of perception; mechanical sounds and then moments of humanity where you hear a person on the other side switching things on and off, starting and stopping others, moving objects, pushing buttons, twisting knobs. The curious mind wants to connect the image to the sound, to construct a logical chain of cause and effect. I imagine the performer and his various machines, and then as if by accident, or as in the process of falling asleep where you’re not aware of the exact moment you nod off, my mind drifts and I’m lost in the sound. I imagine myself in some distant and alien place. Images of antiquarian machines and extraterrestrial climate fill my consciousness: the rattle of an old film projector, a radio scanning the dial, the purring of a robotic cat. The sound mixes with my inner thoughts turning into daydreams that veer off and then are brought back by a particularly exciting or unaccountable noise.
I’m like the preverbal blind man touching an elephant; I mistake each part for the whole as if failing to comprehend the structure of the piece I concentrate solely on each “note.” By truly understanding one part maybe I can begin to grasp the whole. Now, the shape of the sound, it’s texture, tone, and timber become objects of my analysis as they morph and change. And with careful listening, new tones are discovered just on the edge of audibility. Maybe by trying to map out the entire forest, I failed to ever truly see a single tree.
Nothing seems to build or progress, and when I reached the end I can’t say that I understood the piece or if there is even anything to understand, I fully acknowledge that I might not possess the tools necessary for doing so. The actual meaning may lie more in the process than the final result. By not being able to situate myself or the noises I heard I was forced to listen carefully to each sound and to learn again how to listen became the reward.
by Nevin Domer (Genjing Records, Struggle Session)
