The latest work by Irish composer/sound artist Gerard Gormley under the moniker of Being Strangers is an acoustic exploration of architectures and the physical boundaries that frame them. At first glance, Concrete Dreams Of Sound might appear conceptually and musically related to US artist Marina Rosenfeld’s interest in the materiality of musical objects or one of the many projects on Room40, like Lawrence English and Lea Bertucci’s Chthonic, which dream up sonic manifestations of vast natural architectures. Yet, as clusters of static and micro vibrations that resemble church organs shuffle through the album’s opening minutes, their design veers ever closer to a superficially distant discipline: sonification.
While Gormley’s subjects of research – the walls, floors, surfaces, and bodies of water at London’s Barbican Centre – are undeniably tangible, his meticulous approach mimics the digital processes and methods used to sonify data. Instead of bits, he engages with atoms and molecules. In place of programming, he uses sensors to pick up the fluctuations, noises, and echoes from various concrete structures and the ether contained within them, then processes and plays them back in those same locations. The success of sonification is often dependent on serendipity and a bit of cheating – on finding then transforming data to pleasing aesthetic effect. Gormley is similarly at the mercy of the Centre’s constructions. His music seeks emerging musicality in patterns that are often anything but musical, trying to escape the boring reality that all concrete is, ultimately, nothing more than concrete.
While Concrete Dreams doesn’t reveal whether the cement used to build the walls at the Barbican sounds any different from the same cement used elsewhere, the resulting compositional flow is often compelling. Gormley is especially successful when he strays away from the drone and ambient coded saturation heard on ‘IV’ and instead lets environmental sounds crumble through the music. On ‘II’, the alternation between voluminous hum and gossamer-thin but rich textures instils a sense of elegant dynamism. The piece’s soft background shivers come close to conjuring a transportive experience, making you feel as if you were there, moving from larger to smaller rooms, seeing the light reflected off their windows, while fluttering harmonics and Gascia Ouzounian’s elongated, slithering violin lines follow along.
According to Gormley, the violin is not meant to step into its traditional role here. Rather, the instrument acts as an architectural sonar, activating and mapping the spaces and materials. Yet, its melodies and flickering fragments are often crucial in connecting the album’s disassociated noises, just as it pulls together waves of abstract crackle with the murmur and the clatter of a room bristling with people on ‘VI’. On ‘V’, the vroom and buzz of sustained frequencies grows into something akin to an electric guitar riff. Meanwhile, the closing ‘VII’ and ‘VIII’ try their best to channel the Brutalist spirit of the Barbican, with the violin’s granulated stutter acting as an echo sounder, revealing an imposing sense of ambience and leaving a faint trail of sound on its way out.
