Francisco Lopez

Lopez Island

Elevator Bath

With Lopez Island, international nomad and blindfold enthusiast Francisco Lopez returns to the site-specific, representational sound worlds of La Selva—ell, almost. Lopez here has at least acknowledged the source material of his work—all sounds were recorded on the coincidentally named island in Washington State—rather than rely on the mysterious, untitled CDs devoid of information and packaged in blank jewel cases. However, Lopez Island remains as disciplined as any of his recordings on highly concentrated deep listening, and, despite taking the infinite breadth of “found sound” as his instrument, a number of familiar Lopezian tropes appear.

Lopez Island consists of four phases, moving thematically from lighter, introductory passages to more dramatic, destructive sounds. Out of introductory silence emerge low-volume, close rattlings, as though small objects were being fondled next to the microphone. After some minutes the silence returns, punctuating the set before a series of indistinct bleating sounds emerge, or rather intrude, like the distant whine of strangled pigs. Another pause, and then the real meat of this recording begins, a thick slab of muffled gray hum—much like the volcanic drones of Thomas Koner, only more elusive and organic and dirtier. Steady sheets of battering wind are interrupted by a distorted crackle in the left channel, growing louder and more distorted before infiltrating the whole sound spectrum. A synthesized rusted-gate squeak enters, as do richer, harsh drills and an offensive metal tapping. These, too, are soon subsumed by rich, dense overtones like the hum of distant and busy traffic and motor hiss, as a semi-rhythmic tic gets louder. Another fine recording to add to his growing body of work.

Joshua Meggitt