The Greek word omphaloskepsis denotes the meditative practice of gazing at one’s navel. The word is well-chosen by composer and performer Eldritch Priest for the title of this creation.
A deceptively simple, monodic guitar line opens the first movement of the work. It’s a surprisingly wild and allusive ride, haunted by a plethora of vaguely remembered, real or imagined, musical and extra-musical artifacts. At the same time, the pace, rhythm, and contour suggest the steadily unspooling monologue of a talkative chum during a casual walk: you know there is a point to the words, but they just keep proliferating to the point where they offer more of a presence than a story.
Half a minute in, the guitar line leans into a magical cloud of sonic fuzz, essentially announcing the gist of the work: the reassuring, consistent guitar line regularly intercepted by compellingly unpredictable electronic interventions. At the risk of pushing my metaphor too far, you happily go on the walk, tune in and out of your companion’s speech, and along the way you encounter a lot of strange creatures, plants, smells, and puddles that continually contextualize and disrupt the monologue.
Every listen to Omphaloskepsis is richly rewarding, and reveals anew that each intersection of guitar and electronics is independently teeming with wonderful details. Some are blunt, disruptive, and complex; others dissipate into fading sonic rivulets; still others are like clouds of tiny, sparkling insects. These fascinating details really come to the fore if you try out the piece on different qualities of equipment: from MP3s on the cheapest earbuds to vinyl on the most expensive turntable, something previously unheard is revealed. As one who has never believed there is one ideal way to hear any music, I find Omphaloskepsis to be an engaging partner for this kind of discovery.
Halocline Trance is here.
Eldritch Priest is here.
Ian Crutchley was born in Toronto, grew up in Surrey, has lived in England and New Brunswick, and seems to have settled in Edmonton. His ongoing education in creativity and in life have been informed by phenomenal teachers, students, and a remarkable menagerie of wise, sharing and loving people he has known at work and at play. A classical composer by training, his practice has broadened in recent years to include improvisation and performances with dancers and other artists. The sounds he uses can come from anything that he finds that seems useful, from traditional instruments to marbles to odd bits and bobs he has found in junk shops and alleyways. He has a particular fondness for transistor radios. He is a founding member of the improvisation group Damn Magpies, manages a used bookstore and is artistic director of New Music Edmonton.