Recordings made at the Stanford Accelaration Center (a huge complex for subatomic research). Duncan and Springer have processed the results of their explorations through the computer and it all sounds beautiful: as already mentioned, even without being able to track down the sound sources, Duncan is totally recognizable, because the use he makes of sounds depends upon what his ideas and heart dictates to him as right for the specific project. The CD presents, as the most interesting moments, the ones where a balanced union of force and calmness leaves the sound suspended, to be thoroughly listened to: between metal and liquid, the low and the high pitch, the soft and the harsh. It’s a music where the contrasts are less outstanding than usual, beautiful and fascinating. — Massimo Ricci, DEEP LISTENINGS
…Together with sound designer and artist Max Springer, Duncan was responsible for an extraordinary aural document of an immense particle physics experiment currently being undertaken in California. The CD, called THE CRACKLING, appeared last year on Bernhard Günter’s Trente Oiseaux label. It was composed from digitally edited and treated segments of recordings made by Duncan on location at the Stanford Linear Accelerator (SLAC) in California, which is a straight line of prefabricated steel structures more than three kilometers long, terminating in a cylindrical, solid steel collision chamber 20 metres thick. Electrons are driven up the tunnel by microwave drivers spaced at ten metre intervals, achieving velocities just below the speed of light before colliding with other particles at a temperature of three billion degrees Kelvin. The chamber, according to Duncan, is colossal, ‘easily large enough to house several 747’s, one on top of the other.’
Duncan has a long history of esoteric and transgressive research in the name of art and enquiry: some of his more legendary performances almost verge on the criminal (he once invited an audience of women to assault his body, having first shown them an hour’s worth of hardcore pornography — FOR WOMEN ONLY). THE CRACKLING, an astonishing record by any standards, is not only an aural record of the most gargantuan experimental apparatus in the history of physics, but also — deep breath — an inquiry into the nature of humanity’s view of its place in the cosmos in the light of new discoveries about the behaviour of particles.
“Prior arrangement with the authorities allowed Duncan unprecedented access to the SLAC site. ‘The recordings were made in a few hours, ‘ he recalls, ‘with particular attention to the microphone placements and movements: put into the tubes of the 120 Hz electron drivers along the tunnel, moved slowly along a section of the tunnel, put into a liquid nitrogen exhaust vent, placed in the centre of the collision chamber ‘hall’, at various points of the cryogenic system and around the collision chamber itself.’
Duncan’s sleevenotes portray the site as a necropolis: ‘The place is full of contradictions: structures built to dwarf and outlast their creators, designed to generate subatomic events that take place in a time scale that is experientially impossible to imagine, using forces and processes that are hostile or lethal to human life, yet are entirely human-created. A ‘city of the dead’ that seems to have an existence of its own with or without its operators.’
Seen in this light, Duncan compels a reading of this enormous crucible as an atomic-age cathedral: a monumental and ingenious piece of architecture dedicated to exploring the origins and driving forces of the universe. ‘Yes’, he concurs, ‘by now it’s pretty well established that science is the accepted frame for explaining the findings, and in that sense it’s ‘trusted’ as religion is ‘trusted’. It’s also clear, to many scientists among others, that there is infinite knowledge that the discipline of science can’t even begin to explain. The SLAC and CERN [a Swiss ring-accelerator] facilities, for all their efforts at precision, are just two examples that show just how clumsy scientific research can be. Putting faith in science — or anything else — to provide all answers to all questions is a howling, tragic mistake. I’m interested in the entire process.’ — Rob Young, The Wire
In the membrane separating the sundry and more interesting studies
is a great, red lodge.
I met John Duncan in a cheap cafe there, or maybe. . .it was the Melkweg.
I was a little upset with how gallery/museum shows of my paintings and sculpture were static. I was sniffing out something that had oscillation. I wanted to have intercourse with another artist that understood painting and sound.
Pseudo-friends introduced me to Mr. Duncan…
who immediately asked me to go out and physically challenge his audience that night.
John’s performance was dark.
Some young dudes were pounding industrial waste under strobe in black, John shot fog from a fog gun at the audience, and around eight of us pushed and concentrated the audience, to peak claustrophobia and anxiety, to help expand the awareness of the emotions.
I liked him.
I was delighted to find out he’d worked with McKenzie (Hafler Trio), whose recording work always fascinated me. My college studies were devoted to Electronic Music and Music Concrete, so my interest in the challenges of John’s work has gone on a while. I’d been using computers for my own work for years, so I got John to look at programming as a natural way to build on his existing, rather severe musical ethics. He has shown me the meaning of the colors of his sounds, which we’ve now been composing together into various audio and multimedia projects. John’s added a lot to my love of tone poetry.
When we work together…
it feels like sharing the flying of a plane.
The sound room is a small cockpit, noisy as hell, the computers glare until your eyes burn, you forget to eat.
You know the direction of travel, but the ground isn’t familiar.
It’s like you know you’re on course in your hidden places and you can’t stop.
Our next CD, CHANGE, is now underway, and again the hum has started… please stay tuned…
— Max Springer
“Butch had turned on the radio, and it was hard to hear her over what, at first listen, seemed to be static, but after prolonged exposure revealed itself as one of those songs writ by chip and program.” (Ambient, Jack Womack)
Based on events associated with the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center, this is a sublime work of organized sound. Whirs, bleeps, and rumbles. buzzing, humming, and crackling. hiss, echo, click. Processed sound combinations ranging from quiet, subtle passages to complex roaring sheets of sound. It is these deep soundfields that I find so intriguing, as my attention seems to focus upon different layers with each listen, presenting the illusion of change. An occasional quiet to loud transition startled me (watch those volume knobs!).
From the liner notes: “…For this work, the electron is understood as a metaphor for the process of life: isolated, compelled by a system that uses the electron’s own energy to force it onto a path that leads at a constantly increasing pace to certain destruction–to a point of certain change, of complete resolution and the beginning of a new process.”
This is a bleak yet beautiful soundtrack that I fully expect to find in my top 10 list for the year.
— Mike Quinn, EST
This new work by Duncan, recorded together with the unknown Max Springer, deals with field recordings made at the Standford Linear Accelerator in California. The Standford Linear Accelator is an atomic particle research center. Electrons are moved through a tunnel and sped up for atomic research. According to the cover, ‘the place is full of contradictions: structures built to dwarf and outlast their creators, designed to generate subatomic events that take place in a time scale that is experientially impossibe to image, using forces and processes that are hostile or lethal to human life, yet are entirely human created. A ‘city of the dead’ that seems to have an existance of its own with or without its operators’. The electron must be understood as a metaphor for the process of life: isolated, compelled by a system that uses the electron’s own energy to force it into path that leads at a constantly increasing pace to certain destruction – to a point of certain change, of complete resolution and the beginning of a new process”. The CD has one piece, in which slowly these field recordings evolve, like, indeed, a growing organism. This results in a strong collage of ambient industrial sounds. Not as harsh as some of Duncan’s previous works, and less shortwave sounds. But indeed a strong work. — Frans de Waard, Vital
Making full use of the unintentionally dynamic acoustic phenomenon occurring within the Stanford Linear Accelerator, John Duncan and Max Springer have collaborated on this haunting collage of semi-processed field recordings made within the monolithic structure 2 miles long and several stories high. For those unfamiliar with Duncan’s extraordinary shortwave experiments, this is a excellent introduction to one of the best dronologists / sound artists of the past two decades! From the liner notes: “The accelerator is full of contradictions: structures built to dwarf and outlast their creators, designed to generate subatomic events that take place in a time scale that is impossible to imagine, using forces that are hostile or lethal to human life, yet are entirely human-created. A ‘city of the dead’ that seems to have an existence of its own with or without its operators. For this work, the electon is understood as a metaphor for the process of life: isolated, compelled by a system that uses the electron’s own energy to force it into a path that leads at a constantly increasing pace to certain destruction — to a point of certain change, of complete resolution and the beginning of a new process.” — Jim Haynes, Aquarius