© 1999—2022
© 1999—2022
Haptic/Cristal
Velocimane/Çukurova
10" (E60)
Belgium £13 (including postage)
Europe £15 (including postage)
Rest of world £17 (including postage)
Edition of 200 copies
Velocimane (masc. nn.)
(from Lat. velox, -ocis [speedy], and manus [hand]). Special locomotive device for children, resembling a horse, mounted on three or four wheels; also called
mechanical horse.
At once from life and from the chariot driv’n, Th’ ambitious boy fell thunder-struck from Heav’n. The horses started with a sudden bound, And flung the reins and chariot to the ground: The studded harness from their necks they broke, Here fell a wheel, and here a silver spoke, Here were the beam and axle
torn away; And, scatter’d o’er the Earth,
the shining fragments lay.
— Ovid, Metamorphoses
Willingly would I burn to death like Phaeton, were this the price for reaching the sun and learning its shape, its size and its substance.
— Eudoxus
Haptic was formed in Chicago in the
spring of 2005 by Steven Hess (Cleared, RLYR, Innode, ex-Dropp Ensemble),
Joseph Clayton Mills (Maar, Partial,
Jonathan Chen, ex-Dropp Ensemble), and Adam Sonderberg (ex-Dropp Ensemble). It was initially conceived as
a vehicle for live collaboration. To that end, the group has frequently incorporated a different, rotating fourth member, deliberately chosen to send the music in unpredictable and challenging
directions. Such collaborators have ranged from Tony Buck (The Necks)
and Olivia Block to Mark Solotroff (BLOODYMINDED) and Tim Barnes. Individual members of the group have recorded for a multitude of labels
including Kranky, Crouton, Editions Mego, Longbox Recordings, Relapse Records, Utech, Cathnor, Tonschacht, Absurd, Thrill Jockey, BOXmedia,
and Suppedaneum, amongst others.
Cristal (Jimmy Anthony, Greg Darden
and Bobby Donne) has been active
since a sangria-fuelled encounter in
a Richmond, Virginia kitchen in 2001.
Volume is critical.
See also
Joseph Clayton Mills (E167)
Review
[On] Haptic’s side of the 10" beats, each surrounded by a ripple of echo, loom like craters; electronic buzzes seem to come
at you from their far-off invisible edge
and slam you against the wall, where
a sudden shriek of bowed metal impales you. Meditate upon this stuff at your peril.
While the trio occupying the other side also achieve an impressive depth of
field and physical presence, their main element is time. Their serrated electronics build to a crescendo, then cut it; then do
it again, and again, each time shorter
and further away, confronting the listener with the consequences of familiarity. That shouldn’t stop you from playing it again.
Bill Meyer in The Wire