Friday Night Noise: Tchrite's Unpronouncable Take-No-Shit Ecstacy, Ascites' So-Called "Soft Adult Contemporary"

Tchrite, "Casahdt": Houston duo Tchrite - don't ask FNN how to pronounce that - are an experimentalist train wreck. They sew samples (No Doubt's "Don't Speak," the sorta public-access sound scraps that The Books go gaga over) into woozy patches of static tone. They puree and smush and smash samples together. They chop breakbeats into bits. They go in for disorienting-yet-forgettable laptop electronic wave modulations that aren't quite "techno" but aren't totally IDM, either - even if a lot of their unsexy song titles would give Autechre wood. All of which to say is that listening to the Tchrite albums FNN could find online (for free!) - Inner Sanctum Mysteries and Echoe Mae - is never, ever boring.

FNN nominates "Casahdt" as a standout for several reasons: it's not excessively schizo, it's not long and it's noiser than every other Tchrite out there. It's 29 seconds of pulse-pounding, take-no-shit ecstasy: an out-of-control algorithm beating the tar outta smooth, air-traffic controller chatter with manic, mescaline-drenched drums, wipe-swipe synth effects, and the unmistakable tonal whine of a 747 rising slowly into the sky.

Ascites "Soft Adult Contemporary": "Ascites is a four piece noise band from USA." So begins the Terror Noise Audio blurb on these mysterious noiseniks; lotsa luck finding more biographical information anywhere. Base city? No idea. Membership? Search us. Label? Dunno. Materials of creation? Your guess is as good as ours. Which is really fucking frustrating, because FNN would strongly encourage you to (legally) snap up copies of C-6 and Incisional Drainage, like, post-haste.

The group's metier is varied; sometimes it seems like they blow their equipment budget in the local Home Depot's saw section, while at other times there's a very gradualist, very Jason Crumer build to their demon-hive scuzz-crud, with disturbing vocal samples recycled.into a cold fury or uneasy silences yielding to out-and-out insanity.

"Soft Adult Contempory" doesn't screw around; it commences at a mid-range volume and pretty much stays there for its entire six minutes, churning and blazing and screaming and bulldozing like an especially sustained electrical fire or jammed radio frequency. Now, FNN doesn't want to leave you with the mis-impression that "Adult" is a straight-up wall of noise; it's more like a craggy, ancient cliff face, riddled with fissures, outcroppings, and gashes.

There's a thrilling unevenness to its scouring blastitude, its quavering scorch. Imagine a mob of soldiers with inexhaustable automatic weapons blasting a house for 10 minutes; the onslaught is relentless, but there are ebbs and flows, swells and shallows.

Got some hot Texas noise tips - or, hell, any noise tips - for FNN? Hit us up with MP3s or Web site links - not MySpace links, seriously, because we can't access those at work and at home every spare moment is spoken for - at [email protected].

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Ray Cummings