YYY is essentially a 12-inch single that functions more like a 2-track EP, with each side lasting in the neighborhood of 12 minutes. It super-imposes Tyler Friedman's minimalist-techno framework over the organic, improvisation-heavy approach of Swiss-born jazz drummer Samuel Rohrer (Laurie Anderson, Skúli Sverrisson, Charles Gayle) and then flips the script somewhat when you flip the record. But, though both pieces are titled "YYY," the two different versions— the "Original Mix" and "Drum & Vocal Dub"—they don't draw from any of the same source material and aren't the same besides a shared core basis in overlapping rhythms.
Rohrer doesn't even appear on the original version of the piece, but the sensitivity to timbre that he shows on the alternate version undoubtedly influenced Friedman's structure and choice of sounds, most notably a synthesized percussion pattern that by the pair's own description resembles a digitized cross between a vibraphone and a kalimba. Friedman created all the sounds on the original "YYY" using a modular synth setup, and the kalimba-vibes hybrid tone is also drenched in pitch modulation so that the various hits sound like different-sized drops of water dunking into reverberant pools. When Rohrer does enter the picture on side 2, he supplies a vaguely tribal meshwork of hand- and stick-tapped beats, one of which gives the impression of a drum head whose tension is always changing so that the pitch bends up and down in a circular pattern.
On hearing them together, it's easy to see how the second version started out as a remix/re-imagining of Friedman's original but then evolved into its own separate piece. Both versions start out as a set of skeletal components and then swell as more and more layers of sound stream into the stereo field until, at their peak, each piece becomes quite busy. Both also make optimal use of the stereo field. But for all the thought that went into the juxtapositions here—synthetic vs. organic, improvised vs. composed—Friedman arguably covers more ground and creates a more fertile set of contrasts on his own. Rohrer would likely have matched him had he added his own, third version consisting entirely of acoustic-based sounds, or had he been left to his own devices on side 2.
On side 1, it's easy to get lost in the endless shifting between the kalimba-like pattern and the steady-hissing techno beat. On much of side 2, however, the robotic and human sounds cause more friction as they collide. Perhaps this was intentional, but since side 1 derives much of its energy from Friedman's interpretation of Rohrer's style, the drum-vocal dub leaves the listener wondering what could have happened had Rohrer returned the favor in isolation. The duo shares a rehearsal space, so the temptation to team up makes sense. And to mimic the effect of haunting sine-wave swells on the original mix, Friedman and Rohrer brought in Norwegian singer Tora Augestad, whose voice they manipulate at times so that it sounds like, say, a screeching saxophone reed or a swarm-like cloud of distortion.
Clearly, Rohrer and Friedman have been mindful of ambience and space in their separate careers up to this point—Friedman with his installations and works for film, and Rohrer doing the rounds in a number groups in the experimental jazz and ECM records orbits. Interestingly, they've chosen to give YYY a flat, almost space-less quality—the musical equivalent of a green screen. That decision serves as one of this EPs defining characteristics, but if there's one knock on this music, it's that it's quite literally out of place without a spacial, visual, or extra-musical dimension to go with it.
In spite of its steady pulse and proximity to dance music, YYY is ultimately coming from a ponderous rather than sweaty place. While there are spots, particularly on side 2, that speak to something innate in the hips that wants to move, it's hard to see this music ever making an appearance in a club. On the other hand, Friedman and Rohrer favor a kind repetition that's ultimately too active to encourage trance-like zoning out. Dance fans might find it too stiff and jazz fans might find it too electronic. But alienating genre loyalists is usually a good sign that an artist is onto something. Let's hope that he and Friedman expand on this initial dalliance and come up with more.
