In 2010, a laptop or any other computerized setup at a live gig is just another sound-producing tool, usually about as invisible to the audience as a rack of effects pedals or a backdrop of amps. Ever-increasing processing power means laptops have long since replaced DATs and sequencers when it comes to replaying pre-recorded material. They're also able to generate and transform new music as the show unfolds, which has given rise to a large network of folks who might've been making wholly improvised music with saxophones and guitars and bent circuitry two decades ago-- and all of this with a much reduced possibility of the kind of crashing and/or freezing that once killed whole concerts.
Where does this leave the first generation of laptop-based improvisers like Fenn O'Berg, the trio of Christian Fennesz, Peter Rehberg, and Jim O'Rourke? Well, the novelty behind the approach is certainly gone, and the sound of a bunch of raw computer glitches strung together and called a "piece" is no longer alien enough to be a draw all by itself. The trio may no longer even utilize laptops, or wholly computerized sound, for key portions of their music. But many of the technical limitations and glitches have disappeared-- the ones that made early laptop music so often a frustrating live experience for musician and listener alike.
On the two new Live in Japan discs, which collect performances from 2009, it seems Fenn O' Berg's response to the upgraded capabilities of their consumer electronics has been to grow more traditionally "musical" in constructing their live shows, even if what they're presenting is still far from accessible. Grainy gray washes of digital static, burbles like running water, tiny not-quite-melodic motifs that disperse almost cruelly before another wave of corrupted electronic sound: Situated somewhere between form and formlessness, ever-changing and moments of sublime near-static repetition, not always pleasant but far from alienating, Live in Japan is often indistinguishable in places from the fluffier end of pure noise.
But for those who prefer their noise to be more immersive than hair-raising, Fenn O'Berg let their often formless bits of digital data wash together into longer ebbing and flowing compositions that bear some distant relation to other long-form experiences like minimalism or even jazz. It's a bit odd that these discs had their genesis on stage, because this seems like precisely the kind of thing best enjoyed at home, preferably through headphones. With its random bursts of crackle and hiss surrounded by vast gulfs of digital silence, glitch was perfect for both laptops (which often spat these sounds out by accident anyway) and live performance (since there's a certain tense fascination in not knowing when next snarl or blurt is gonna zap your ears).
There's something altogether calmer about these two LPs providing a progressive exploration rather than moment-to-moment jolts, after 10-plus years of mind-melding and in-depth play. But the sound palette retains glitch's top-end harshness, a kind of gnarled and beautiful post-industrial ambient music for noise kids and Mego fans.
