“His sound vocabulary is very broad, and his control of texture and timing is masterful.”

            -Bruce Russell, The Wire (August 2009)

That’s some hefty praise from a gentleman who has released work through Siltbreeze as a part of The Dead C. The thing is, though, couldn’t we say just about anything about a buncha seemingly controlled noise.

With that New Zealand band, Russell on occasion hunkered down with something akin to a groove. And of course, that’s all subjective. But going to see his band could have resulted in being amidst a crowd of hipster leaners (it’s a dance and you probably do it automatically – like breathing). The Dead C never trucked in songs, per se, but Los Angeles based guitarist Peter Kolovos eschews that concept for the freedom of improv.

Yeah, solo improvisers have a tough time of it – up there all alone, responsible for everything that happens. And while Kolovos does obviously possess the ability to make his instrument do just about whatever he wants, that doesn’t mean the music’s worth a repeat listen.

Russell’s statement, though, is undeniably true. Coming out of a tradition that might include all those wacky British fellows – AMM and Derek Bailey – Kolovos is capacious of varying his music in a manner that others might not even be able to conceive of.

Broken up into three tracks – although at times it might not seem like it – New Bodies displays a huge range of tonal possibilities, most of which don’t sound as if they’re springing from a guitar.

Hearing the blips and beeps that comprise a huge portion of “Dry Lips,” it’s worth wondering if Kolovos enjoys chorded musics – playing or listening. Distinguishing between effect and technique becomes rather difficult even as the song push towards eight minutes and occasionally sounds like a helicopter incapable of getting off the ground.

More impressive, though, are the final moments on the lead off track, “Slick Knees.” That title doesn’t mean anything, but the guitarist fades his skronk in and out, echoing seagulls amidst an angry fucking. There’s no proper stream of adjectives for this, so again, the fact that Kolovos is obviously masterful and controlling the stream of noise spit out by his instrument is really the only way to gauge all of this.

That’s not good or bad. But it should relate the type of aggressive improv that’s going on here. The music being worth the effort of wading through this, though, is a personal thing.