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Daniel Menche



For nearly a decade, Daniel Menche has constructed powerful industrial noise albums that pay little attention to the work of his contemporaries. His work is too organic in shape for the gothic drones of dark ambient, but it remains too quiet for the full-frontal assaults of noise culture. It may actually be best described by an explanation of his creative process.

Menche sets up a table with a sheet of thick glass, a pile of salt, and a few sizable stones. With a pressure microphone in one hand and a crude electronic device in the other, Menche makes a violent gestural sweep across the table. It is a physical motion that is transformed into sickening fingernails-on-the-chalkboard scrapes and low-end rumbles that seep up from some unknown infernal dimension. As other microphones record the somatic rhythms of his own body, Menche brings an aspect of human life to the otherwise decaying sounds. The sound seems to emanate from deep within some abomination of life that is being slowly tortured.

Ghastly references emerge within the metaphoric combinations of fire, skin, and stone throughout the molten downpour of restrained noise on such cuts as the untitled fourth piece from the 1997 album Field Of Skin. The result would be too horrific to bear were it not for Menche's masterful volume manipulation (nothing ever gets too brutally loud) and his majestic control of his often gruesome source material.

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