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this review originally appeared in raccoon
deathprod | deathprod (on Rune Grammofon)
As the evil genius behind the grandiose, icy production of many of the releases on the Rune Grammofon label, Norway’s Deathprod (Helge Sten) has contributed in no small part to that label’s exemplary status. This year, Rune Grammofon returns the favor by releasing a four-disc set, handsomely packaged in a minimalist matte-black box, which compiles fifteen years of Sten’s unreleased or obscure solo material, including two out-of-print albums released only in micro-editions in the mid-1990s.
Reference Frequencies is the disc that archives the oldest material recorded under the Deathprod name, a set of four chilly electronic experiments from 1991. Although they don’t represent the full development of the corroded “audio virus” sound that Deathprod is known for, this stuff still strikes my ear as almost stunningly prescient; they could hold their own against any contemporary example of abrasive electronic minimalism. Unfortunately, these pieces are coupled up with a handful of other tracks (a collaboration with poet Matt Burt and a vaguely post-rock session with the Jurg Mager Trio) which have the unhappy distinction of being the “leftovers” of the collection, the pieces that don’t fit comfortably anywhere but which are included for the sake of completism. Their curiosity value is pretty depleted after a single listen, and they frankly dilute the power and the coherence of what would be an otherwise strong disc.
Treetop Drive, originally released in 1994 in an edition of 500, is composed of four pieces, each built around a relatively simple structure. Most notable is the opening track, “Treetop Drive 1”, in which a menacing symphonic chord sounds again and again, as though Angelo Badalamenti had borrowed a play from tape-loop master William Basinski. Deathprod collaborator Hans Mangus Ryan ornaments each iteration of the loop with a pained calligram scribbled out on a violin and boosted with spaced-out effects roar. Together the voices yield a piece which is both monotonous and infinitely varied, an indelible illustration of something mercurial and human smashing against an unyielding leviathan force. The other tracks on this disc are also formidable, showcasing the various parts of the Deathprod project in full flower: murky industrial grind, eerie sidereal electronics, disintegrated gray seascapes.
Imaginary Songs From Tristan da Cuhna, the other reissued album in this set (this one from 1996), devotes its first portion to documentation of a sound art project Sten produced for the Trondheim Art Academy, an exhilirating cryptoethnographic experiement in which recorded snippets of violin are submitted to a process of transformation and decay until they resemble weathered field recordings from some unreadable past, or possibly ancient synthesizers rewired by inhabitants of a tribal future. The four tracks which comprise this project evoke all the pleasures of anthropological recordings—they summon an unknowable, alien culture to mind precisely as vividly as a Sublime Frequencies or Nonesuch World release does—only it also manages (by virtue of its overtly fictional nature) to avoid the thorny issues of exploitation that complicate such recordings. They clock in collectively at only about eight minutes total but they’re arguably the most compelling pieces in the entire set. The rest of the Imaginary Songs disc is rounded out by “The Contraceptive Briefcase,” a kind of ghostly opera: thirty minutes of unearthly wails and roar generated by various sources (glass harmonica, theremin, violin and voice) and undergirded by a dark, low-end pulse with pitches and yaws with the slow roll of a frigid sea.
The final disc in the set, Morals and Dogma, collects two pieces of recent material (“Tron” and “Cloudchamber,” both from 2000) and two older, unreleased tracks (“Dead People’s Things,” from 1994, and “Orgone Donor,” 1996), but it’s no “leftovers” disc, in fact it’s the crowning piece. Think of it this way: if this set is making the argument that one of the world’s most interesting practicing musicians has managed to produce fifteen years of shockingly good work in near-total obscurity, and if the first three discs lay out the evidence, then Morals is the conclusion, which recaps everything that’s gone before in an effort to drive that argument home. It’s also the disc that Rune Grammofon has chosen to release individually for those daunted by the cost of the entire set, probably wisely, as the disc makes a suitable introduction for the curious. Although each one of the four pieces is superficially similar—basically a long-form atmospheric piece—each also uses a different set of tools to carve out its otherworldly message, and thus showcases a different side of Sten’s formidably vast vision. Curdled electronics, carping violins, menacing symphonic arrangements: it’s all here. And it’s all wonderful.
Thanks to Chris. 
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