Frank Riggio - Psychexcess I - Presentism

Talk about getting more than what you bargained for, this would certainly be a fine example of that. The opening chimes and tranquil serenity belie what is contained on Frank Riggio's latest release, each track sways and shifts repeatedly sometimes being reduced to just a few errant notes hanging in the sound field but the melodies always come back. Strange melodies these are, I might add, they don't appear where you'd think. Much surprise comes out of the material on this record. You could call it a kind of symphonic dissection because the usage of reverberation is calibrated to do quite a number on your psyche or at least it has accomplished this with me. Staccatos of rhythm punctuate the sentences of cerebral exploration quite nicely, an atmosphere of inhumanly warm closeness permeates and then from nowhere... the focus changes.

Stealthy electronics of a very precise form insert themselves in between the acoustic guitars and dully thudding bass. It's enough to cause distress to some who listen; I had this thing on last night and kept looking around wondering if I was really alone or if some kind of apparition had crept out my speakers to perch on my shoulder. I could feel the resilient, eager fingers of audio soaking into my skin and around the time this record wrapped up, I wasn't quite sure of my surroundings. If you've ever felt as though you are shifting sideways through your own existence and that life is just a slide show, then 'Psychexcess I' would be recommended highly. This is just the first phase, the introductory part of the show after which god only knows what is going to come at you. Frank's style of composing is my favorite approach, he builds layer upon layer in his tracks to tell a story of sorts; you have to listen all the way through to get the full picture.

Skipping around on what he's put out won't help you, if anything, it will just make you feel more isolated and alone. This is a very icy and compellingly disturbing album, one which clearly demonstrates that Hymen are themselves constantly morphing into new combinations of rhythm and tone. Does it seem a bit too personable, this? There aren't any vocals yet I know I'm being spoken to, many natural sounds of everyday life appear to have been caught and then mangled into deliciously warped confections of what some would term noise but I'm hearing full concertos, incredible movements of subatomic synthesis which gently soothe the mind into a lull. Beware that lull. Beware thinking you're going to be left alone, because the somewhat introspective feel you encounter in the middle of Riggio's cordial greeting from the subconscious depths transforms into a maelstrom towards the end. Don't take my word for it, put it on and run through the paces yourself. Become one with the unseen, delve into the barbed wire of unquenchable abandon.

Once we reach "Venusian Philosopher", it is no longer a bright, welcoming realm we're in. This is the paranoid infinitesimal world of a viral existence, minute organisms which stalk our waking world and bide their time in stoic malevolence. Just because we cannot perceive them doesn't mean their enmity towards humanity isn't there, never doubt for an instant who rules this world. Brief flourishes of whimsy appear now and then to act as guide points through the choking clouds and still the acid of the skies burns our flesh, a soaring temperature scalds our eyes and upon his hill, we watch this philosopher gravely point at the Earth and then back at us as if to say, all of this awaits you. In the distance, another probe careens through the billowing clouds coming down in a fiery burst of corroded abuse. As the embers burn out, only one conclusion can be drawn from this record: if you think you're safe in your homes on this sphere which hurdles through time and space, think again.

Continual pressure is exerted through all manners of bizarre textures, there are even the sounds of levers being pulled and gears inter meshing ruthlessly. Even in the midst of all this suffocating electronic disarray, Riggio places riveting moments of fragile beauty into the heart. This struggle is between a man and his machines and in the end he wrings tortured brilliance out of them despite how hard they fight. Here is a man who stands before the waves and dares them to break... Apr 02 2012