Mastering an instrument as it is your own body is an almost sacred quest that is either reserved for yogi, gnostic pursuers of the left hand path or any other esotheric outsiders. Philip Gayle built his entire album on the multilayering of the sounds produced by his body. What caught my attention first is the lack of senseless repetition or cheap minimalism of sonorism which is a cardinal sin of many productions connected with free improv or beyond.
Instead Gayle produces a hecttic ritual of hisses, hums, rattles, squeaks and the whole onomatopeic encyclopedia of sound put into one concrete symphony of individualism and certain amount of intimacy. Sometimes implemented with sounds of guitar unexpectedly breaks the clichee of crunchy abstract experiment and goes into folksy randomness with excellent sense of humour.
An excellent journey into the (literally) guts of the sound no one should miss really...
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