Originally released in 1999, Sharp's Tectonics alias, via the thrill seeking Errata construct, united many of his interests, musical and otherwise: science fiction, cyberpunk, splatter, noise, nervous energy, chaotic flotsam and jetsam. Though stylistically some of the Tectonics work shared aesthetic sinew with Sharp's more rock-based Carbon unit (mostly by using technology to forge common ground between unbridled energy and barely restrained anarchy), the major difference between the two is that, at least on Errata, Sharp does the dirty deeds all on his lonesome, a veritable force of nature let loose in the studio.
It almost goes without saying that Sharp's music is something of an acquired taste — he often draws polarized audiences who become enthused by the man's sheer artistic exuberance (let alone his bravado), yet find it difficult to navigate the usually dense arteries of his compositions. Though the pieces on Erratawere studio-designed, there nevertheless remains an arch improvisational flavor to the entire affair; this is the kind of techno splattercore that even the Mego artisans could scarcely dream of, infused as much with the rollercoaster momentum of rock and jazz's multi-timbre tonalities as with then-fashionable modes of coruscating laptopica.
All of which means this is hardly easy listening. Prepare yourself beforehand, adopt a Burroughs-ian maxim of "everything is permitted", and simply go along with Sharp on the ride. "Spliny Thicket" starts things off pretty malevolently, Sharp, ever the omni-instrumentalist, drum programming a mad haberdashery of rhythmic somersaults over which he rapes his frets gleefully while his spastic synths act the perfect foil. "City of Sand" is practically a show of restraint after the previous barrage, but don't think for a moment Sharp's resting on his laurels: hissing, weaving and bobbing beats sound like a marching battalion of steam radiators amassing for war while hyperstrung-out guitars prime an artillery of electronics that create mini-detonations of dynamic noise. Sharp's instrumental means at his disposal makes for an impressive display, despite whatever reservations you might have regarding the DNA of the pieces themselves: "Noospheric" chugs and stumbles ahead on decidedly inelegant, even lopsided, rhythms as basses try in vain to keep some semblance of time, and the sheets of abrasive guitar/sax skronk eventually upset the entire sonic applecart. Then a track like "Goomy" upsets whatever "equilibrium" might have been established even further, a malapropistic slab of demented techno sporting "natural" snares dodging machine rhythms and synths the texture of sandpaper scouring nuked tundra.w
Containing a vast multitude of sounds that jump around like acidic grease on a griddle, this is music at once challenging and infuriating, noxious and nimble, tense and schizophrenic, and no doubt in love with its own perverse logic. But it never fails to entertain — Sharp's a man who eleven plus years ago was determined to invent his own technological syntax, and damned if he didn't just about do it. Check your sensibilities at the door and let Sharp's idiosyncratic skein of subversive mayhem get under your skin.
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