Receive Weekly Email and Text Message Updates:
Sign up for latest info on concerts, dining, promotions and more!
Go!

Most Popular

Reader's Picks

Top Recommendations

A short list of Minneapolis's most popular hot spots.
user content provided by: LikeMe.net & City Pages

Recent Blog Posts

National Features >

  • Village Voice

    The Great Walls of Chinatown

    With the exception of the electric rice cookers, this Bowery tenement could have come straight from the Nineteenth Century.

    By Elizabeth Dwoskin

  • Houston Press

    Getting Off

    DUI attorney Tyler Flood wins 80 percent of his trials--even if his clients were 100 percent drunk.

    By Mike Giglio

  • Miami New Times

    Park or Die Tryin'

    From the homeless parking mafia to the meter fairy, finding a spot in Miami has taken a turn toward the surreal.

    By Gus Garcia-Roberts

Paul Metzger: Anamnestic Tincture

Share

  • rss

By Cecile Cloutier

Published on March 03, 2009 at 12:55pm

Anamnestic Tincture is a terrific document of former TVBC guitarist Paul Metzger's musical experiential shift over the last seven or eight years. The first side highlights Metzger's first sustained public debut of his treated banjo (it's strung and tuned like a sitar) at the 2002 Destijl Festival at the Church. Side Two contrasts that first performance with one at a memorial for Matt Zaun, drummer for Salamander and Di Dollari, in January, 2008.

The flurries of notes in "After Milo" (referring to his place on the festival's bill) evoke both the maximalism of Indian music and guitar army composer Glenn Branca, using a repeating motif that's part raga and part slide blues. Side Two's opener, "Dark Green Water," moves toward more austere compositional structures and time signatures while still keeping the banjo-pickin' fury intact. Most stunning is "Orans," played on a guitar using a cymbal as a resonator and strung with 10 different steel strings. The sound is blindingly metallic—like he's playing music on the side of the Weisman Art Museum with a nail gun—and yet delicate, in a way.

This limited-run LP, which is a vinyl-only release, is vital because it preserves memories in its grooves. It's bittersweet—the Desitjl festival is no more, the Church is shuttered, but you put this on, and someone's flicked a switch and you are transported back right to the source. Even if you never were there. It's that magic.