In a 1998 interview, David Grubbs once perfectly described the mysterious, impossible music he and Jim O'Rourke briefly concocted as Guster Del Sol. “Each record saw us determined to create a different group with each song,” he said, capturing an amorphous quality that runs through the perception-shattering trio of albums, as well as the project's initial debut as an entirely different group.
Grubbs started Gastr Del Sol in 1991 with Bundy K. Brown and John McEntire as an acoustic change from their hardcore trio Bastro. Meanwhile, O'Rourke, who emerged from the world of avant-garde music, joined after one album just as Brown and McEntire were focusing on their own Tortoise project. Every album the duo made together — since 1994 Crookt, Crackt or Fly1996 Upgrade and afterlife, and 1998's Swan Song Camouflage—It feels like a classic of its time, but what many miss is how exciting, disorienting and strange Gastr Del Sol could get on a single track, on compilations or in the rare live performance. In the remarkable archival collection, We have dozens of titles, Grubbs and O'Rourke shine a light on these dark songs and oddities that form the shadow of an album that's just as satisfying as the main ones. Paired with recently discovered recordings of their last show, it captures how this duo could feel so alive and unpredictable, over the course of a song or an entire discography, from the first rehearsal to the last performance.
Listening to Gastr Del Sol's music is like trying to smoke. A soft piano chord, the hum of a harmonium or a chopped John Fahey-inspired guitar knot can cast an immense shadow of that particular musician, erupt into guitar feedback from noise artist Kevin Drumm, or drop into an orchestral sample from 50s monster movie like The Incredible Shrinking Man. In an exciting moment in “The Relay”, by Upgrade & Afterlifea whistling tea kettle and a screeching internet modem form a quiet duo.
Dozens begins with a work in progress, a live version of “The Seasons Reverse” found on unearthed recordings of the band's final performance at the 1997 Actuelle de Victoriaville International Music Festival in Quebec. While the version that would appear a year later Camouflage add McEntire's hypnotic polyrhythms, shimmering electronics from Oval's Markus Popp, steel drum, elastic cornet and Grubbs' gleefully surreal wordplay, the song's most wondrous twist is already fully formed live. His dense guitar work spirals endlessly deeper until Grubbs' string pop is as big as exploding fireworks. And then, as O'Rourke sneaks a recording field into the mix, you realize that there is fireworks. It's a humble, beautiful climax that's suddenly interrupted by a strange French voice, and then O'Rourke stammers “Don't worry, keep doing it! It's a microphone…I'm recording you blowing firecrackers…” The moment just flares up on O'Rourke's face as he desperately tries to explain and salvage things with the distraught stranger he was recording, only further apologizing that he can't speak French. As a field recording it is a genius – while at the same time the field recordings themselves are baked.
