There's a rattle and hum, sometimes a hiss verging on a roar, throughout Hecker's abstract electronic mini-epic "Norberg." That noise is awfully familiar — it's there in the ever-present urban whoosh of cars and planes and trains; in the 60 Hz buzz that pervades the industrialized world; in the hypnotic spatter of a summer cloudbreak on hot pavement; and, more metaphorically, in the psychic static and haze that blur thoughts, perceptions and especially memories. White noise embraces both stasis and chaos, and it (actually more like pink noise) shrouds "Norberg," enveloping its minimal melodies and investing them with a deep and ineffable emotional impact. It's the same effect that makes a foghorn sound so forlorn and brings poignancy to a neon sign buzzing in the rain. It is about the heartbreaking difference between distance and detachment.

The piece is in several sections: in each, a treated organic sound — such as vibraphone, organ or what sounds like the hyperextended ring of a singing sawblade — plays an extremely simple theme swathed deep in a seething rumble. The melody grows more urgent, complex, and distorted, subtly morphing the emotional narrative; meanwhile, the veil of fuzz thickens like a decaying FM… read more »