Monolithic Undertow: In Search of Sonic Oblivion

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This is a book about the very human fascination with sound, the drone and the shamanic other. The whole weighty volume works like a drone – pulling you into its own ecstatic journey – perhaps a groundbreaking in itself – perhaps the world’s first book of drone writing!

Monolithic Undertow: In Search of Sonic Oblivion (2020) is not a run of the mill music book. Harry Sword explores how the drone, or drone music, has a long and rich history. From early primitive instruments through sacred chants and onward into modern music, he finds evidence everywhere. This exploration embraces The Beatles, The Velvet Underground, Alice Coltrane, Sun 0))), the Stooges, Sonic Youth, the Master Musicians of Joujouka, amongst many more. This is what happens when you draw clear battle lines around ancient and universal languages like music. You hurt yourself in your confusion! My only problem with this book is that I knew a lot of what it talked about already. Being pretty well informed about metal music already and having read Alex Ross' Listen to This and JR Moores Electric Wizards, Monolithic Undertow came in a LITTLE redundant. I recently read this and it definitely changed what I was doing. For the last few years I've had two modes of operation: monolithic ( ), wall of sound pieces with hardly any movement at all -- and then semi-endurance performances, such as this piece Neptune I've been working on that's performed over the 4 hours and change it takes to get there at light speed. Strangely enough this book got me thinking in much shorter terms, as in how short can I get and still be classified as drone, and has shaken a lot of other stuff loose. Excellent read. No hit or miss on this one. Diving from it into The Great Animal Orchestra by Bernie Klause has been really interesting. And what followed was just dismal. The chapter on techno and industrial music ("real" industrial music, mind you!) was dreary, and the final chapter was just miserable. Rather than concluding his tedious tome with a final hurrah about the transcendent possibilities of music, Harry instead decided to lash out at some of the usual modern boogeymen. Even though Harry and I likely agree on many points, nobody wants to get trapped in the corner by a pub bore after he's had a few. You might nod along at the points they make, but you're still going to leave the pub covered in their stale spittle. So thanks, Harry, you vampire. You drained your subject of all its joy and power. The Quietus awaits!In the beginning, he highlights that he doesn’t want to write a history of drone music, but a book that “explores the viscous slipstream - drone, doom and beyond - and claims the sounds uncovered, which hinge on hypnotic power and close physical presence, as no less radical.” He goes on to say that Monolith Undertow “follows an outer stellar orbit of sounds underpinned by the drone.” And I would argue that the book falls short of this goal except for the first and last chapters. The book itself It has a particularly drone-like feel in that middle section: like the same story is repeated with different players, facing different emotional challenges, in different cities, on different drugs, each one influencing the next. So. many. drugs... Unfortunately, the book later devolves into a more traditional capsule history of a music journo's favorite bands. He mentions early on that he started off writing a history of doom metal and much of this reads like he barely altered that content to fit the new thesis. His genre interests are wide ranging, but past 1990 primarily focused on the UK. Several musicians and bands, particularly in the punk and EDM chapters, have a very tenuous connection to drone, while more relevant ones go unmentioned--no Yellow Swans, Thomas Koner, Kali Malone, GRM, et al. Noise music in general is barely examined. A lot of drone pieces are very long and the length encourages perceptual change. “If you know that the drone is absolutely constant… then you know that if you hear changing, it is you that is changing, not it,” Eno tells the author. Inside the drone, perceptions of time change too. I don’t know that Sword would go so far as to say that listening to and performing drone music is a kind of meditative practice, but the temporal pliancy of such experiences is crucial, he argues, because they allow you to take control of time, to forget the self and its sense of human transience and frailty. Reading Monolithic Undertow a phrase from a Louise Bogan poem has been running through my mind: “Music that is not meant for music’s cage”. Just as drone music offers a subversive art unconstrained by melodic, harmonic or rhythmic expectations, so it offers a release, however fleeting, from the small limits of our lives, bookended by greater oblivions as they are. It’s a portal from the body’s cage to whatever lies on the other side of ecstasy.

Earth are ground zero for drone metal. Fusing the tortoise-slow crawlspace of La Monte Young-era minimalism with metallic textures, their debut album Earth 2 (1993) was released on Sub Pop during the heyday of grunge but, focusing as it did on slowly unfurling, percussion-less drones, was a million miles from the frenetic angst of labelmates Nirvana and Mudhoney. For example, Sword makes a big point of the of the religious and/or spiritual roots of droning sounds, but the idea is never really explored beyond the immediate manifestation of the drone in music. It's never really explored why the drone has had such a deep religious meaning for millennia. Nor is it explored what it means to the drone once it leaves the spiritual realm and settles in the secular.

From ancient beginnings to bawdy medieval troubadours, Sufi mystics to Indian raga masters, North Mississippi bluesmen to cone-shattering South London dub reggae sound systems, Hawkwind's Ladbroke Grove to the outer reaches of Faust, Ash Ra Temple and sonic architects like La Monte Young, Brian Eno, and John Cale, the opium-fueled fug of The Theatre of Eternal Music to the caveman doom of Saint Vitus, the cough syrup reverse hardcore of Swans to the seedy VHS hinterland of Electric Wizard, ritual amp worship of Earth and Sunn O))) and the many touch points in between, Monolithic Undertow probes the power of the drone: something capable of affording womb-like warmth or evoking cavernous dread alike. The beginning and end of this book are quite good. In the beginning, he writes about the role of the drone in spiritual ritual, ancient rites, attempts to reach some sort of transcendence in different cultures (although one could argue that he should have noted the difference in the acoustic qualities of a Maltese underground burial chamber when it was used as such and hence full of dead bodies and its empty state today). The last part includes bands such as (early) Earth and Sunn O))) who have the drone at the very center of their general sound; he ventures into ambient (Eno, Radique, Davachi) and hives readers a solid list of music to experience. However, everything in between is quite random. That is mostly the case because Sword tries very hard to find any form of drone or “undertow” in the music/ bands that he likes and he often finds it even though it’s not really there or at least doesn’t play an important role in the sound of a particular artist / band. He often conflates repetition or noise with drone even though in the beginning, he explains that “drone” basically means “sustain” just to ignore this definition in the chapters that follow. One part sociological study of the drone and two-thirds of history of a variety of musical artists across multiple genres ranging from religious chants to "tribal", to jazz, heavy metal, pop, and electronic; the drone is regarded as the very essence, the beginning and end of music and how it underlays throughout much of popular culture. Much of the sociological writing is very reminiscent of Mark Fisher's work on rave culture and music.

the author talks about many well-known bands and artists (The Beatles, John Coltrane, Sonic Youth, …) in whose songs he finds even a hint of drone and it is especially in this middle part of the book that Sword seems to forget what he wanted to focus on…there is not much talk about pure drone music in this part of the book. Getting familiar with droning sounds fra Indian raga to British dubstep is neat, but it leaves me wanting for a more in-depth exploration of the drone as a concept. It was nice to get so much affirmation that there's a wider world of drones. Too often I have thought of "drone" as simply Eliane Radigue near-stasis, and categorizing so much else as "sort of drone," including my own work.... like my music has drones but is not drone. I'm glad to discard that distinction. Drones can replace traditional chords and harmony as an axis for other parts to rotate around, or can underpin rhythm while still managing to bend the perception of time and progression.It would be easy to view these investigations as the height of pretentiousness, however I must confess I lapped it all up. Monolithic Undertow takes you on a wonderful journey and is very readable and often quite amusing. An unusual but provocative book and one which sent me away with a host of new sounds and artists to investigate. For a while I thought I might use this book as a reference. So Harry and I disagree on a few things. Who cares? I can just ignore his wittering and explore the numerous musicians he mentions myself, right? But then I realised - if he's making such mistakes and such dumbfounding assertions about stuff I am familiar with, then who knows what sort of boneheaded things he's saying about stuff I'm not so familiar with? As for the writing, it often reads as if the author had found a Thesaurus for the first time in his life and could not put it down — it’s simply too much at times. Sometimes entertaining but other times his language repertoire is characterized by shaky images and crooked similes that are repeated in slightly different forms throughout the text.

What then does the drone speak to? I was going to write that the drone is sacred and profane at the same time, but really, that’s a category error. It is neither of those things; it predates them. The drone is one way in which humanity has learned to connect to, commune with, corral the Other – to balance our own vulnerability and transience against the immanent and eternal. “A lot of the aspects we find so graceful in ancient cultures are to do with their ability to interweave their own lives with the bigger processes they were part of,” Brian Eno tells Sword. “They had to build their lives around surrendering.” The drone has a role in ritual music that delivers repetitive rhythms and sensory excess just as it does in music of spiritual discipline and devotional austerity. Which is to say, the drone sometimes demands surrender, and sometimes merely enables it.

These are the very foundations of seeking the face of god music and humanity and run through classical and jazz and into post-war pop culture and its esoteric and mainstream fringes from the Beatles and George Harrison’s fascination with Ravi Shankar or his equivalent in the Stones Brian Jones and his recordings of the Moroccan The Master Musicians of Joujouka . What I love about this book is that it turns you onto many of the game mainstream changers underground geniuses like Lamonte Young with zero snobbery. It thrills to the Stooges and the Doors slower drones to the genius of jazz goddess Alice Coltrane and on and on into post-punk and Swans and Sonic Youth and into fringe modern metal and the dark cellos of…. This story does not start in the twentieth century underground: the monolithic undertow has bewitched us for millennia. The book takes the drone not as codified genre but as an audio carrier vessel deployed for purposes of ritual, personal catharsis, or sensory obliteration, revealing also a naturally occurring auditory phenomenon spanning continents and manifesting in fascinatingly unexpected places. Beginning in 1963, performances of his Theatre of Eternal Music ensemble – which at one point included John Cale, soon to be in the Velvet Underground, and Tony Conrad, who would work with Faust in the 1970s – were long explorations of single, sine-wave tones. Young and his wife, light artist Marian Zazeela, hummed; Conrad played violin; Cale played a viola with a flattened bridge that he’d strung with electric guitar strings. It wasn’t just the nakedness of the drone that was transformative. It was also the volume. Every element was heavily amplified. The sound, by all accounts, was overwhelming – wild, raw, and elemental – an embodiment of the romantic idea of the sublime as beauty plus terror. The drone, Young said, is “an attempt to harness eternity”; the primal is neither nice nor pretty. A shorter chapter that follows on from the avant-garde exploration. Sword charts the origins and development of The Velvet Underground and the drones influence on the band. Lou Reed’s solo career post Velvet is briefly covered as well. TVU are a great band, I don’t need to tell you that but an underrated aspect of their sound is the drone and Sword highlights that brilliantly. The drone hooks you in and takes you on the trip. It’s the fundamental of music’s ancient and modern because it is a direct connection with the vibration of nature, the universe and god. It is the core of all old musics and an increasingly key part of modern music.