Get Out

Chronique

Trying to articulate the attraction of the Austrian Mego label, avant-garde turntablist Yoshihide Otomo fumbled: "they were like punk rock, doing punk things with electronic and improved music." Pita's (aka Mego founder Peter Rehberg) Get Out captured that same excitement of the unknown that had Otomo tongue-tied as the Mego aesthetic (malfunctioning computers, sound glitches, sculpted static, and random noise) was exploding in the public ear. Over its nine untitled tracks and 38 minutes, Rehberg explores the twin poles of the stereo field, from an avalanche of clicks and cuts to disquieting lulls of almost silence. While none of it is easygoing, a subsumed beauty bubbles under the surface; track three stretches to almost 11 minutes, with a melody that wouldn't be out of place on a shoegaze record. Except instead of an amniotic wash of feedback, Pita's chords are under attack, glitches acting as a corrosive acid bath. Like a suspense film or a particularly intense game of Quake, Get Out trades in the surprises lurking round blind corners; if it has a failing, it's that this reliance on the pleasure of shocking your system somewhat impairs the replay value. A music that exists "nowhere" (except a hard drive, of course), the record crackles with energy and (more importantly) life nonetheless.
© Jess Harvell /TiVo