#earthwork

The record kicks off with “This Was Home,” the lengthiest and densest of the pieces offered. Wyche recently relocated to Michigan, but for years he called Chicago — and its experimental music community — home. The name of the piece is a perfect summation of its Windy City origins. Wyche and his collaborators enacted the piece live at the Experimental Sound Studio (ESS) in 2015. Additional guitar contributions were provided by Andrew Clinkman and Michael Nicosia. Lia Kohl added rich cello vibrations and Ryan Packard’s vibraphone provided structures against which the waves of strings could break. Wyche utilizes electronic gadgetry – pedals and filters – to bend his guitar beyond its limits. At this session, he gave control of these elements to the audience, which became the sixth member of the ensemble. As the piece unfolds like a maelstrom, what at first seem to be wide swings in tonality eventually become subtler; the performers and the audience coalesce. Years of careful post-production honed this impressive exercise in large group improvisation into a multi-hued vista replete with crepuscular silhouettes and flecks of effervescence. 

The title of Earthwork is a reference to Wyche’s blue-collar roots, particularly the construction projects his family participated in, such as building reservoirs, that involved moving large amounts of earth for the benefit of others. Community is a recurring theme for the guitarist. His involvement with Chicago’s Elastic Arts and ESS led to him co-organizing the latter’s Quarantine Concerts. Wyche is all about creating foundations, subterranean structures that support others’ endeavors. 

On the title track, Wyche wields his guitar, tuning forks, and assorted metallic implements inside a silo, the large concrete cylinder serving as another instrument for the guitarist to manipulate. Minute movements become miniature roars inside the vast tube, let alone the thunder that erupts when Wyche applies a vigorous strum to his guitar. When he hits a tuning fork, it rings out toward infinity, the amplitude barely dissipating. Yet he also lets silence have a place at the table, which lends the piece a certain airy quality. A less astute musician would have allowed the multiplying resonances to squash their performance; Wyche seems to have total control over the environment. 

Like with “This Was Home,” Wyche took his time with this track, tinkering with the recording for years before finding a mix that he was satisfied with. This is a common theme across the whole of this album: duration. Time, memory, and loss are the trinity at the center of Earthwork’s theology. This is brought home by “The Elephant-Whale II,” the main riff of which the guitarist wrote in high school. The most straightforward offering presented, it rings with a sense of fullness and clarity until Jeff Kimmel’s snarling electronics rise to almost bury the guitar. As the piece fades into non-existence, Wyche allows a subtle resonance to remain. This vibration becomes a phantom, permeating our tympanic membranes and sliding into our brains, causing Earthwork to persist infinitely. But that was Wyche’s plan all along.