Burning Tree — Lammergyer

Burning Tree's "Lammergyer" is a true endurance test of an album if I have ever heard one, a recording that would compel 99% of listeners of even the most abrasive free jazz and noise music shut it off before its 42 minute were up, myself included.  While listeners of John Zorn and Borbetomagus are undoubtedly familiar with the piercing, physically revolting sound of an altissimo saxophone squeal (one of the few sounds more abrasive than a raw human scream) it is unlikely most have ever listened to an entire album of unrelenting, unchangingly shrill shrieks from a player with apparently inhuman stamina.  There is scarcely a rest between these blasts, and these frequencies are among the most physically painful for virtually all listeners.  It's much like a tea kettle boiling over.

Being that I cannot listen to this record, I initially wanted to give it a very negative review, however, I must admit that it is the most extreme and unlistenable recording I have ever come across, and that this fact must count for something.  In a certain sense the physical anguish caused to listeners of this sound could be viewed as the musicians expressing their anguish through the sound.  This is not remotely a cathartic recording, as some noisy and cacophanous albums are, however: prolonged listening to "Lammergyer" will undoubtedly increase your anxiety level, never allowing your mind a moment's rest.

The most surreal aspect of "Lammergyer" is its absolute unrelenting monotony.  All the instruments play a single sustained tone / roll, perforated with abrasive re-entries, for virtually the entire album.  Truthfully, the only instrument that I can really hear is the saxophone; with its aforementioned shrill qualities it is much louder than the other instruments, and so mercilessly constant that there is no breathing room for anything else to come to the fore.  I would certainly get a lot more out of this album if the saxophone were partially or wholly absent, but I must admit that if this were the case, the album would certainly not come off as violent or pricklingly unwelcoming as it does now.  There is some kind of insane ecstacy in a ritual of pain such as this.

In conclusion, listening to this album will really, really want to hurt your ears, and you will certainly feel all the more agitated and irritable afterwards, even if you don't make it through the whole thing.  I would only recommend it to those who feel the need to know how far the limits of abrasion can be pushed.  Likely someone out there could penetrate into the strange dimensions hidden within the microtonal, animal warbles of the altissimo roar, however it is certainly not me.