Performance, in this case, is simply an echo of its preparation. Once Yasuyuki Uesugi has set the parameters of his equipment, his input is reduced to simply determining the beginnings and ends of these pieces (all of which occur as an abrupt cut, giving each the impression of being a snip from an infinite ribbon). Otherwise, this is the sound of electricity surging around static circumstance, with all variation in the sound occurring through the slippage and quivers of his analogue setup and spring reverb. Uesugi cites harsh noise wall as a reference point, and there’s definitely thematic overlap in terms of the jagged texture and lack of linear progression. Yet where HNW is distinctly flat in its presentation, relying on auditory hallucination to instigate any change, Blocking Information… feels vividly cyclical – howls of synthesiser swoop downward and promptly regain altitude, etching the same shape over and over again into monophonic non-space, like a biro pressing the same pattern into the page until the paper starts to tear.
The release notes include a list of equipment and a diagrammatic depiction of the connection chain, including everything from his handmade JMT synthesiser to the Tascam AV-P250 power distributor. The track titles are presented with similar clarity, thematically centred on pain both emotional and biological in form (“Electric Noise Destroys My Nerve Cells”, “I Don’t Understand That I Chose A Painful Life Myself”). In contrast to this plain articulation, the noise itself is a violent energetic coalescence, with blizzards and waves shot through with wails of feedback – a slurring of pain into regret into curiosity, throbbing with the contradiction of its abundant sentiments. It could be seen as a remark on the difficulty of expressing the exact contents of the mind; despite methodical preparation and an apparent exactness of emotional intention, the process of articulation is, in itself, a degrader of meaning. By the time Uesugi’s statements reach the end of the FX chain, they’ve been eroded of all shape. A ferocious energy remains, but the possibility of being understood is gone.