Jim O'RourkeI'm Happy and I'm Singing and 1,2,3,4.Review

Jim O'Rourke's sizeable discography has covered everything from avant rock to free improvisation to widescreen Americana; his address book includes everyone from Faust to Steve Albini to Fennesz, and recently he's joined up with art punks extraordinaire Sonic Youth. Though his CV may resemble that of the post modernist genre hopping dabbler, O'Rourke's genuine enthusiasm, expansive knowledge and keen ear has resulted in some fine music as well as the occasional dud. This album sees Jim boot up his Powerbook in true laptop massive style, though in place of the usual clicks n' cuts beloved of the Mego crowd, he delivers his own individual and heartfelt take on the American minimalist tradition.

On the opening "I'm Happy", O Rourke unleashes piping ostinati sourced from samples of organ, accordion and strings that hypnotically pile up, splinter and regroup into new configurations, sounding much like Steve Reich's Four Organs played underwater on a malfunctioning CD player. In place of the rigorous addition and subtraction beloved by Reich and his ilk, there's an organic improvisational quality that recalls Terry Riley's solo organ pieces (incidentally these are live recordings, though of course you'd never guess), as eventually Jim's de(con)structive urges crumble the minimal riffery under the weight of pulsing strings and distressed blips.

"I'm Singing" sounds a little like Cluster or Harmonia; a muffled kick drum underpinning swathes of fuzzed guitar melodics emerges from a cloud of sonar bleeps, eventually succumbing to clipped distortions and collapsing in a welter of bells and chimes. "And a 1,2,3,4" is simply gorgeous; over 21 minutes, a forlorn guitar loop is gradually morphed into a pulsing drone flecked with high oscillations, eventually disappearing in a forest of bleeps and crackles while doleful cello and viola glissandi break the surface. Like the best of the minimalist canon, O'Rourke's music plays games with time and repetition so that by the end of the piece you're unsure whether 21 seconds, 21 minutes or 21 hours have elapsed.

Unlike so much laptop glitcherama, O'Rourke's digital tools are the means to an end rather than the end itself; this is surprisingly sensual, involving music that doesn't rely on the latest SuperCollider patch for credibility. If you buy only 25 Jim O'Rourke albums this year, make sure this is one of them. And a 5,7,6,8...