WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS - NOTHING HERE NOW BUT THE RECORDINGS @ 40

 

Released in May of 1981 by Throbbing Gristle’s Industrial Records label, William S. Burroughs’ Nothing Here Now but the Recordings is celebrating its 40th anniversary this month. Its release was the first time any of his audio tape experiments were ever made available to the public. Its origin was the result of years of friendship and encouragement to share this material with the world.

Sometime around 1973, Genesis P-Orridge was browsing the classified ads in the underground art magazine, FILE, and happened upon an ad from William S. Burroughs requesting images of “camouflage for 1984” with a London address for correspondence. Genesis had been a fan of Burroughs for some time and couldn’t believer he’d actually publish his real address, so he took the chance to write a tersely worded prank letter to him and duly received a response with an invitation to come down to London and visit him sometime. The invitation was accepted and Genesis made the trip from Hull to London and began a friendship with Burroughs that would last until the senior author’s death.

During their frequent conversations, Gen became acquainted with the “cut-up” technique pioneered by Burroughs’ close friend, Brion Gysin. Burroughs often mentioned the tape experiments he’d done using the process, but P-Orridge never got a chance to hear any of the actual recordings. This wasn’t for lack of interest as Gen repeatedly asked if he could hear them and it took seven years of nagging before Burroughs finally relented and allowed Gen to have at these neglected gems. Burroughs handed over boxes of old cassettes and reel-to-reel tapes, unmarked and unorganized, with the instruction that Gen should catalogue them all.

Gen and Peter Christopherson then spent months slogging through these tapes, diligently typing out logs for every snippet and segment, from Moroccan music to Bill talking to TV sounds, all messed with via editing, stop/start recording or manually spooling tape on the recorder to modulate the speed. They worked hour after hour, all the while carefully noting various bits and pieces that had some sense of significance or resonance or which offered particularly effective examples of the cut-up or other processing technique being explored. Eventually these were paired down to enough to fill a full length LP, transferred to mastering tape and a finished record was cut. The sleeve was created by Christopherson, who was very familiar with LP cover design thanks to his involvement with the Hipgnosis design house.

At the time of its release, Burroughs was rather a forgotten figure in the underground. Most of his books were well out of print and only a few people like P-Orridge cared much about what he’d done. While this album wasn’t a massive seller, it certainly was key in igniting the modern interest in Burroughs’ works and also helped give “Uncle Bill” a proper entry into the world of being a recording artist. There had been a couple of records of him doing the odd reading over the years, but the exposure from the Industrial release coincided with the advent of sampling technology, something which would make Burroughs a popular source for numerous recording artists. As the 1980s progressed, people like Adrian Sherwood and Bill Laswell would incorporate Bill’s distinctive voice into numerous recording projects. It wasn’t uncommon for club goers in the hipper haunts to find themselves busting a move while some Burroughs quote seeped in under the beat. His dystopian perversions made perfect embellishments to the doom disco of the day. All of that started with Nothing Here Now but the Recordings. It was the flashpoint for a career revival which would make him an essential component of the counterculture of the past 40 years.

INFLUENTIAL ALBUM - THE INDUSTRIAL RECORDS STORY

1984 was the year that I became deeply infatuated with all things Throbbing Gristle. Thanks to a few all night "altered states" listening sessions, my perception of their music and how it was created was completely reconfigured. With this neural rewiring in place, I was able to appreciate aspects of their sound and techniques I was never able to perceive before. But TG were more than just a band, they were the architects of a movement and used their independently operated corporate identity, Industrial Records, to help give other artists exposure and a leg up on getting their products out in the market as well. I wasn't really aware of the full extent of this aspect of their activities until Illuminated Records issued the retrospective compilation album, The Industrial Records Story, in 1984.

The album collected together several singles and a selection of album tracks from the various artists who had been released by Industrial Records in the last few years of its initial phase of activity, ending in 1981. As well as a couple of TG singles, the LP featured Monte Cazazza, The Leather Nun, Robert Rental & Thomas Leer, SPK, Cabaret Voltaire, Elisabeth Welch, Clock DVA, Dorothy & William S. Burroughs. With the exception of Cabaret Voltaire, this album was my initial exposure to pretty much everyone else present. And it was much more than just a collection of "industrial" noise. There was an astonishing variety of music and sound on the album, demonstrating quite clearly the range of interests within the label and the people behind it.

Though the LP kicks off with TG at their most abrasive, blaring forth with the infamous, We Hate You (Little Girls) and then serves up a nightmarish junkie fever dream for Mother's Day from Monte Cazazza, things start to diversify with the dirge of burn victim post-punk from The Leather Nun. Next up is the synth-pop dreaminess of Rental & Leer, but the biggest shifts are saved for the arrival of Elisabeth Welch and her heartbreaking version of Stormy Weather. The single was released because it was used by experimental film maker, Derek Jarman, in his film, The Tempest. Recorded in 1933, the song is a stark contrast to the rest of the album, yet still manages to work in context with its mood of gloom and loss.

The album concludes with a section from William S. Burroughs' album, Nothing Here Now but the Recordings. On its own, this track became my introduction to his works and represented a sample of something which had never been given serious consideration before. It was a concrete example of the "cut-up" theory in its earliest incarnation. The story behind the manifestation of this album is worth an entire book on its own as Genesis P-Orridge and Peter Christopherson were the first to be given access to this material by Burroughs, who considered the experiments of no real consequence until he was convinced otherwise by Gen & Sleazy. It was a critical introduction to a vital and expansive technique, easily adaptable to nearly any medium.

The album has never been reissued since its initial release, though all the material contained on it has been reissued separately.