Early on Ian Wellman’s latest album, The Night The Stars Fell, a foreboding sense of despair takes root in the melancholic chord progressions and stark field recordings. This hopelessness shifts, though, somehow becomes comforting in the way it connects us to things we already know, but don’t want to admit. Narratives emerge from the wind-blown whispers and rich forest textures. Through this acceptance, Wellman charts imaginative pathways out of the darkness.
The Night The Stars Fell is out now on Ash International.
As always, I like to start at the beginning. What are some of your earliest memories of music and sound growing up? Was there a lot of music around when you were younger?
There was always a healthy dose of music in the house. My dad had a large record collection of classic rock records and a CD collection of 90’s alt-rock and grunge. He was always very encouraging of his kids getting into different kinds of music. Some of my earliest memories of music were singing along to old Raffi tapes and Smashing Pumpkins’ “Bullet With Butterfly Wings…” I guess this explains the constant light/dark elements sprinkled in my work.
When did you first get involved in playing music? Was there a certain impetus that pushed you to learn an instrument?
I never played actual music growing up. I had an acoustic guitar but only knew a few chords. To this day, I can’t say I know how to “play” kind of traditional instruments. When I was around 13, I got into a lot of post-rock and indie rock, which ultimately became my gateway into the experimental/sound art world. I think the major turning point was finding Xiu Xiu and first downloading Fabulous Muscles off Soulseek. I was hooked! Later, my first noise CD was Wolf Eyes’ “Burned Mind,” only because my big brother thought it was a Wolf Parade album. He gave it to me saying “You like weird things…” While going to college in Chicago for film/video, I saw Xiu Xiu for the first time. Prurient opened. That opened up my whole world. I kept digging deeper and deeper into noise/harsh noise wall, lots of blogspots, and trips to local record stores… One of my Freshman teachers was the guitarist in a drone-metal band, so every week I’d come early and chat about bands. I started regularly going to his shows and getting the lay of the land in the Chicago experimental scene. I later found a group of circuit benders who met every week at a bar. They were the kindest folks and were so happy to start teaching me how to make children’s toys into weird instruments. That’s how I began to experiment with sound and learn to “play an instrument.”
And what about composing – how did you first start writing your own music and creating your own sounds?
I eventually moved to LA and had been wondering what exactly to explore. I loved noise, but it always felt too harsh for what I wanted to say. Being a production sound mixer for film/video, I knew I wanted to do something incorporating field recording. An LA-based sound-art collective called VOLUME would curate shows that were vastly different from anything else going on. It wasn’t quite noise, it wasn’t quite music, it was something else. That kind of work was the work I latched onto. Taking inspiration from what I was hearing between the noise and sound art worlds, I started making cut-up field recording pieces on the laptop and experimented with running tape loops into pedals. I also started a duo with my friend Aaron where we would play the electromagnetics of home electronics. The experience of working with another person on a project really helped give me the confidence to create and perform my own material. Eventually, I found the tape loop/field recording style that I am still working with today. Later, Yann Novak, who is part of VOLUME, released my first solo record on Dragon’s Eye Recordings. He, and the rest of the VOLUME membership, have been true mentors since!
One of the many things I was so intrigued by was the part in the description of The Night The Stars Fell describing the album as a journey that begins in a fire-scarred forest. How did the physical environment and its sounds influence the creation of the album?
My original intention was to create a field recording-only album of the Angeles Forest and other California forests affected by the West Coast fires in 2020. However, access was always an issue. Most of the areas had been closed off for years as the areas were given time to rehabilitate. This idea morphed into The Night The Stars Fell. The sound of these environments influenced the album by the idea of these spaces becoming desolate and barren after the burnouts, but with the hope that new life will begin to thrive in these spaces. Walking around in these areas is a bit shocking at first. Empty spaces where trees once stood. Piles of debris are still waiting to be picked up by the forest rangers and clean-up crews. It’s usually very quiet at first until you start to listen and hear woodpeckers and a slew of other birds. You also begin to notice new plant life before your feet. I was really hoping to capture this initial shock then turning to the beauty of physically being there in the environment.
Could you share more about the role of field recordings in shaping the soundscapes of the album? There’s such an interesting variety of them.
Coming from a film/video background, I like to think of each release as a narrative story. Experimental music and especially field recording is a perfect avenue for storytelling and evoking a lot of emotion. The field recordings are used to ground the drone/tape loop pieces into a reality and enhance the story by giving more context. They’re also used to give the audience a break from the more jarring distorted elements. I wouldn’t say any of the recordings are meant to be looked at in a “documentary” light, but more in a narrative context.
What significance do these sounds hold for you?
All the recorded sounds are lived experiences. I end up recording a lot of material that ultimately never leaves the hard drives, and sometimes doesn’t even make it on the hard drive. These were some of the more interesting recordings I made in the past few years. Each has its own story. Each has its own place. Every time I re-listen to them, I am always transported back to the moment they were recorded and hearing it for the first time. The location, the smell, and the physicality of the recording. I am constantly in awe of the sounds you can find if you open up and listen.
The text mentions the use of shortwave radio static and tape loops, which, to me, is such a beguiling combination. Where does your interest in those things come from and how do you think they contribute to the overall sonic quality and feeling of the record?
I first got into tape loop exploration after hearing Craig Tattersall’s and Andrew Hargreaves’s work. I became obsessed with Tape Loop Orchestra and The Humble Bee. I loved how the initial sound recorded to the loop became something new. The sound becomes a ghost of what it once was. Then, as the loop plays, it quickly becomes more degraded. A ghost of a ghost. I am a person of rules and restrictions. The idea of the physical limitations of time and tracks on a tape loop made it easier to grasp as well. I started out with a few random cassettes I scooped for free off Craigslist and some cheap half-broken players and eventually got a used Tascam Portastudio 424. What a great machine. Since then, it’s become my main “instrument.”
I forget what exactly got me into shortwave radio, but finding out about webDSR was what got me hooked on shortwave. The webSDR was clearer and had much more range than any radio I could do in the middle of LA. I would spend hours hunting for sounds on the airwaves.
As for sonic quality and contributions, the tape loop offers dense emotional drones and tones possibly on the verge of collapse. These are the building blocks and main arcs in the narrative across the record. The shortwave radio recordings offer a call out for help, or the hope that help is on the way.
In exploring a time of rebuilding and searching for a new path, how does the album reflect this theme both musically and conceptually?
I think we are still trying to tread lightly and slowly navigate this “post-pandemic” world we now live in. During the pandemic, my work in the film industry completely collapsed. Afterward, some friends and clients found new avenues for work or moved to a new state. My industry faced that again last year with the actors and writers strike. It feels like a constant building and rebuilding connections and communities. Beyond work life, the local music community has slowly gotten its legs back. People are still navigating how to resocialize with their friends and family. We’re still in this time of rebuilding. The pandemic was the forest fire, and now we are in the forest looking at the slow regrowth years later. Musically, each track builds up a sound, sometimes into giant clouds, only to allow a new sound to take the lead. There’s a constant building and rebuilding that happens throughout the album.
How did you capture and utilize the sounds of wind in the album, and what symbolic meaning does it carry for you?
All of the proper field recordings were recorded with a pair of mics in ORTF formation. To record wind that intense, you need a lot of wind protection, in this case, the mics live in a big zeppelin windshield. The album has several variations of wind. One is a scar-burned tree blowing in the wind. Another is wind blowing through a derailed train car in the desert. The next is a little house at an abandoned army base. The final is wind blowing against a tree.
Wind is such a physical invisible force that’s constantly pushing us and everything around us. When things begin to settle, the wind only picks back up. If you let yourself, you can feel its reaction. I tried to utilize the wind recordings in that manner. The sound of wind was also very important for the record as wind is a key component in spreading wildfires. Wind can carry embers for miles.
A more general question as I know collaboration is an important part of your creative practice. How does collaboration and collective work influence your individual artistic process?
Collaboration and collective work is always important to building friendships and a stronger community overall. It’s a great way of bouncing new ideas and trying something new. I’ve collaborated and participated in projects in a number of capacities, and it is always rewarding to see how your contributions were ultimately used. Sometimes you hear a piece and you scratch your head on what was even used because it was so radically transformed. Ha. It really makes you rethink how to make work.
It’s also amazing when you can band together for a good cause. One of the most rewarding collaborations was Particle Count, a fundraiser for those affected by the wildfires on the West Coast in 2020. Lawrence English was gracious enough to make this happen on Room40 in an extremely tight turnaround. We asked a slew of artists, and most offered something to the release. We ended up raising a good chunk. This really helped me see the power in small community actions.
Collaborative work really influences my work by helping me explore new ways to work and find new ways of thinking. There’s something really great in watching how someone else solves a problem. It’s all about taking the small things you learned and realigning them into your own work. My favorite part is watching each other grow and evolve through the experience. It needs to be a mutual experience to make it worthwhile!
What were some of the most challenging aspects you had to overcome to make The Night the Stars Fell?
The most challenging aspect in making The Night The Stars Fell was convincing myself that this was the right direction and a good next step after the last album. I started making tracks from the album in November 2021-ish. At the time, I was reading a lot of seinen manga. That’s why it sounds a little more “heroic.” I had a handful of tracks completed in early 2022, but I couldn’t tell if it was an EP or album at the time. I couldn’t tell the connective tissue and the through line holding them together. I ended up sitting on a majority of the tracks for a while.
During a collaboration that didn’t quite work out in late 2022, I made the tracks “The Night The Stars Fell” and “Relief.” That’s when the album really began to take shape. Sometimes it’s more about giving the work the time it needs to reveal itself. Waiting can be the hardest part!
Any particularly interesting moments that happened during the process that stand out?
During the recording process of Demise of a Dream, the tape loop was on its last legs. It would run for a minute then just stop. The life of a tape loop can be pretty unpredictable. The tape stretches too far and can’t move in the machine properly, the tape unsticks, or who knows what else. Mysterious objects. After discovering this, I recorded it until it totally died. This recording is the dying words of the tape.
What else are you looking forward to as 2024 moves ahead?
I don’t have any specific plans yet. My big goals for the year are to try to do a little West Coast tour, do much more camping and field recording, and find a next project! Hopefully, read more books. I just moved, so I’m still exploring this new part of town, and slowly getting a porch garden ready for the spring. Apart from that, we’ll see what 2024 reveals. It’s still very early in the year!
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