SAVANT
Artificial Dance
(RVNG Intl.)
****1/2 (out of 5)

Strangely, one of Seattle’s most interesting experimental musicians has only come to greater public awareness through the auspices of New York City’s RVNG Intl. Last year, that label excavated and packaged the subterranean music of K. Leimer on A Period of Review (Original Recordings: 1975-1983). (I had the honor of writing liner notes for that release, and part of the process involved asking several local musicians if they’d heard Leimer’s music; only Steve Peters had. The PNW DIY electronic-music scene of the ’70s and ’80s seemingly has eluded the radars of just about everybody.)

Thankfully, our voracious reissue culture again has rewarded us with another Leimer project, Savant’s Artificial Dance, which contains the group’s 1983 LP The Neo Realist (At Risk), their first EP, and other ephemera.

For Savant, Leimer collaborated with key figures in Seattle post-punk and electronic music, including Marc Barreca, Dennis Rea, John Foster (OP Magazine founder), and others. More beat-oriented than his solo material, Artificial Dance finds Leimer and conspirators creating odd hybrids of ambient, exotica, dub, and even Dadaist proto-techno on “Shadow in Deceit.” (Though he claims no dub influences, the genre's profound spatial and low-end elements seep into his music.)

For example, in “Using Words,” the bass exudes Bill Laswell-esque pressure while coruscating drones and hysterical synth stridulations flash above intricate, stalking rhythms. Leimer smoothly merges calm and panicky elements, a deft trick he repeats throughout the album.

“Indifference” offers Cubist funk shot through with harsh synth stabs and groaning drones. With a glancing resemblance to Byrne/Eno’s My Life in the Bush of Ghosts and foreshadowing Jon Hassell’s City: Works of Fiction, the song's at once stilted and graceful, rhythmically busy and ambient.

Several other such paradoxes proliferate on Artificial Dance, as Leimer capitalizes on his skill for generating fascinating tension. The music here sounds like alternate-reality '80s club manna for intellectuals who prefer to dance in isolation, with their equilibrium subverted. It's fresh in the unlikeliest of ways.