Posts Tagged ‘Impermanence Project’

Mortality Tables – 27th February 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Mortality Tables’ Impermanence Project continues apace, this time with a nine-minute work by alka, with spoken word by Andrew Brenza. This piece uses a 1979 / 80 cassette recording of Mortality Tables founder Mat Smith singing Marie Lloyd’s music hall song ‘My Old Man (Said Follow The Van)’ with his late father, James.

As Bryan Michael (alka) writes, ‘I felt there was a parallel between the rent collector-avoiding moonlight flits that inspired ‘My Old Man (Said Follow The Van)’ and the fleeting, ever mutable nature of life. I also like the idea of moments being captured within magnetic fields – a cassette, in this instance – which can then be re-played. To me, they’re like ghosts of memories.

Given just how fragile those magnetic fields are – prone to deterioration and even erasure – while the very tape itself is liable to stretching, warping, being chewed in the heads and rendered unplayable, or even snapping, it feels as if the medium of the source material is, in itself, an encapsulation of impermanence. Even supposedly permanent records are always at risk of ceasing to be.

And, indeed, such a simple recording, likely made for fun in the moment without a view to posterity, absolutely captures the essence of impermanence; James is no longer with us, but his voice lives on here, while the voice of Mat as a child is a reminder that childhood, too, is but a stage, and one which is, in the scheme of life, but brief.

Initially, the sound is so quiet that one may even think there is nothing but silence, but gradually, soft, gently pulsating synth tones fade in. The instrumentation is sparse, ethereal, cloud-like, while the voices drift amidst a soft, dreamy haze, very much creating the effect of the ‘ghosts of memories’ of which alka speaks. It isn’t until the final three minutes that Brenza’s spoken word contribution begins, reflecting on impermanence and mortality, and ‘the way I started to dress like my father once, after his death, because it made me feel close..’

The different elements are drawn together in an almost alchemic fashion, to produce a work which is not lugubrious, but wistful and contemplative.

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Mortality Tables – 5th January 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Mortality Tables’ Impermanence Project has grown legs over the course of the last year, and has offered some remarkable, striking, and intensely personal responses to the theme. And as the title of this latest addition to the expanding body of work emerging under the project’s auspices alludes, Gareth Jones’ 53_StOlaves : Response is a response to a response, so to speak, adding layers of interpretation but also a certain kind of dialogue to the project.

The original St Olaves (St Olaves : Catharsis) was recorded label owner and project curator Mat Smith and released in June, and stands as one of the most intense and deeply personal pieces, a churning whorl of noise distilled from a field recording made by Smith at St. Olave’s, Hart Street, London. Amidst it, there are footsteps, voices, all vague and barely audible in the overwhelming wall of sound. The accompanying notes relate, ‘For a brief moment, you settled into silence. I said that I loved you again. It seemed to sink in who I was and why I was calling. It would be the last time that I truly connected with you, and I am convinced that despite the blur of the drugs and your Alzheimer’s that you understood.

‘The moment lasted barely a couple of seconds during our nine-minute call, but it felt like an eternity. You began saying that you were about to be taken away for tests, but you didn’t know what the tests were. Except they weren’t tests: you were being taken to theatre.

‘Two hours and five minutes after our call, at 1405, you passed away during surgery.’

It hits hard.

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And so we arrive at 53_StOlaves : Response, a field recording made by Jones while on holiday in Greece. He writes, ‘I was moved to create a response to St. Olave’s in the spirit of impermanence understood as, viewed through the lens of, transformation.’

53_StOlaves : Response is a similar duration – meaning it contains just over nine minutes of buzzing, jarring waves of background noise. It glitches frequently, the volume suddenly surging unexpectedly after an ebb, tapering to an elongated organ-like drone before altogether more optimistic-sounding ripples emerge. It has a wistfulness, a certain air of melancholy, but over time, this too dissipates, leaving gentle, dappled ambient hues with understated beats fluttering to the fade.

If St Olaves : Catharsis is the soundtrack to raw anguish and the howl of loss, the staggering bewilderment at the fragility and brevity of life, 53_StOlaves : Response feels like the emergence of acceptance over the passage of time. And this is where Response really comes to add to the theme of impermanence, and it feels like a subtle reassurance that while we likely never necessarily ‘recover’ from those deepest losses, that the wounds will forever remain psychological scars, the pain does ease, eventually, through, as Jones puts it, ‘transformation’. Nothing lasts forever. We transition. We transform. 

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