by Nathan Shipley
When I got my copy of Ķæ p. Rujhaan’s panoramic new tape Putimt ku tuskaas, I actually could smell it — wet wood, leaves, heavy basement air. Rot: what I love about Ķæ p. Rujhaan. This work erodes in transit through the space of its source, yet is still so rich in layers and repetitions. And of course, there is this palpable feeling of decay. Unearthed. Like the opening scene from Barbara Loden’s Wanda — the tracking shot of her through hills and hills of coal — it’s an image that is nonetheless apt for Rujhaan, who extracts sounds from an environment.
Coincidentally, ‘putimt ku tuskaas’ is Somali for “show me the picture.” But also, as it is, what the work does. Rujhaan gets mostly beyond overdubbing and manipulation, effects, etc., and moves right toward a bare representation of the subject: his location. Trolley lines, a powerhouse, and a gravel quarry are sites of transmission, making keen (or rather nudging) contact with us through the sounds of the objects they stage — clattering rails, back-up alarms, a radio’s song, the hum of a drive belt system. In an Instagram post announcing the tape’s release, Rujhaan described the work as “offering a holistic portrait to the patient, active listener.” Where previous Ķæ p. Rujhaan work casts space as a passive hollow for the noise artist to perform inside of, Putimt ku tuskaas records space to describe itself to its occupants. The picture, it turns out, is the portrait that was offered to Rujhaan in the event of recording.
The fact the tape features Rujhaan playing a bowed cymbal is a surprise. On “Mitaat,” (Urdo for “erase,”) one may hear the hairs of the bow, producing a whine and occasionally a tone. Or is that just the release of steam from a nearby truck? More importantly, what is the difference? Space has no limits, and the parts that can come together, do. On Putimt ku tuskaas, Rujhaan has at last become an object in space. By entering the picture, he disappears.