Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo
Cramond

[Those] buffalo(es) from Buffalo intimidate buffalo(es) from Buffalo.

An excellent example of how homonymous and homophonic words can be used to create complex meaningful sentences. The lexical ambiguity born from the extreme simplification of the English language has led the inhabitants of Albion to indulge in the creation of amusing semantic dramas, among which it is also worth mentioning a remarkable " James while John had had had had had had had had had had had a better effect on the teacher".

But our point of interest is the apparent nonsense of the moniker under which hides a curious Scottish duo that, at first glance, would figure better in front of a computer screen as nerds. But their battle name already gives you an idea of the poorly concealed passion of the two: repetition. In the world, Mr. Drone.

A happy encounter, this one between Neil Simpson and Mike Gallagher, the two madmen riding buffalos, and quite recent too: their first collaborations date back to 2005, soon extended to Sam Collier, a minimalist artist entrusted with the visual part of the performances. The ultimate goal of Buffalo is "to create, through the relentless repetition of a single chord or vibration, 'detailed' music that forces the listener to focus on what they are listening to", as Neil himself says (as available as he is kind, or at least that’s the impression I got from the emails we exchanged). Since the beginning of their activity, the B.b.b.B.b. have released only strictly live recordings of some of their performances (very limited edition and albums handmade by themselves and a few close friends, just to give you an idea of how much they care about their music, our guys).

 This "Cramond" that I find in my hands is the first of the four concerts of the "Forth Islands Series", held in the four islands of the Firth of Forth, an inlet on the eastern coast of Scotland. On March 23, 2007, our heroes, followed by a tiny group of curious onlookers - needless to say, the spectators can almost be counted on the fingers of one hand - and brave ones indifferent to the cold, arrive at the designated location, that is, the island of Cramond, located off the coast of Edinburgh, via an elevated passage that directly connects land and island. You walk there, quite rightly. Here, in an abandoned military site, with a simple acoustic guitar and a prepared cello, in front of the present ones, the two spend twenty minutes of their lives here recorded repeating the same chord at a frequency of 2 times per second.

Better lie down on the ground and listen. The magic of this record is that under a single, monolithic chord, a thousand hidden sounds appear, if you pay attention, which at a distracted listening are well hidden, leaving the distracted user bored in a short time. Perhaps the fruit of a sublime hallucination, redundant melodies of bells develop, chasing each other, falling, and shaking, only to recombine and blur the outlines of what seemed certain just a few seconds before. A continuous attempt to focus, not for all stomachs: obviously, one must have the patience to surrender body and soul to the simple vibrations that the two emit and free the mind from any other thought, something that probably many will not agree with. But trust me, it’s worth it.