In 2020, Jed Bindeman of rarities label Freedom To Spend, purchased the full review archive of defunct magazine ND. Over the publication’s lifespan of 1982 to 1999, editor Daniel Plunkett had amassed over 1,200 tapes to be considered for review. These were now Bindeman’s and on listening to a slew of them, fatigue began to set in. Most tapes were noisy, awkwardly lo-fi productions that were starting to tax him in his search for some uncovered gem. This was until he discovered Connecters by visual artist Larrison Seidle: a spectral compilation of toy-like, space-age pop miniatures, playfully crafted from mesmeric sequencer loops and meditative tonal studies.
After thirty years, Larrison’s lo-fi ambient compositions have finally been exposed to light as Connecters Vol. 1: Original Recordings, 1992–1999. Written entirely on a Casio CZ-5000, Larrison introduces a body of work that sketches a self-contained electronic future of 25 synth tableaux that feels both hypnagogic and hauntological in equal measure. Adrift of the electronic music historiography of hallowed scenes, clubs and labels, Connecters and its rediscovery offers a fresh insight into how the development of electronic music could also be found in a parallel timeline that chose private studios and home recording equipment over thundering clubs and muscular soundsystems.
Larrison Seidle did not come from a musical background. Born to a working-class family in Greenwood, Indiana, his parents worked retail and delivery jobs but encouraged artistic expression among their children. The Seidle household was regularly filled with the sounds of classic rock but also the peculiar soundtracks to obscure 35mm documentaries and the synthesiser heavy compositions found in John Carpenter and Ridley Scott productions. Larrison began learning piano and trumpet by ear, something which music teachers decried, stating that this was no way to learn properly. This impish curiosity would serve Larrison well upon his enrollment to the Herron School of Art, where he began playing with the built-in sequencer of a Casio CZ-5000 he received for his thirteenth birthday.
Larrison began to compose sparkling, buoyant electronic compositions by manipulating the keyboard’s inbuilt effects system to create glacial soundscapes through the Casio’s phase distortion synthesis. These creations were committed to tape at Larrison’s home in late 1993 and early 1994 before being sent to ND’s Daniel Plunkett for review. Freedom To Spend’s reissue features Larrison’s originally submitted tape alongside a bevy of later experimentations recorded throughout the 90s. At its core, Connecters consists of childlike soundscapes of extraterrestrial Moogsploitation à la Raymond Scott or Bruce Haack, but with a warped, lo-fi mischief that foresees the more idiosyncratic work of Aphex Twin or Aki Tsuyuko.
Larrison’s range should be noted and applauded when listening to Connecters. Across the compilation, he covers a broad patch of ground from the psychedelic undulations and synthetic flutes of ‘Ripples’ to the janky Beta Band rumble of ‘Driving To Austin.’ Keyboard experimentation is bright and homely, with ‘Rewind’ providing Kraftwerkian electro flavouring while ‘Fancy Free’ evokes the envelope shifting timbres of Air.
In many instances, Larrison’s études encompass dreamy, hypnagogic territory. Gleaming synth swells melt into off-kilter harmonic dissonance while bubbling melodies float atop; take the aptly titled ‘Waiting For Sleep’, for instance. Connecters is unafraid to suddenly shift tonal gear, moving from traditional song structures seen on the cosmic calypso of ‘Winter Wave’ before jolting into shrill mosquito synth tonal exercises on ‘In Motion’. The sense of colourful chaos, unpredictability and reverie is ever present on Connecters, creating a peculiar aural dreamscape that is whimsically disjointed.
This dreamlike levity is courtesy of Larrison’s sprightly sound design. For a record so scattered and diverse, he steers clear of harsh textures within tracks. On tunes like ‘On Glass I’, ‘On Glass II’ and ‘Hi And Lo’ sunny melodies are crafted from technicolour synths and bubbling geometric sequences, while airy chords and gentle toy-box percussion evoke imaginary worlds not unlike those crafted by Nintendo’s Koji Kondo through his Legend Of Zelda soundtracks.
Larrison’s gentle synthesis calls back to the archetypes of space-age pop that soundtracked an array of futurist media in the post-war period. Were you to stumble across a 50s infomercial that portrayed an unrealised future of flying cars, robot servants and a peculiar blend of post-war consumerism with utopian communism, Larrison’s Connecters would in no way feel out of place on the soundtrack – both homely in its comfort and hauntological in its lo-fi warping of forgotten sonic tropes of the time. In considering his background and the puckish nature of his work, it would be easy to categorise Connecters as an example of outsider art; a term commonly used for musicians with little musical training, whose work exhibits a child-like sensibility often through lack of access. In many cases, outsider musicians are patronised with such taxonomy, suggesting their work is naive or simple.
While Connecters maintains a youthful playfulness, the sprawling futuristic worlds concocted via Larrison’s manipulation of envelope filters and waveforms are anything but immature. Rather the opposite, through his grasp of what may be considered a technological or artistic constraint in the form of a single synthesiser and basic home recording equipment, Larrison uses a limited palette to produce pieces of stunning complexity and depth, creating work of symphonic intricacy and sophistication within the arrangement of a musical portrait miniature. What makes Connecters so exciting is not simply the charm or ingenuity of its compositions, but how its delayed arrival reframes how we listen to the past. In an era of increasing archival rediscovery, Larrison’s recordings should be seen less as lost curiosities than reminders that entire parallel practices may have flourished out of sight. Their emergence both complicates and enriches narratives of genre development, suggesting that innovation has been as likely to occur in bedrooms and temporary studios as yet unknown, as on dancefloors or label rosters. The enduring mystery and excitement of undiscovered music lies in this capacity to change our perspectives, revealing how the past remains mystical and wholly capable of surprising us with futures that were imagined, but never heard.
