I find that I need to get past the first track before I begin to pay some degree of proper attention to Divina Commedia I – Nine Circles. I’m all for theme, but there’s something in this opener, a militaristic drumming element, that feels a bit heavy-handed. Yes, thematically, we are “Entering the Vestibule” and getting ready for our Virgilian jaunt into Hell, so perhaps the strident beat works, but it gets a shrug from me. When Scott Lawlor and his sonic enhancer, Jack Hertz, actually move us into the nine circles, the album begins to work for me. Yet I have to say it never fully engrosses me. What works well here is the attention to detail and the use of textural sounds. Lawlor brings plenty of small bits to an overall sense of darkness (Abandon hope, and all that), creating an atmosphere that is loaded with nice touches and good dimensional work. Even at that, I tend to drift in and out as Lawlor converts Dante’s text to sonic imagery. I have tried several times to figure out what I wanted to say about this album, but other than suggesting that you’ll like it if your tastes run to the moody and gloomy side of things, it doesn’t give me—personally—much more to work with than your standard dark ambient.
Available from Aural Films.
File Tomorrow Knows Another among those albums that I more or less like but need to take in well-regulated doses. Tkatka, the duo of PJ Norman and Carlsson, come at us with a high intensity, sometimes confusing, reasonably infectious batch of mutated techno in a hit-or-miss collection. When it hits, it’s a nice, solid blow. “NMO” is the first, and also happens to be first track where I don’t think I ought to be moving along. Field recordings of birds mix with a guitar-like tone at the outset before strong bass chords and an easy beat roll in to create a must-hear blend of dynamics. A break at the mid-point leads to a shift in tone and a change of course. The beat becomes more complex–and thus, grabs you a bit more–and the whole thing cranks up in intensity for its last few minutes. “Reverse Parapsychology” is seven big minutes of thumping, whirling, club-ready joy. A suitably high beat rate, clicking glitch sounds beneath, and a spacey melody with workable lounge cred keep it moving along nicely. Irresistible. “Attack or Defend” leaps into your ears with a chipset sound library, crunchy 8-bit-style stuff that then smooths out to a cooler flow. What misses for me are the tracks where the duo re-purpose what sounds like propaganda film music–stuff with an odd, militaristic feel. “Youth Mor(t)ality Tale” and “Act/React” come away like borderline exercises in plunderphonics that never really take off.
Slow moving and moody, The Nest is a dark(ish) ambient excursion that for the most part had me wondering when something was going to happen. To me it’s all quiet chords and blowing winds, the usual stuff, fine for what it is bit never really standing out. It’s said that Kammarheit created these pieces as a cure for insomnia. Without resorting to an obvious jibe, it’s to his credit that as a quiet listen, it works fairly well–but part of that is that it doesn’t seem to do much, or want to. As it never truly darkens up or gains much weight, these whispery tones just kind of float past you, here and gone. Sometimes they might rear up a little with a rising tone, but nothing much comes of it. It goes back to being your soundtrack for a grim-but-not-too-grim mood. I am not a big fan of dark ambient, but the stuff that sticks with me is the stuff with outright power. This comes across as ambient minor in mostly minor chords, and it’s just not for me. If your tastes run to lightweight not-so-dark ambient, give it a go.
In places, Aleksandr is industrial. In others, bare-bones minimal. In others, it’s a variant of techno stripped of auspice and distilled to grit and beat. Throughout, Ryan Huber keeps his voice down, relying on aural colors and moody details to punch straight into the listener’s core. I find it interesting that Huber can churn out huge, face-blistering industrial guitar noise in his guise as Olekranon, but is equally effective–in a wholly different way–on this far, far end of the spectrum. Where the one identity is assaultive, this one is as insidious as a toxin. The title track kicks it off with a rhythmic edge and tightly wound kinetic potential, but Huber keeps a hand on the reins. From there, however, we slip down into this dark pit where the small sounds have their way. “Chronology of Events” and “False Intuition” are almost purely texture set in motion. On “Chronology…,” chords play out slowly and in the distance, half-hidden behind a curtain of static and tiny, insistent tapping sounds. Its dialed-back dynamic pays off in an up-close listen. “False Intuition” is a study in beat potency. Over what may be field recordings of night sounds, Huber folds in a consistent and nearly unwavering line of micro-beats. He then finds spots in which to shift their tone. It’s the only real change in the piece, this nudging of a single element, but each shift realigns our attention to it. “Hidden Word” seems to do little more than whisper one note in your ear for eight minutes, but something in it, these barely perceptible changes, manage to urge a gut-level response regardless. Tucked in amongst all this near-dark sluggishness comes “Emerge, ” a surprising eruption of wayward EDM tropes. Huber shoves them, like string-bent sounds, over toward dissonance, giving it an edge that is both a bit eerie and oddly reminiscent of a siren.
At the outset of Moth in Flames, it feels like Paul Ellis is laying out his sound set for us—an electro-flutter here, a tenuous sequencer there, perhaps a bit of star-whoosh lifted from the 70s sonic lending library. With these elements mise en place, he starts to spin them together in a Berlin-powered journey that’s mostly smooth as glass. We get spring-loaded bass sequences underscoring most tracks, meaty and familiar. “Lights of a Departing Train” hits with big shots of it, leading us into a piece that’s got strong hints of Tangerine Dream. The bass is offset with high tones and washes, and the track drops out to an arpeggiated melody with a subtle jazz vibe. (An homage to “Love on a Real Train,” maybe?) The bass takes control late in the title track, with an extra touch of reverb and fade to it. Effective against the lighter, shining tones around it. Other tracks don’t rely on the bass. “She Walks in Beauty” gets off to a quiet start, with a blend of symphonic strings and sparse pads. Ellis glazes it with a touch of dramatic tension. It builds to a too-brief pulse of tribal-style percussion in its final moments. “Waves for Durga” gives us flute tones and a sound that rises up to hum like a tanbura. Under it there’s a snappy, almost bossa-nova-esque sequencer line that’s a bit of fun. I must say this one toes the obvious New Age line a bit closely for my tastes, but there’s still a lot to dig. Ellis keeps his tracks short- to mid-length, most under eight minutes, and saves up a bit for his closer, the 14-minute “Between the Trees; Mount Hood.” It’s a slow burn of varying dynamics, bass notes hanging in the air like clouds, electronic chirps and scurries of sequencer running past. Its quiet moments are breath-slowing exhalations that pair off well with the tenser passages. There’s something of an improvised feel to its quick turns and sudden entries, but it’s not obtrusive. A nice dive.
As you head into “Titan,” the first track on Palancar’s Shani, you may think you’ve chosen a deep, classic spacemusic album. Well, then, you don’t know Palancar yet. Yes, Shani is firmly rooted in spacemusic as it pays sonic homage to Saturn’s 10 moons, but just as each moon has its own unique topography, each of these tracks has its own distinct character, and those range from the expectedly hushed to the more mysterious and unusual. When Palancar (aka Darrell Burgan) goes the soft, classic route, it’s blissful. It’s all the warm rise-and-fall pad work you’d want, the big vistas that unfurl across parsecs. That’s the allure of the aforementioned “Titan,” lead by a near vocal wah that we’ve heard many times before. Synth strings add that familiar touch of the symphonic and reminds us why we fell in love with spacemusic in the first place. “Rhea” features rolling sound waves lapping gently over a long drone. Silvery shivers of tone glisten in spots, keeping us just this side of hypnotized. Pauses add mystery to “Mimas.” I pull an eerie 50s sci-fi movie vibe from this one, with its wavering minor chords and bass-note punctuation. “Tethys” closes the disc by starting off with starlight notes and an analog pedigree, eventually whispering its way to the end of the album after a lovely tour of the its orbital path. But, as noted, it’s not all soft and smooth space-stuff. Immediately after “Titan,” the track “Hyperion” greets you with a touch of menace, like some interstellar villain adjusting his controls on diabolical switch at a time. Cymbal taps, springy, reverberating metallic sounds, and an underlying drone darken the proceedings. “Iapteus” opens by crackling quietly in your ears, the start of an incoming transmission. Small sounds squeal and adjust toward clarity as rich, warm pads rise up below. Burgan continues to pepper the flow with these squeaks and squibs and tosses a few dissonant notes in for good measure. The mix is deep and in constant motion, your head surrounded by the atmosphere.
On his website, Bob Holroyd doesn’t say much about his latest release, Blueprint. No worries. This music speaks for itself, and does so in several different and equally effective voices. Thus, the album becomes a showcase of Holroyd’s many sides and sounds, from thoughtful jazz takes to hushed ambient. There have been times I’ve listened to this on loop across the course of a day and, distracted by the mundanity around me, actually forgotten to whom I’m listening. I’d hear an intriguing track and when I checked, well, yes, I was still listening to Blueprints. The diversity is that strong, yet when you sit down for a straight-on listen, it doesn’t feel scattered. Having known Holroyd mostly as a quiet ambient guy, I was quite taken with his jazzier pieces. He’s assisted by trumpeter Kevin Robinson, whose laid-back lines put me in mind of Mark Isham. “Sometimes” finds him launching high notes over Holroyd’s surprisingly gritty guitar and a bed of soft chords. Then, when the sound dials down, the trumpet smoothes out and seduces. The title track has a small-combo feel, with an easy beat on drums and the addition of rich cello draws from Peter Gregson. Robinson drops in after a break, and it’s like a light dusting of chrome over an already beautiful sculpture. Holroyd brightens the background in places with the unobtrusive addition of a quick sequencer pattern. On the ambient/quieter side, “The Unseen Scars” is a lovely example. Twinkling notes shine over pads and Gregson’s cello. Right after, “Opal” slips in with a drawn-out melody. Acoustic guitar gives it a homey feel, with Holroyd letting his fingers slide lazily between chords. “Flow” matches bright sequencer tones in a patient rhythm with a slow-motion trumpet from Robinson. It’s a very comfortable piece, and charming.
I don’t normally review albums that are either re-releases or revisionist takes on prior work, but having spent a goodly portion off my young adult life listening to Windham Hill artists, I could not resist digging into Safe In Your Arms from Scott Cossu. On this release, Cossu revisits and revises some older tracks and brings in new work as well. Listening to it reminds me of how much I have enjoyed this style of music over the years, but also points up to what degree my tastes have changed. While there’s no question that there is much beautiful, incredibly well-made and soulful pieces here, in places it has too much old-school New Age sweetness to it for me. Still, when I heard the heart-tugging strains of “Purple Mountain” again it brought me back to when I first heard Cossu and that clean, open Windham sound. It’s years later and though it sounds like he’s added a bit more trilling flourish on the piano, the song still creates in me a direct, real emotional response. “Little Sunshine Girl” is a lyrical, dancing piece where Cossu, guitarist Van Manakas and flutist Ann Lindquist take turns spinning out lines. Mid-track, there’s a great call-and-response where you can practically hear them smile as they bounce back and forth. “Sweet Pea Lullaby” is like a warm musical hug. The phrasing sounds very Windham Hill (I am not sure which tracks are new and which are revisited). Much of the focus is on Manakas’ guitar, riffing out curlicue melodic lines and flashes of harmonics like exclamation points. And while I know this is not Manakas’ album, it’s his lush work that draws me into “Starlit Walk.” Cossu seems content to play the accompanist here, and once again Lindquist seasons the sound with judicious applications of flute.
Mr. Piacenza: Thirty-two minutes is not enough. Five tracks are not enough. Having listened to your debut release, Dream, many times over, it is simply not enough and I demand more. I demand more of your classical-inspired piano melodies and the gentle electronic treatments that accompany them. I want more of the soul-quieting, close-your-eyes-and-listen moments that wash over me on “Mutations.” I want more of the piercing emotion and rich phrasing that informs “Reflections.” I want more of the way you seem to coax the notes out of your piano rather than merely playing them. I want more of the elegant production work, so very clean and simple and a perfect match for your style. More of your use of the resonant sound of the fading notes as harmony and atmosphere. I kindly request more of the subtle strength of “This Is Real” with its long pads whispering beneath confident left-hand chords and the high melody that switches between graceful dance and hesitant admission of some kind of truth. I must insist on you giving me more music that I want to sit and listen to quietly as the sun sets at the end of a long day, or as I watch the way my wine catches and reflects the candlelight late in the evening. I want more of this music that can quite literally bring me to the edge of tears because it’s finding its way into my mind and heart and unlocking things in there.
Bright shiny post-rock, that’s what you got right here. Well, okay, once you get past the quiet ballad of “Pre,” which is a nice enough thing, fronted by piano from band member Aroel (it’s a duo; the other guy is Ibo), but it’s when the first guitar break kicks in on “Early Morning” that you get a better sense of the energy in store. It must be said that many of the tracks here follow a similar pattern: establish a melody, quietly, get to pause, blow it wide freakin’ open in an indie-rock frenzy, dial it back down, repeat. Much of the phrasing on guitar and keys also tends to feel like Aroel is using the same basic patterns, with slight changes in riff. Over time, that becomes a bit of a problem—the sameness of structure becomes very apparently, Mind you, when it’s good, it’s very good. I could listen to “Destiny” over and over, with its mix of rough-edged guitar, singing piano lines, and cliff-edge breaks. Aroel hits some serious fast-picking spots on “Nothing’s Ever Good Enough for You” and “Repeat, Replay & Over Again” and shows some metal cred. (That latter track has overdrive and distortion to spare. Love it.) “Jump from the Edge” stays in a quieter indie-rock kind of space, half begging for someone to drop melancholy, lovelorn lyrics into it. And across the board, I’m really taken by Ibo’s drumming. Easy and straightforward where it needs to be, he can also throw a switch and take it right into power mode.
Hypnagogue Music Reviews 