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Noise
Reduction Society, Leaving Venice
Constructed
from a broad pallete of sounds and washed in hues of feeling and
texture, Leaving Venice is a superb collection of jazzy,
trippy, downtempo pieces that beg for repeat play. James Hegarty,
the mind behind NRS, is equally at home with cool ambient drifts
as he is with beat-driven riffs, and both are here in equal and
well-executed measure. Hegarty accentuates several tracks with
samples of Kathryn Stieler's gorgeous voice like a sophisticated
alien instrument whose music slips into the mind and takes command--and
that command is to relax and enjoy. Perfect, lovely. Everything
here is put together with an expert hand, and the depth of Hegarty's
composition begs for and rewards attentive listening. Cuts such
as "Blues for 03 GMT" and "Code" are potent
and beautiful, the former for its cool funk, the latter for its
slow subtlety. Steiler's voice is at its most astounding in "Shadow
of Istanbul." (Once again, the playwright in me just begs
to find a way to use some of NRS' music as a soundtrack--one of
the highest compliments I can give!)
Head to the
Noise
Reduction Society Web site and snag a copy of Leaving Venice.
And while you're there, look around the site; Hegarty's been involved
in a number of very interesting theatrical and concert productions.
Numina,
Sanctuary of Dreams
With Sanctuary
of Dreams, Numina (secret identity: Jesse Sola) further solidifies
his reputation as a respected force in the ambient music field.
These 10 excursions are built on somber undertones, with ascendant
synth pads giving a a decidedly "upward" feel to them.
It's a very workable balance of light and dark, with some emphasis
on dark. Numina's soundworlds are lush and magnificently layered,
each a dream waiting to be interpreted. (Personal favorite: "In
Loneliness, the Landscape Fades," which possesses a very
mournful beauty.)
While the
pieces here are individual--bypassing the tendency of many ambient
artists these days to throw together one CD-length work--they
move easily one to the next, creating an air of wholeness. The
disk practically begs to be played on "Repeat."
Without making
any direct comparison, Sanctuary of Dreams is as good
as anything you'll find out there by "big name" ambient
artists. And with music like this consistently coming out of his
studio, it won't be long before Numina is one of those names himself.
Numina,
Symbiotic Spaces
With
every new release, Numina (aka Jesse Sola) drives home the fact
that he is constantly developing and redefining himself as a craftsman,
and those efforts have made him a true mainstay of the electronic/ambient
genre. And while this has been reinforced with each new CD going
forward, his latest offering, a compilation of unreleased and
rare tracks spanning the years from 2000-2007, shows us that he's
been hard at it between releases, too. Symbiotic Spaces
is a vivid journey through Numina’s musical capabilities
and his evolution as an artist—a trip through the various
worlds he creates and the distinct sensations he evokes. The path
alternates from the furthest depths of weightless interstellar
space to the cool, dank darkness of primitive caverns. It encompasses
our future in sweeping synths and electronic fabrications, and
our past in shamanic, tribal rhythms conjuring basal, primordial
responses. And the way in which they’re stitched together
verges at times on breathtaking. For example, the way in which
the first disk winds down along a course that slides through the
throbbing drum-pulse of “Aleph-Zero” into the sighing
release of “Dronecoil” and then onward to the ominous
nocturnal atmospheres of “Cells.” There’s a
lot to like here, in general of course, but also in small touches,
such as the gamelan-style bells in “Space Lilt” or
the hypnotic, repeating backdrop of “Moments in Darkness.”
Indeed, each track on the two disks is rich with character, texture
and an eloquently stated, unique narrative. Sola is a superb sound-based
storyteller.
Listening to this collection is a genuinely immersive experience.
Each track slides readily and gracefully into the next with no
perceptible break to the flow. Elements rise intermittently to
the forefront, giving the listener a chance to refocus on Sola’s
masterful composition before being lulled back into the soundcurrent.
Even the silence between tracks seems an integral part of the
overall offering. These previously unreleased tracks are a true
gift from Numina and a welcome addition to his canon.
In crafting a sonic narrative of the journey from life to afterlife,
Numina has created a listening experience that is utterly immersive,
a set of pieces that pull you in so deeply that trying to find
adequate words for them once you’ve surfaced is difficult.
This is signature Numina, moving as slowly as sleeping breath,
elegant layers laid thickly upon layers with a certain and graceful
hand. Sound textures course across the skin and into the spirit,
coaxing the listener with warmth, beauty and imagery. This is
the sound of the soul departing, and the sense of the journey
itself. Rhythms rise only where they’re needed, as in the
dramatic push of “Through the Unseen Barrier.” Shift...
is heavy with well-realized aural scenery and emotive tones that
fully suit Numina’s intent. The slightly serrated drift
of “Arrival to Nowhere” points up the disk’s
embrace of dark awe, and “Light Travelling” celebrates
the upward release from being with some intriguing sonic turbulence.
Who knew crossing over felt this good? There’s a distinct
sense of the sacred here in hushed hymnal tones and choral whispers.
There is the pull of coerced introspection, and a pure, overarching
beauty. There’s not a moment on this disk that isn’t
eminently listenable, down to the final quiet exhalations of the
gorgeous closer, “The Hostless Ghost.” And that’s
why Shift to the Ghost is another Hypnagogue
Highly Recommended CD from Numina.
vidnaObmana,
An Opera for Four Fusion Works, Act Four
I'm
going to have to admit that I just don't get it. I've tried to
get it, and I don't. I respect vidnaObmana, and I've liked his
collaborations with Steve Roach, but... I have to admit that what's
going on in An Opera for Four Fusion Works, Act Four
or what I'm supposed to understand is going on completely escapes
me. I find it a difficult listen--requiring more effort, I'm hesitant
to say as a reviewer, than I'm willing to give a piece of music.
Perhaps I'm missing the point due to never hearing the first three
Acts and therefore don't "get it." But I've never had
an interest in music that reaches that point where listening becomes
physically rather than intellectually challenging.
I
can only say: it isn't for me, If your tastes run to the more
avant-garde and experimental, give it a play.
There
is a potent dichotomy at work in the music of Zero Ohms (secret
identity: Richard J. Roberts). On one side there is the brain-massaging
softness of Ohm's signature wind-synth drones. Undeniably relaxing,
they form the basis for all his music, the undulant canvas on
which Ohms overlays traditional flutes from around the world,
processed sounds, and samples. And that's where the other side
comes in. While your mind tries to relax, Ohms challenges it with
textures and sound-images that range from conversational voices
existing just below the drone-surface to clashing metallic sounds
that rise up only to resonate back down into a pleasing harmonic
addition. This is headphone music. It is pay-attention-and-you-will-be-rewarded
music, with some layers so dense that subtler touches come to
you from what seems like a great distance. It is music that asks
to be understood.
The
dichotomy is best exemplified, I think, by two contrasting albums:
Sweven and Unafraid of the Impending Silence.
Unafraid
is the gentler of the two. Upon first listening to this, I was
immediately taken back to a whitewater rafting trip in Maine.
After we'd cleared the rapids and emerged into calm water, we
were allowed to get out of the rafts and swim. I eased myself
into the river and let the current take me. There was nothing
but the touch of the water and the wind, a soft sense of motion,
and each time I opened my eyes, there was only blue sky and treetops
lazing past me.
This
is the sensation Unafraid gives. The wind-synth drone is
the warm amniotic current that bears you along. Soft burbling
sounds, some bordering on mechanical, some like the echo of a
temple bell, all reminiscent of water, ease past. Hints of sound
peer out of the flow...the aforementioned voices, half-heard through
the veil of the last few moments of sleep; here and there, the
calls of birds and a far-off flute melody. There is nothing along
the way to jar the listener. There are no rough edges. There is
no need to leave the river until the end.
By
contrast, Sweven is darker and more complex, in places
pushing at the borders of musicality. Ohms plays with the listener,
offering relaxing weaves of sound one moment and edged, intrusive
composition the next. Pieces such as "Eternal Nows,"
where clattering synth riffs coexist with church-reverent voices
and electronic detritus under a bass-rumble drone and "Sonic
Wind" with its harsh, dissonant flute runs give way to the
gossamer beauty of "Nikwasi and the Immortal" and "Poetics
of Space"--but even here, sonic suggestions lurk in the far
backgrounds, continuing to challenge the listener. Sweven is
a trial by musical fire with a goblet of heavenly nectar waiting
at the end.
On
their latest release, the duo of guitarist Scott Watkins and keyboardist
Terry Furber continue Orbital Decay’s legacy of turning
out textbook Berlin School explorations. The elements are all
here in full force—tightly constructed sequencer work; fluid,
spacey synth pads; textured, manipulated guitars. Despite the
inherent basal sameness of Berlin-style work, Orbital Decay do
a superb job of adding atmosphere and aural imagery to each piece.
The title track lumbers in heavy and dramatic, powered by a hammering
bass sound like vibrating iron. Watkins’ guitar echoes and
sings across the top. Energetic spacers like “Terminal Velocity”
and “Ten Minutes to Go” brim with sci-fi soundtrack
goodness melded with a straight-on rock sensibility. "Running
Through the Fog" captures its titular feel with urgent sequencer
runs bolting along through walls of vaporous, miasmatic synth
chords. And the closing track, "Breath of the Earth,"
is a deep expedition into the depths of the style, a glorious
ride over seventeen minutes in length. In fact, the majority of
the six tracks here are long-form journeys, ten minutes long at
their lightest, that give the Decay duo ample time and space to
stretch, create and more firmly realize each piece’s individual
vision for the listener. Each is a brilliant homage to the style's
foundation while remaining new and invigorating.
I
would love to tell you how to get ahold of a copy of this superb
disk, but it was given to me by Terry Furber at The Gatherings,
and after a bit of searching on the Web, I can't figure out how
the general public gets ahold of them. I'll try an e-mail and
update this accordingly!
Christopher
Orczy, Transition
As
I was listening to Christopher Orczy’s release, Transition,
I said to my wife, “I like this. It’s not trying to
do a lot, and it’s doing it quite well.” That, I think,
neatly sums up the experience of listening to Orczy’s smooth,
warm CD. Created using a heavily processed French stand-up harmonium
from 1904, each of the four pieces here, clocking in at roughly
19 minutes apiece, moves along unhurriedly with breathy chords
calmly and patiently floating one over the other in turn. The
layers are never particularly deep or complex, but they’re
beautifully sculpted and calming and each nudges along the next
in an flowing tonal progression reminiscent of Roach’s “Quiet
Music” series. Nothing here is forced; it seems to all grow
organically, each chord existing only because the last one did.
There is the sense of the artist waiting for the next moment to
come, and then transforming that moment into sound. Transition
is a superbly non-obtrusive piece of work that dwells perfectly
in the background. Its pace, flow and inherent quietude is ideal
for breath-focused meditation. Fans of drifting, gentle ambient
need to give this a listen.
The musical
landscape of Night Heat, as crafted by Jim Brenholts
in his Rigel Orionis guise, is barren, sparse and more than a
little intimidating. It's open tundra under an uncaring sun, a
journey of a thousand tortured yet unavoidable steps. And it's
stunning. The piece kicks off with a strong tribal sensibility
with "The Damp Dessert," where potently hypnotic drums
pulse over quavering, slightly discordant synth textures. This
is music to completely lose yourself in if you dare. It's an invitation
to journey, but you know the destination will be somewhere dark
and utterly foreign. After 20 minutes of floating bliss, Brenholts
segues into the insanely and brilliantly sparse "Arctic Sunstroke."
Prior to hearing this piece, if you had suggested that I would
willingly listen to 22 minutes of nothing but a shaker, random
electronic burbles and a quietly keening synthetic wind, I would
have patted you on the head and sent you on your way. But having
listened to it, including the roughly 10-minute stretch where
it's absolutely nothing but the shaker and a very pared-down,
constant wind, I find it astonishing—you know, in a very
minimalist way. Clockwork urgency hovers in the background of
"Drastic Eventuality," a piece rife with subtlety and
suggestion. Between this and the closer, "Centrifugal,"
the disk truly enters ambient territory, where all pretension
to musicality is replaced by pure sensation, effect and the sense
of things going on at the periphery of understanding. It works
better in "Eventuality" than in "Centrifugal,"
which is 25 minutes of murmuring voices, barely audible drones
and dark atmospherics. Length is one of Night Heat's
greatest assets. These long-form pieces allow the listener to
fall fully into and appreciate Brenholts' minimalist complexities.
Each piece is hypnotic in its own way, complete journeys in and
of themselves, pieced together to create a mind-massaging, cooly
immersive experiece overall.
OTI,
Recollection
From the first moment, when the sounds of a scratchy vinyl record
and distant bells form a subtle beat, it’s clear the OTI’s
Recollection is a classic-style ambient piece, more feeling
than mundane musicality. Puporting to be a retelling in sound
of the composer’s life, Recollection wrings deep
emotional content from minimalistic output. Impressions built
from a wide variety of sounds drift by on cool drone-waves like
REM-sleep glimpses of the world. And it’s not always a pleasant
world. Children’s voices in "Large Open Spaces"
become sharp and grating, with a sense of something being wrong
as they ride exquisitely over a New Age keyboard melody. It’s
a perfect juxtaposition. Mocking electronic laughter in "Another
kind" is genuinely disturbing. Across its length, Recollection
moves through spaces both light and dark. The sound selections
are intriguing and immersive; the drones that form the musical
base are elegantly minimalist and waver between calming and foreboding.
This is a CD worth repeated deep listens. OTI has put an amazing
amount of detail into it.
If this CD
were an old vinyl album, the two sides would be labeled "Dark"
and "Light." Pacifici neatly divides the six major tracks
here right in the middle--three to either side. The first half
comprises three dark, drone-based and slow-moving excursions.
Deep sound layers float murkily one over the other. "When
It Came," the second track, is especially effective in immersing
the listener in its shadowy, otherworldly atmosphere.
With "Undercurrents,"
Pacifici lightens the mood slightly and brings rhythmic elements
to push back the drone. Toward the end of the final major cut,
"Epilogue," the mood begins an easy spiral back down
to subtlety, making for a complete journey. The almost gratuitous,
42-second piano piece, "Outro," actually puts a nice
bit of musical punctuation on the collection.
"Float
Zone" is definitely worth a listen.
Craig
Padilla and Zero Ohms, Path of Least Resistance
In the not-so-distant
future, when interstellar travel is common, “Path of Least
Resistance” by Craig Padilla and Zero Ohms will undoubtedly
be the in-flight music on every expedition. For those of us sadly
stuck in the merely jet-powered present, this CD keenly describes
in music what such a trip might be like, from exhilaration to
anticipation. Moving easily between zero-g spacey drifts and sequencer-tinged
ramjet drivers fueled by inspiration from Jarre and Tangerine
Dream, “Path” is a journey worth taking often.
It begins
with the three-part suite “Leaving This Shadow of Heaven,”
easing the listener into the journey. For 10 minutes lush pads
ripple and flow around Ohms’ breathy wind-synth work. Sequencer
trills dot the background like the glimmer of distant stars. The
whole piece builds toward a sense of anticipation, moves through
the rush of a graceful takeoff, and then folds back into a hushed
sense of floating in a warm, deep void.
Then it’s
time to fire the retro rockets. “The Everything That Is
No Thing” pays superb tribute to early electronic pioneers.
It owes more than a bit to Jarre’s “Oxygene”
and late-70s Tangerine Dream. (“Sorcerer,” anyone?)
The synth-twangy bassline and analog-style twiddles bring nostalgic
glory to the trip. Truly a highlight of the CD.
As an aside,
the titles on this CD are magnificent. Seems a silly thing to
point out, but they’re simply poetic. And “Hollow
Dreams of Worlds Passed” is the best of them. The track
itself has a certain poesy as well—a quietly drifting lyricism
bolstered by bass drones that swell, rumble and fade. It’s
the feel of cutting the engines and easing into orbit around some
distant, vapor-clouded planet.
From there
the drift goes on. “Realizing the Infinite” is a swirl
of synth that spreads out to sculpt a vision of unfathomable distances.
“Frequencies of Life” is another multi-part suite.
It begins with deep bass drones that give way to a burbling, hypnotic
electronic agenda as readings are taken and the probes descend.
Dark spreads of synth pads convey a feeling of searching for something...anything.
And then, out of the robotic twiddle and drone the tone softens
and suddenly, the soft chirping of birds. We’ve found a
habitable place. In fact, this segment of the suite is titled
“Just Like Home.” The journey is coming to a close.
Calm warmth infuses the music, and a feeling of hope emerges.
This melds into the energetic sequencer work of “The One”
with Ohms’ flute coming in to sing a vivid description of
the new landscape.
The title
track, which closes the CD, features Ohms’ gorgeous Native
American flute over quiet drums and Padilla’s easy electronic
washes. It’s the sense of sitting on a high hill on some
far-off world, watching a pair of reddish suns lower into a multicolored
sea. It is a deep breath of new air, and a sleep full of lush
dreams beneath alien stars.
For the earthbound,
“Path of Least Resistance” is a ticket to the journey
of a lifetime. This a full, richly realized bit of spacemusic
that warrants many, many repeat plays. Kudos to Padilla and Ohms
for creating such a magnificent voyage.
The thing
to bear in mind with this CD is that it's a sort of ex tempore
soundtrack for a video presentation, informed and formed by
the images on screen. That being said, there's both a great on-the-fly
feel and solid structure here, with electronic knob-twiddling
meshing with live flute puncutation. It's a great background listen,
a hypnotic wash with rising moments of awareness. The best compliment
I can give this CD is that knowing it's a soundtrack, it made
me want to see what was happening onscreen.
Listening
to Jura is very much like getting a brain massage from
velvet-coated and slightly chilly fingers--it is at once relaxing
and scintillating. Built atop a ululating drone that seems to
know exactly what your backbrain needs to hear to make
it completely relax, Jura is an exercise in minimalism
punctuated with moments of straightforward melody. The drone wavers
and floats, virtually unchanging, broken only by a short handful
of touches on the piano that rear up and repeat intermittently.
Radium
88, Only Science Can Tell Us the Truth
The
formula at work on Radium 88’s Only Science Can Tell
Us the Truth isn’t all that new—juxtapose high-BPM
backbeats, electronic percussion and twiddly sequencer runs over
slower, classical-tinted melodies—but it’s done here
with such ease, beauty and attention to craft that the Enigma-school
concept can be overlooked. “Let There Be Light” sets
the overall tone with a slow synth intro that builds before the
first gentle piano notes drop into the mix. The sequencer picks
up the contrasting pace, string-toned synths drift in, and the
formula clicks into place. Several tracks featuring gorgeous vocals
from Jema Davies. Her voice floats easily across the underlying
melodies, enhancing the slow-over-fast motif. “Two Four
Sorrow” makes superb use of this dichotomy, with mournful
vocals rolling like a wave superimposed on a boppy, new-wave-inspired
backdrop thick with electronic percussion—I’d call
it the highlight of the disk. The sad-ballad piano of “Your
Message Has Been Erased” would stand nicely on its own,
but thrives when placed against a backdrop of choral synth chords
and an easy backbeat. I quite enjoy Only Science...,
but I do find that trying to listen to the CD straight through
becomes something of an exercise in sameness. There’s not
a lot of variety track to track and the sense of “didn’t
I just hear this?” crops up frequently. But thrown it into
a mix or put it in shuffle mode and each time a piece from this
disk comes up, it’s immediately engaging, fresh and effective.
Only Science Can Tell Us the Truth is a disk well worth
owning.
Inspired by
a trip to the Canadian Rockies, Colin Rayment has produced a splendid
blend of drifting soundscapes and uptempo electronic excursions
in his latest work, Continental Divide. The first two
cuts, "Glade" and "Continental Divide," showcase
what the listener is in for. The former is a short, sighing introduction
that gives way to the bolder orchestral feel of the title track,
nine and a half minutes of exultation. From there Rayment delves
into a quieter place tinged with the essence of science fiction,
emerging full-force on "Num-Ti-Jah" and again on "Marble
Canyon." While the spacier pieces, such as "Repose"
and "Damlan," are very well done, Rayment truly hits
his stride when he goes for a fuller sound and drives up the beats.
Rayment credits
his friend Ash Stark for his bass guitar work on the album, and
I concur. Stark adds an architect's hand, creating a steady rhythmic
foundation for Rayment's keyboard explorations. Stark takes a
front seat on the reflective "Repose," lending a solid
subtlety to the piece's gentle beauty.
In
his press materials for Flow Mingled Down, Resonant Drift
(secret identity: Bill Olien) cites such influences as Steve Roach,
Tangerine Dream, and John Serrie--and then, on the album, proceeds
to pay superb homage to them. This far-ranging disk opens with
the TD-inspired "Until," which bounces in on a twangy
sequencer line and adds ever-thickening layers of e-music memes
for a welcoming familarity. Olien then wanders into deeper, more
ethereal zones that blend classic spacemusic airiness with the
darker touches of Roachian soundworlds such as SpiritDome
with the title track, followed by "Is This the Dream?"
and "Indescribable." He touches the depths of darkdrift
with "Within, Still," which carries burbling echoes
of Brannan Lane's more shadowy creations. From there, it's back
toward the light with the easy, floating pads of "Moment"
and the energizing old-school funk of "Spiral Nowhere,"
where Olien once again invokes the spirit of TD before throttling
back down through the gentle track "Moment Again," and
into the grim-toned, beat-driven and compelling electronica of
"Yearning." Olien brings the disk to a close with "Ground
of All"--probably the darkest of any track here, heightened
in spots by an oddly effective sound like a powersaw ripping through
a 2x4--and the contrasting "Sorrow and Love," which
rides in on soft, breathy synth pads and concludes with a trickle
of water for added calm.
An
excellent offering from Resonant Drift, and well worth looking
into.
There
is a distinctly cinematic quality to the pieces that make up Markus
Reuter’s excellent work, Trepanation. Each track
has a character all its own and creates a strong, layered mental
image through sound—fully realized scenes in search of their
visuals yet existing perfectly without them. Reuter glides along
his music’s narrative path from dark to light, beginning
with the hammer-fall piano of “The Key to Conscience”
and culminating in the meditative grace of “Number of the
Mind.” Along the way, Reuter easily blends deft musicianship
and a range of instrumentation with environmental and displaced
sounds—children’s laughter, distant conversations,
or the darkly authoritarian voice giving wordless commands in
the slightly disturbing “Preparation.” His layers
are thick and elegantly constructed; in any given moment there
are a good number of things going on sonically, all demanding
attention and all quite worthy of it. Reuter’s at his best
here in “3 to 4 Days Before the Echo,” an immersive,
stunning 15-minute piece that pairs deep-space swirls with savage,
sudden punches of percussion to superb dramatic effect; “Beat,”
which slips in with calming, muted vibraphone-style tones and
an easy rhythm; and the aforementioned “Number of the Mind,”
a spiritual and mental balm that moves along slowly to bring this
superb listening experience to a refreshing close
If
you're a fan of
Steve Roach, listening to the sampler "Space and Time:
An Introduction to the Soundworlds of Steve Roach," is like
getting together with friends you haven't seen in a while. It's
good to see them, good memories come flooding back, and some of
them look better than you remember. And if you don't happen to
own everything this prolific artist has put out, those friends
bring some of their friends; good-looking acquaintances who you
immediately get along with and want to find out more about.
Pulling pieces from 13 different albums and seamlessly melding
them into a 74-minute whole, "Space and Time" makes
either a perfect introduction, as the subtitle suggests, or a
delicious retrospective for seasoned listeners. Drawing a continuous
line through rhythmic tribal works such as "Early Dawn"
from "Early Man" and "The Calling" from "Trance
Spirits" to soft atmospheric swells such as "Almost
Touching" from "Streams & Currents" and the
closing track "Nameless" from 2003's "Mystic Chords
and Sacred Spaces," the CD is less of a listen than a journey—and
one that bears going on again and again. Given the range of styles
and impressions presented, this disk will surely hook the curious
newcomer.
For the seasoned Roachian traveler, however, the brevity of the
individual pieces can be a touch maddening. Outside of the 12-minute
slice from "Structures from Silence" and the 7-minute
peek at the upcoming "Fever Dream" (more on that in
a moment), four and a half minutes is the most we get of any single
track. That's tough to take if, like me, you've got a personal
favorite listed here—"A Circular Ceremony" from "Dreamtime
Return"—and just as you're sliding into it, it fades out.
But the blending is so smooth, and each piece moves so gently
and organically one to the next, the irritation quickly fades
and we're back on the journey.
The real draw for the veteran is "Fever Glimpse," the
sneak preview of "Fever Dream." By itself well worth
the $5 sticker price on this CD, "Glimpse" pulls the
drum-based intensity of "Trance Spirits" into the dark
swirls of "InnerZone," intermittently laced with an
insistent bass riff (on guitar at some points?). Call it deep
funk, tribal groove...whatever you call it, it does exactly what
Roach
intends—whets the slavering appetite for this next full-length
release.
Whether you buy this for yourself to add an interesting blended
work to your collection, or for a friend who hasn't quite figured
out what the big deal about Steve Roach is, "Space and Time"
is an offer you shouldn't pass up.
Steve
Roach, Fever Dreams Part One
You certainly
can't blame Steve Roach for wanting to get his funk on, even if
it's just a little funk. After a series of successful CDs exploring
rhythmless soundworlds, Roach returns to the beat with Fever
Dreams Part One, where familiar elements of his recent recordings
hook back up with the subtle tribal percussion elements from earlier
pieces such as Dreamtime Return, Early Man, and Truth
and Beauty.
Roach has
always worked pure magic with the tribal sensibility, and Fever
Dreams is no exception. Here, soundworlds play a grounding
role for the bass and drum loops that take center stage. Each
long track--the shortest of the four running 10 and a half minutes--mixes
laid-back grooves with a certain sinister air--that serpentine,
entrance-to-the-lower-world feel that while at times dark is nonetheless
forcibly soothing. Bass guitar from Patrick O'Hearn and Will Merkle
nicely anchor the first two tracks and lend that tinge of funk
that separates the CD from the latest stuff. Shamanic percussionist
Byron Metcalf adds frame drum on the last two tracks, including
the nicely understated "Tantra Mantra," which is bound
to dredge some primitive memory up out of your subconscious.
Kudos also
to photographer Michel Noel for the wonderful wraparound cover
art that truly sets the feel for the disjointed journey that lies
within.
While at times
Fever Dreams feels like something you've heard before,
some previously visited soundworld but with drums, it is nevertheless
another rich addition to Roach's body of work--a piece that looks
both forward and back at the same time. Watch for two more parts
of Fever Dream across 2004.
With this
second offering in the Fever Dreams trilogy, Roach goes deep into
the collective primitive psyche--perhaps as deep as he's ever
gone--conjuring a thick, lush, intricate weave of tribal, holotropic
grooves wrapped around Byron Metcalf's relentlessly perfect shamanic
percussion and spiked with hauntingly keening vocals from Jennifer
Grais. As this 72-minute story unfolds, Fever Dreams II
guides the listener through some of the most vivid, affecting
soundworlds Roach has ever created.
The journey
starts suddenly, with the abrupt, growling opening chord of "The
Wounded Healer" greeting the listener with a dissonant, disjointed
feel. There is the sense of something being not quite right, of
being fragmented. "Healer" eventually winds into a smoother
feel before giving way to the slow,. shuffling dance of "Energy
Well." This percussion-driven piece moves from a tribal-drumming
feel to a more frenetic, sequenced mode, building and enervating.
It is unstoppably empowering. And then, as it reaches a truly
high point, it bursts, releasing the listener, and ushering in
what is a genuinely amazing piece of music.
"Opening
the Space" simply astounds from the start--more so knowing
that the only instruments on the track are a well-processed six-foot
agave didgeridoo and Grais' emotive, wordless chanting. Plaintive
and prayerful, it draws the listener deeper into the experience.
The didgeridoo gives way to Metcalf's shamanic frame drum as it
takes center on "Heart's Core." Grais keeps the prayer-feel
flowing on top of Roach's dark sound-sworls as this one wends
its way deeper into the soul. It has a very distinct potency.
It is, in a word, transportive.
Fever Dreams
II jumps back and forth between powerfully beat-driven soundworlds
and more flow-oriented grooves. "Fires Burning" might
have been designed to let your heart rate slow back down. The
drums slow as dark, lush tendrills of sound--Roach's "nomadic
grooves"--rise softly upward. "Metamorphosis" gently
builds , a careful mix of intense drumming and guitar atmospheres.
It straddles both of the musical worlds here with a decidedly
positive air about it. The Healer's story--and recovery--culminates
in "Holding the Space," 20 minutes of glorious Roach/Metcalf
shamanic alchemy. Beautifully, the whole thing ends on a fading,
rising note. The journey and the healing are complete, and the
listener is ready to hit "play" again immediately.
Make no mistake:
This is a landmark recording, the tribal-ambient work by which
all others will be judged going forward. This is Steve Roach at
his absolute best, putting forward a geniunely brilliant, emotive,
and moving piece of work.
This most
decidedly a Hypnagogue Highly Recommended CD.
In
this last installment of the Fever Dreams trilogy, Steve
Roach smoothly blends tribal intentions with electro-funk grooves
to create a journeying soundtrack for the 21st-century wired shaman.
The ride opens
with the pulse and flow of "Electro-Erotic," familiar
Fever Dreams territory, with quavering guitar sighs,
slow-beat drums and subtle hints of the more bare-bones, pure
electronic augmentation to come. It ferries us into “Meta-Sense,”
one of the best individual pieces to come out of the Timeroom
in a while. It is an 18-minute trip—with all that word entails—
through a bouncing analog rhythm spiced with long, sustained synth
pads and tidbits of electronic percussion. A psychotropic, hallucinogenic,
hypnotic journey at speed to the lower world and back. “Meta-Sense”
gives way to “Polyopsia,” which echoes the percussive
urgency of “Energy Well” from FDII and directs
the disk to a shadowy place. That feel carries through the slow
drift of “Pulse Current” and lightens up across the
breadth of its faster-paced follow-up, “Pulse Impulse.”
After the surging urgency of "Borderlands," "Moonshroud"
rolls in, picking up the bass feel from the early tracks of FDI,
a callback that rises like primitive memory. (Admittedly, it’s
probably easier to note if you listen to all the FD disks in succession,
as I recently did.) That same bass line can be sensed, albeit
manipulated, twisted, and drenched in atmospheric electronic murk,
in the closing track, "Phantom Fever Rising." Halfway
through, this piece strikes for the surface, beginning to shimmer
and drawing quiet breath and bringing the first disk to a meditative
end.
The second
disk--the end of the journey, if you will--is an hour-plus glide
through shamanic soundscapes courtesy of Byron Metcalf's drumming
and burbling aural imagery from Roach. I'm tempted to say it's
Metcalf's show as the drums take the forefront and hold their
place, but under the beats Roach is again blending touches and
feels not just from the Fever Dream disks before, but
from his entire arsenal of sounds, breeding an odd sense of familiarity
while at the same time taking the listener to entirely new realms.
The point, really, is to simply surrender to "Melted Mantra"
and let it guide you where it will. Enjoy the ride.
This double-CD
set is a perfect close to the series, and it will garner a lot
of repeat play.
I will confess
to have something of a predilection for the immersion
series. immersion : one looped for nine straight hours
during my daughter's birth and was the perfect accompaniment to
the event, bringing palpable quiet and ease in the wake of labor
pains and providing a soft, breathy aural cushion for the little
girl's arrival. And so I expected quite a bit from its followup.
No need to worry. immersion : two takes the deep-drift
mantle laid down by its predecessor and moves the form and the
series forward. The sole long-form piece, the aptly titled "artifact
ghost," moves through its 73 minutes like a half-glimpsed
parade of wandering spirits or the etherea of fading dreams that
float around us in half-waking moments. The music affects the
space around the listener sonically and temporally; time slows
almost to the point of stopping and moments are lost, given over
to the flow and the warmth of Roach's textures. The air shifts
and calms in its wake, and perception changes. An awareness of
spirit rises as the listener is lulled ever downward into the
self in a sort of coaxed meditation. Given the continuous play
called for on the CD's inside cover, immersion : two
stands a fair chance of inducing an out-of-body experience as
the listener gives in to the urge to follow Roach's sonic ghosts
as they glide and dance.
Both editions* of the immersion series are Hypnagogue
Highly Recommended CD's.
*I
bought immersion : one when I wasn't actively reviewing, and so
haven't covered it here. I don't like to "backtrack"
here. But needless to say, it's worth picking up.
Steve
Roach, Byron Metcalf & Mark Seelig, Mantram Roach
and Obmana
Cut from the
same sessions that produced Fever Dreams II, this disc
could be considered FD's mellower cousin. "Mantram"
is a cool, calm, beat-enhanced exploration into creating a sort
of sonic mandala--a sacred image--through music. It is a perfect
CD for meditation. Steve Roach lays down the soundworld skeleton;
Byron Metcalf pumps life into it with shamanic drumming; and Mark
Seelig makes it breathe and dance with a beautiful selection of
flutes. The eight pieces here, identified solely by number, are
characterized by a gentle build and a perfectly unhurried feel.
The standout track here is "Seven," where Metcalf's
frame drum takes command of both the music and the listener. Give
in to it. Each strike on the drumhead reverberates to the soul.
You will emerge breathless from this track. Do yourself a favor:
Press "repeat" when you load this CD and just let it
run. It melds beautifully into continuous play and brings a palpable
serenity to the environment. This is bound to become a favorite.
If
you put two half-mad alchemists in one room with all their gear
and leave them alone for an hour, something’s bound to happen.
If those alchemists happen to be sonic masters Steve Roach and
Vidna Obmana, the result is Spirit Dome, a live, improvised
73-minute excursion into dark organic spaces and breathtaking
musical complexity.
Recorded straight
to master at 1 am as the pair were preparing for a concert appearance,
Spirit Dome wends its way downward through the listener’s
consciousness into the primordial, serpentine landscape Roach
and Obmana have explored in past collaborations such as Well
of Souls and InnerZone. Together they sculpt a dimly
lit pathway to the lower world—a journey rich in layered
sounds and aural imagery. There is depth here, and distance; there
is grace and disturbance; there is peace and profound unease;
all existing perfectly in the same space.
It’s
important to keep in mind that this is a live recording, with
no dubbing or enhancing done in post production. This is Roach
and Obmana setting off on their own, pure, riffing off each other,
pulling skeins of sound together on the fly and weaving them into
a lushly dark tapestry. It is a testament to the near-ideal chemistry
the two musicians have developed over the course of their partnership.
The piece develops naturally under their skilled hands, growing
and recombining easily as it moves onward, elements dropping in
and quickly finding their place in the grand scheme. Drums work
their way into the flow, bringing a sense of tribe, and playful
electronic twitches dot the rolling landscape like a challenge.
What would
have made this perfect is if someone had thought to roll video.
Janet
Robbins, Carrying the Bag of Hearts
In the liner
notes of this short, three-piece CD, composer Janet Robbins mentions
that she plans to send out such disks "every few months."
While it makes for an interesting marketing plan, the work would
have to be much more compelling to get me interested in following
along on the journey. Carrying the Bag of Hearts is a good
effort, but nothing here stands out enough to make me want to
hear more. She has a good handle on a solid spacemusic style,
and perhaps 30 minutes is not enough time, but after an initial
listen, I had to be reminded that this one was still on the pile
to be reviewed.
I first got
this CD along with a couple other Ajna Music releases, and I listened
to the others before getting to Salma Har. To be honest,
I think it biased my initial opinion because after experiencing
Donna De Lory and Sada Sat Kaur, Rossi seemed to come off like
the forgotten cousin of the family. Months later (and I apologize
to Tom and the whole Ajna team for the delay), Salma Har
turns out to be a very lovely piece of music, if not the strongest
this label has turned out. Problem was, my focus had been very
much on the vocal aspects of the disk, and truly, that's the least
of what's going on here. Rossi has a smooth voice--almost too
smooth, because it tends to disappear a bit under the excellent
instrumentation. Like other Ajna releases, this is spiritual music,
based in everything from Sanskrit to yogic chanting, then flavored
with spices from around the globe. More than anything else, it's
those spices that make this disk stand out. In particular, "Cherisa"
is a jubiiation, built on kalimba, drums, and winds, that injects
itself deep into your soul and forces it to rejoice. "Resolutions,"
which follows, brings the spirit slowly back to ground. These
two cuts are the highlights on Salma Har.
Traditional
Sikh chants get a few interesting twists on Sada Sat Kaur's first
album. The beauty and strength of devotion of Kaur's 30-year career
as a kirtan singer are on display here, but--what's this? Pedal
steel guitar? Indeed. Across the breadth of this CD Kaur plays
with the style, bringing outside influences to this ancient music
and making it work in pure harmony. The CD opens traditionally
with the lovely title track, and then, bit by bit Kaur slides
in the new elements. The second track, "Adi Shakti"
is the best here, amazingly uplifting from the first note, with
mind-soothing harmonies. And "Bolo Ram," where that
yee-haw country vibe slips in on pedal steel and a bluegrass singalong
feel, will set even the darkest heart to dancing.
This may be
Kaur's first excursion into a recording studio, but here's hoping
it is the first of many. This CD is a delightful gift to the public,
and a wonderfully accessible introduction to this musical style.
Sada Sat
Kaur, Shashara
Sada Sat Kaur
returns with her second album to continue putting the funk into
your yoga routine. Sat Kaur combines traditional Gurmakhi mantras
with musical influences from around the globe, from body-swaying
club-style beats to quiet, introspective acoustic guitar. Her
voice floats like silk on still water, and the cuts move from
soothing to envigorating and enlivening without ever feeling disjointed.
If you haven't tried this--or any of Ajna's "metrospiritual"
offerings yet--come on in...the joy is fine.
Sensitive
Chaos, Leak
I
like being pleasantly surprised by the music I receive to review.
Often that surprise comes because the music belies the presentation.
That is to say, the packaging, which is part of the overall experience
of any CD, doesn't raise my hopes for what's inside. Without meaning
to be insulting, I have to say that this was true of Sensitive
Chaos' new CD, Leak. The cover logo, at first glance,
looks like it was roughed out on an Etch-A-Sketch—quickly.
So when I reluctantly loaded the disk hoping for the best, the
effect of the music was, to pun, amplified, and in a very good
way. On Leak Jim Combs delivers a package of equal parts
funk, world beats and jazz influences wrapped around a solid electronic
core. The title track plods in, quaintly uncertain aboard an ungainly
rhythm that slowly gains support from a quiet melody rising beneath
it. These meld and smooth; shuffling percussion eases in; and
then, from a distance comes Brian Good’s flowing saxophone
line, elevating the piece to a feel reminiscent of Shadowfax.
It does take the track six minutes to get to this point, but listening
to it is like watching a building go up in time lapse. And once
it’s there, it’s elegant. The ride continues with
“Android Cat Dreams of Mice,” a nice fusion of jazz
and hypnosis that gets a lift from a thick, funk-inspired bass
line. Good comes back on “Starry Night,” which is
as close to a straight-up jazz tune as you get on Leak.
It’s a sweet listen, gliding along on that sax and a bouncing
beat backed with hiccuppy electronic augmentation. A distorted
computer voice welcomes listeners to the upbeat, lilting track,
“Painting Earthtones in Orbit.” The voice returns
at the end of “Nightshift at the Baby Mecha Nursery,”
a fun piece working from a tinkling melody upward into a nicely
interwoven construct that subsequently unwinds itself back toward
simplicity. (Whereupon we get the voice again, speaking as if
to one of the robot babies—a very nice touch.
Each track is fairly long, giving Combs ample time to fully explore
his ideas and possibilities. And he spends the time wisely. Leak
is a very pleasant surprise and will definitely garner repeat
listens.
Here's your
pitchline for this CD: Hypnotic minimalism recorded in an empty
grain silo.
Warren Rivera
and James Sidlo hit the improvisation trail and bring back a series
of thickly layered, engaging drone-based tunes that maximize the
natural reverb of the empty silo. (No, really!) Clear, repetitive
licks off their guitars rise up out of the dense sound-river that
forms the base of their explorations. This is at once a soothing
and challenging CD. In rare instances, such as on "memory
game," the reverb, in conjunction with percussive elements,
wreaks a touch of havoc, seeming to pit competing rhythms against
one another.
"therapy
refuge" is a great opening track. It pulls the listener under
and holds him there. From drifty simplicity to industialesque
borderline noise, Silo 10 makes for an interesting ride well worth
repeat listens.
Sky
Burial, Of the First Light
Lovers
of drone-based ambient would do well to take a listen to Sky Burial’s
Of the First Light. Dense layers of processed guitars
flirt with the borderline of noise and industrial without ever
stepping over the line. Of the First Light is labyrinthine,
dark and yet at the same time sonically soothing—the feel
of the drones grabbing hold of the mind and folding it back, opening
it to the music’s effect. There is a distinct spatial sensibility
across the breadth of this CD, a sharply delineated foreground,
background, and distance, with things going on constantly at all
levels. Of the First Light is a steady recording built
on a unique foundation and identity. There’s not much differentiation
from track to track, but it’s all solidly done and it maintains
its thick, grim-edged tone the whole way through. A intriguing
listen that demands close attention and repeat play.
Slow
Dancing Society, The Sound of Lights When Dim
Drew
Sullivan, the man behind Slow Dancing Society, melds soulful guitar
melodies with lush synth textures on the Hidden Shoal Recordings
release The Sound of Lights When Dim. Sullivan's graceful
guitar work is the very solid foundation of this CD as he plays
with a slow, sweeping style that perfectly augments the easy swirl
of his deep electronic layers. The pairing of analog and digital
instrumentation is seamless.
Particularly
effective is the combination of the fourth and fifth tracks, "A
Song to Help You Remember to Forget" and "The Warm Familiar
Smell of September." "Song" opens with a simple,
infectious pizzicato rhythm on guitar over a swirling backdrop,
both of which are then punctuated with a sad guitar melody that
rolls in absolutely dripping with the feel of a recent breakup.
"September" plays off a beautiful melody on acoustic
guitar—the kind of thing that would be right at home on
a Windham Hill release from the '80s—and builds up from
there. The two closing tracks, "How Life Was Meant to Be
Lived" and "A Lonesome Settlement," get a helping
hand from Craig Ferguson's gorgeous pedal steel guitar work. "Life"
takes its foundation from reverential church-organ chords, then
adds bits of electronic noise and burble as percussion and as
a reminder that yes, this is an album of electronic music, no
matter how good the guitar is.
I
have to add that the last two tracks are so similar in execution
that I had to go back and make sure I hadn't accidentally downloaded
the same track twice. Now I just think of them as one long track.
I
look forward to more music from Slow Dancing Society. This intial
release is the promise of good things to come.
DM Winn, under
the name Sonic Torture Methods, has turned out a decent suite
of dark ambient pieces with The Victim's Shudder. After
an inauspicious start, he hits his stride with the fourth cut,
"Lucretia," which is wonderfully gothic and grim and
tinged with a moody beauty. Its follow-up, "Eve of Perdition,"
features nice, inobtrusive vocal samples. The CD ends with "Mourning
Glory," which at times approaches a level of bombast but
salvages itself at the end by settling into a quieter, more reflective
tone that's more appealing in its comparative simplicity.
More information
is available from God
is Myth records.
SourceCodeX,
Codex Hypnos
This CD is
a testament to the growing do-it-yourself mindset in ambient music.
Self-admittedly more of an enthusiast than an ambient artist,
SourceCodeX (secret identity John W. Patterson) went forth with
nothing more than a few computer programs and taught himself to
make electronic music. And the results, as gathered on this freshman
effort, make for a workable piece of dark listening. Patterson
carries the listener through tense, beatless soundscapes that
are unrelenting in their grimness. The drones are soothing in
a disturibing kind of way, and Patterson has layered his sounds
very well. There's a lot going on below the surface. It must be
said, however, that while what he has put together is fairly good,
nothing on the CD really stands out. But given this platform of
confidence to launch from--along with the handy whenever-you-feel-you're-ready
availability of making e-music--I rather expect to hear more and
better from SourceCodeX.
SourceCodeX,
Primordial Lands Arise
The first time I reviewed work by SourceCodeX (aka John W. Patterson),
it was his rookie work and I noted that I was interested in hearing
what he would do further down the road, and how far from the world
of “look, my computer has a synthesizer” mindset he
could move. While admittedly still addicted to the soft synth,
Patterson’s sophomore work definitely shows improvement.
Primordial Lands Arise is a dark CD of grim-edged soundworlds
formed of falling tones crafted into landscapes covered in murk
and unpleasant emotions. It’s almost strictly atmospheric
with no real pretension to being music per se; but Patterson excels
at creating mental pictures. In many cases, though, he overdoes.
The bullfrog-sounding croaks in "InnerWorldStopTime Remix"
rapidly come to grate on the nerves. The over-echoed vocal on
"SilbeallahEblis" could have been more subtle. In many
spots, though, Patterson gets it right—and it’s when
he’s not using a heavy hand. “AlphaOmegaAdInfinitum”
coasts quietly along on graceful drifts with just a hint of darkness
at the edges; the hypnotic pulse of “DroneMass” feels
like an on-off switch for the conscious mind; and the vaguely
disturbing but superbly constructed “HellDreamVimana”
pulls many of Patterson’s existing elements together for
a 10-minute nightmare that’s the highlight of the disk.
Patterson also gets points for showmanship. His tunes are listed
on the inset as "Visitations herein"; the print on the
disk warns that he's not responsible for "blown speakers
or shattered objects" and that the disk may generate alpha
waves and thus the listener should not "drive on long trips
or operate heavy machinery." All in all, Primordial Lands
Arise is a very strong effort from an improving sonic craftsman.
Worth a listen if you're heavily atmospheric, drone-based ambient.
Tim
Story’s newest, astonishing compilation of sonic portraits,
Buzzle, is unique, complex, soothing, envigorating, and
perfectly constructed. It is a mix of downtempo beats and lounge-inspired
etherea fleshed out with intriguing electronic treatments. Story
has opened the big bag of sounds and pulled out some new, unusual
and perfectly effective elements that give Buzzle its
incredible depth and character.
“rota” starts the ride by combining a slick groove
and striding bass line with a guitar riff that feels like it was
lifted straight from a 60’s spy movie. Beneath it all is
a fuzz-tinged foundation of densely layered sound and percussion.
Story’s bass playing takes center stage on many of the tracks
here, and it’s a joy to listen to.
The CD moves into “prelude to biting,” a slow, meditative
conjunction leading to “decelerate or fasten,” which
moves back into the lounge feel with a jazzy beat laced around
a contemplative melody on cello and piano as smooth as cold silk.
“monkey builderizer,” aside from having a very cool
title, is an indescribable melange of processed sounds wrapped
around a funky bass walk. a quiet mantra invoking you to “be
a monkey builderizer” slides in like hypnotic suggestion.
on “pol teesh” an upbeat, infectious synth melody
bops along over electronic bedrock that swells and crackles beneath
it. The pace slows with “otherize” and the elegantly
moody “dust bale hole,” where Story’s piano
work again takes center stage over film-noir drum brushes, fretless
bass accents and subtle electronic punctuation. The bass-driven
palate cleanser “cafe kaputt” ushers listeners into
the melancholy jazz feel of “the woman singing,” a
beautiful track that glides on piano and hand percussion. “albacranky”
is another brief, elegantly simple bridge, crossing over to the
slow groove of “you are patient,” where acoustic guitar
eases to the forefront, adding texture and grace.
Story then takes “Something Happened Here” from his
collaboration with Hans-Joaquim Roedelius, Lunz, and
remixes it by blending in the Buzzle sound palette. Electro-buzzes
and hard drums dance around the easy piano melody.
And then there’s my personal favorite: “yeh!”
where thick, grim and fuzzy synth chords shift and slide across
a nonsenical-sounding song belted out with pure innocence by daughter
Anna Story (with an assist from a bit of sound manipulation),
each repetition tagged with a hearty “yeh!” and helped
along with more of dad’s superb bass work. It’s wildly
engaging.
Having dissected Buzzle track by track, let me cap this review
by saying that I can’t stop listening to it. Individually,
each song is incredible, full of depth and richness. Together,
they are a perfectly constructed suite of eminently listenable
music and a seamless, engaging journey. Simply the best CD I’ve
heard in quite some time.
Perhaps it's
just because I'm a long-time Mike Oldfield fan, but I can't help
but hear bursts of his influence across the course of Systems
Theory's very listenable Soundtracks... The strong opening
cut, "Green Miata Baja Bound" boasts a guitar riff so
Oldfield-ish that I initially wondered if it was sampled. "Four
Piece Suit," which winds its way through the noted number
of musical personality phases, feels a bit like 'Northstar"--and
finishes up, in the section called "Solar Flared Trousers,"
by grabbing the listener's attention and forcibly holding it there.
In other places Systems Theory show a style and sound strictly
their own, and it's a damn fine style and sound. Soundtracks...
moves with no discernible effort from jazzy riffs to easy ambience
to flat-out potent rock moments. "Water Through Fingers"
and "Zero Sum Equation," with its sudden midstream shift,
are also highlights here, and the moody "Last Letters from
Stalingrad," with flashes of Tangerine Dream brilliance,
is a perfect closer. A delight to listen to, and definitely worth
repeat plays.
Pleasant in
its minimalist simplicity but packed with bits of sonic candy,
Extreme Scenic Route is a very good CD for background or
deep listening--with one track being a notable exception. Tagg
lays down nicely layered, tone-rich drones that shift and waver
under a sure hand. His style is hypnotic, unhurried, and organic.
Touches of percussion come in without disturbing the surface,
without breaking the immersion. This is music that becomes subdermal,
as good ambient should, and blends with breathing. Even the comparatively
upbeat "Children Throwing Stones," with its palpable
beat and tasty sound processing, slips neatly into place. The
one misstep here is the jarring 40-second "Interlude,"
which rips into the flow like a runaway bagpipe with an attitude
problem. I'm sure that, thematically, Tagg sees how it fits with
the rest of the CD, but from a listening standpoint, it's a poke
in an otherwise calm and relaxed eye. But Tagg recovers to finish
off the disk with two more well-crafted ambient pieces. All in
all, Extreme Scenic Route is a solid effort well worth
listening to--just program your CD player to skip track 5.
Composer
Stephen Van Handel is taking advantage of the do-it-yourself power
of electronic music and the Internet to reissue three of his CDs:
his 1986 debut, Les Pieces Pour Le Nouveau Monde, and
the follow-ups Chiaroscuro and Pearls of the Soul.
Les Pieces
and Chiaroscuro (1992) are well-crafted pieces that showcase
Van Handel’s bridging of classical sensibilities and New
Age style. Considering, as the liner notes point out, that they
were recorded on tape, "track at a time, sound at a time,"
they come off with an astounding professionalism and excellent
quality. The music here ranges from delicately contemplative songs
to work that borders on bombastic in its intensity—pieces
that almost seem to try too hard but can still hold a listener.
In between
the two is 1989’s astounding Pearls of the Soul.
Right from the start this CD is infused with a sense of release,
playfulness, and a need to explore. Lighter by far than the other
two works, Pearls combines Asian and Native American musical styles
and blends them neatly with some experimental touches. Consider
the tiny bits of electronic percussion that flit from side to
side in the opening track, “Asha, Awake,” sounding
at first like a glitch but resolving themselves into a vital component
of the piece.
In places,
Pearls carries echoes of Shadowfax, Mike Oldfield, or
Ray Lynch, repainted with Van Handel’s personal palette
and overlaid with the constant sense that the composer is just
having a damn fine time for himself. From the drum-driven world-groove
feel of “Winds of Nazca” and the joyful “Ese
Pequeno Sentimiento de Felicidad” to the softer, more ambient
touches of “Thunder Dance” (which is too good to be
so short!) and “Listening in Ancient Caves,” this
CD is a clear labor of love and a pleasure to listen to. The only
mis-step here is the anthemic and bold “Le Triumph,”
which would have been more at home on either of the other albums.
After that somewhat tangential piece Van Handel gets back into
the perfect slot he’s created with two more New Age-tinged
pieces and then closes the work with the blessedly lovely “Solace,”
a gentle piano piece that leaves the listener wanting more--not
just of this album, but of Van Handel’s increasing mastery
of the genre. A fourth album is promised, and I look forward to
its arrival.
Intencity
Records has put together a very good Enigma-school collection
under the utterly marketable title of Spiritual Chillout.
There's enough variation in the twelve chant-and-backbeat-style
pieces here to make it listenable without succumbing to the trap
of sounding like one track playing over and over. The strong opening
piece, "Humilitas" by Lesiem, borders on being almost
too commercially friendly, but is salvaged by the lovely, soaring
vocals of Maggie Reilly, whose work in the 80s with Mike Oldfield
I loved. Mysteria's "In My Soul" follows and lays a
blues-gospel vocal sample over a sweet piano melody and truly
brings in the chill-out feel. Govinda's "Love Glitch"
and "Sky Chill" from Mysteria may soothe the spirit
but their sensual rhythms, and Dawn Marie Poccia's soft voice
on the latter, run a good chance of awakening the libido as well.
Makyo's "Chandan" lends a few minutes of trippy bliss
through Zen-like simplicity. After Eden's "Metamorphosis"
kicks up the beat a touch, the wonderful "River" by
Ikarus, one of the CD's strongest tracks, puts the groove in gear
with feel-good vocals and a sparsely lovely production that maximizes
its danceable beauty. Upanishad contributes the Middle Eastern-tinged
"Shaman Winds" to keep the upbeat vibe moving. Magna
Canta brings back the Gregorian chants with "Recrodare,"
and starts the CD's move back toward slower, gentler beats. It's
not an outstanding track, but it's purposeful in bringing the
album around. Monica Ramos' "Elements" is a workable
bit based around a harp melody that's just a step too far over
the New Age edge.
Two of the
best cuts on this CD are mantra-driven. The Essence's "You
Are Part of Everything" features the silky vocals of Charlotte
Ellis repeating the title over and over (and reminding us that
everything is part of us, too); GAIA's "Go Gently" closes
the CD with Katie Marne advising us that "Wherever you go,
go gently." Having listened to Spiritual Chillout
and fallen into its easy vibe, you will indeed go gently. A great
CD for mixes or use as an inobtrusive background--but you'll catch
yourself subconsciously rocking.
I'm beginning
to wonder if the mission statement over at Intentcity Records
includes some mention of trying to get people naked. I've noted
before that their Spiritual Chillout compliation and Govinda's
Worlds Within both have their eros-stirring moments, and
this latest offering is no exception. French Kiss is like
the soundtrack to a Sunday morning seduction. Opening with the
soulful voice of LornaLee in "Tu Es Le Seul" (which,
pardon me for saying so, sounds oddly like the new McDonald's
"I'm Lovin' It" jingle), French Kiss slides like
warm skin on silk sheets through a dozen Euro-tinged downbeat
delicacies. Urban Chill's "Good Morning Milkman," if
you'll forgive the pun, delivers a smooth vibe; the unrepentantly
sexy Govinda flavors his "C'est Nous" with Middle Eastern-tinged
violin; Mysteria's "Moon Rendezvous" is kissed with
tender vocals from Dawn Marie Poccia over a bed-rocking beat;
Le Mirage slips in with a sultry, eponymous tune carried on a
gorgeous bassline; Rohan's "Awake" is one of the highlights
here, gentle, deep, and seductive--the way it ought to be. Music,
that is. What were you thinking?
French
Kiss is
another solid collection from Intentcity, who are--in my opinion--rapidly
becoming one of the best labels for world-tinged chill. Check
them out at their Web
site.
Verplanken,
Autopsy of a Dream
This
is half of a good CD, and half of a CD that wants to be experimental
and interesting and just falls short--but at the same time, it
merits more than a single, cursory listen. THe CD starts out well,
with "Paradise," which blends a slow melody with intriguing
sound play. Verplanken places a layer of disturbance and dissonance
over the calm, which reallymakes it work. "Goodbye Paradise"
switches gears--as the CD does often--with prog-rock-influenced
guitar driving it forward over a synth backdrop. A vocal-sample
chant adds depth. "Sputnik Ghost Dance" is the best
piece here. It’s a driving, funky synth piece that feels
like very early analog stuff. Simple, repetitive, and hypnotizing,
it’s a very cool, toe-tapping listen. And it’s also
the end of the easily listenable stuff here. Beginning with "Out
of Order," Verplanken decides it’s time to go experimental.
But it goes too far. For the next five tracks, there’s squiddly
synth and torturously manic piano, random sounds clumped together
for no apparent reason, and vocal samples that repeat to point
of annoyance. A good effort that suffers from going too far afield.
There's nothing
wrong with Vietgrove's CD The Little Apocrypha. But at
the same time, there's nothing outstandingly right. It's
a well-built bit of somewhat formulaic prog rock that rides on
some some very good guitar, but each time I've listened to it,
I've had two thoughts: one, that it will not, in fact, turn into
Kansas' more obscure stuff from Leftoverture, and two,
that I keep waiting for something to pop. There's not enough differentiation
between the tracks to avoid the dreaded Didn't I Just Hear This
syndrome. "In Nos Aetas Ultima Venit?" shows a moment
or two of breaking away and gets points for suddenly developing
some funk and a grooving little bass line, but as quickly as it
appears, it flees. Good structure, good guitar, and good intentions
are here in force. But it's not enough to add up to something
that gets more than a short, casual listen after the first go-round.
If you're a big prog fan, give it a shot.
On his debut
CD, Transmuting Currents, John Vorus creates a dark,
fathomless and purely evocative soundworld that is equal parts
mystery and wonder. Unhurried and fluid, Currents moves
through its nine component pieces on lush, deepwater-drift synth
pads augmented with bits of organic sound, always bordering on
darkness without crossing fully into it. We are clearly in deep
water, perhaps the deepest, in the reaches where the sun cannot
penetrate, where our consciousness first began to form, and we
are not alone—but we know we’re safe here. And so
we float in willful surrender, trusting in and given over to the
soundcurrent.
The middle
section of the CD, the excellent combination of the tracks “Water
Cairn 1” and “Swampland Dub,” lifts the listener
toward the surface with stronger physical elements—drums
and Vorus’ superb didgeridoo work. The arrival of the beat
in no way detracts from the slow, relaxing journey. Rather, it
enhances, breathes air into and invigorates it. From there, the
impression across the next three tracks is of emerging in some
vast grotto rife with secrets and ancient, undisturbed life. The
current bears us easily along until, in the final track, “Krill,”
we submerge again, drifting ever downward and accepting our gentle
return to something quietly and comfortably primordial.
It is impossible
not to completely immerse yourself in this work. Vorus has seamlessly
layered myriad elements here, and Currents reveals more
of itself and the elegant density of its crafting with each subsequent
listen. It is an ideal headphone experience, and superb for meditation
or low-volume repeated play.
Kudos also
to Vorus and whoever put the disk together for the packaging design
on this CD. The CD sleeve slides into an outer cover with the
track listing on the back. The all-black material is smooth and
embossed, and the cover art on the CD sleeve is stunning.
For lovers
of drifting ambient, Transmuting Currents is a Hypnagogue
Highly Recommended CD.
This
is half of a good CD, and half of a CD that wants to be experimental
and interesting and just falls short--but at the same time, it
merits more than a single, cursory listen. THe CD starts out well,
with "Paradise," which blends a slow melody with intriguing
sound play. Verplanken places a layer of disturbance and dissonance
over the calm, which reallymakes it work. "Goodbye Paradise"
switches gears--as the CD does often--with prog-rock-influenced
guitar driving it forward over a synth backdrop. A vocal-sample
chant adds depth. "Sputnik Ghost Dance" is the best
piece here. It’s a driving, funky synth piece that feels
like very early analog stuff. Simple, repetitive, and hypnotizing,
it’s a very cool, toe-tapping listen. And it’s also
the end of the easily listenable stuff here. Beginning with "Out
of Order," Verplanken decides it’s time to go experimental.
But it goes too far. For the next five tracks, there’s squiddly
synth and torturously manic piano, random sounds clumped together
for no apparent reason, and vocal samples that repeat to point
of annoyance. A good effort that suffers from going too far afield.