What's cool? Martin Gore, Europa Hymn

Unscripted reflection

When I was a kid, I loved to go to the natural science museum and look at the dinosaurs. There was something cool about seeing the articulated skeletal fossils next to artists' renditions of how they might have appeared in life. It was a while before I realized that those sketches were basically just guesswork, but that epiphany opened up possibilities in my mind as I imagined alternatives to what had been put before me. Even now, I prefernot to have everything all spelled out. The best books, movies, or music leave a bit of mystery that pushes some of the work onto the audience.



That's exactly why Martin Gore's new single, "Europa Hymn" is so enjoyable, It's more like a gesture drawing than a fully developed song. Even though it's barely more than three minutes, Gore takes his time to place a small set of elements -- synthesizer swells and electronic beats -- and he lets them just reverberate within the sonic space. The track is moody and reflective, but the sparse arrangement doesn't provide much additional narrative direction. It rises from the synthesizer waves, builds up some rhythm to suggest a kind of down-tempo electro-pop, and then sinks back under the lonely surface, leaving room for a world of interpretations: it could represent the arc of a relationship, the ebb and flow of life, or even the sense of a sculptor finding the shape that hides within a block of marble.

Gore is best known as one of the founding members of Depeche Mode, and it's easy to hear the connection between this and his band work. But while the palette is familiar, this song distills synth-pop down to its electronic essence, discarding the urgency and tension to focus on an ethereal sense Zen purity, where the listener project their own meaning.

"Europa Hymn" is one of 16 tracks from Gore's new album, MG, which came out at the end of last month.

Recording review - John Frusciante, Enclosure (2014)

Arbitrary fragments and electronic agitation

Anyone who knows John Frusciante’s guitar work with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and other rock bands will be completely nonplussed by his latest release, Enclosure.

It may even surprise the true fans that already know his avant-garde side. From his first solo album, Niandra Lades and Usually Just a T-Shirt (1994) through 2012’s PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone, Frusciante’s solo work has always distanced itself from his rock stylings, but it’s striking just how challenging this latest release is. Enclosure features some interesting guitar playing, but it’s positioned more as decoration than the central focus, which is made clear from the very start. “Shining Desert” is a loosely structured electronic soundscape. It begins with a pensive beat and peripheral swells of sound. Frusciante’s processed falsetto overlays itself but remains so low in the mix that it’s difficult to make out all of the lyrics. It’s an intentional gesture that seems to indicate that the words are not nearly as important as the mood he’s trying to create. The guitar doesn’t make its entrance until a full minute into the piece, ushered in with a tom-heavy drum flourish. From that point on, jittery percussion dominates the tune, accompanied by densely layered guitar and keyboard textures. Like a patchwork of corduroy, gingham, and silk, these fragments seemed arbitrarily tossed together without a clear artistic sense. When it can be teased out, the guitar playing is fluid and technically complex, but without a stronger context, it’s hard to appreciate.

This inauspicious beginning is followed by the slightly more coherent “Sleep”, which centers on a theatrical vocal delivery. Unfortunately, the overly busy drum machine beat eclipses the rest of the arrangement, reflecting a short attention span as it jumps from pattern to pattern. The first half of Enclosure stumbles from one experimental jumble to another. It’s not just a matter of defying rock expectations or conventions; the project seems trapped in the echo chamber of Frusciante’s studio-borne flashes of quixotic inspiration and obsessive dabbling. Music like this can sink in and grow on me over time, but the album’s first four tracks never clicked.

Perhaps in recognition of this self-indulgent noodling, Frusciante redeems himself somewhat with the fifth track, “Fanfare”. The simpler electro-pop groove is refreshingly accessible, and he reins in his restless rhythms. With a change of instrumentation, this could find a home in the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ catalog, perhaps along with the tunes on By The Way (2002). His lyrical structure is fairly open, but the quiet intensity is pleasant. Eventually, he brings in some guitar during the more aggressive bridge section, but he closes the tune with a cool, Adrian Belew style section, replete with swells of reverse-gated runs. In this case, the outsider approach ornaments the introspective dignity of the piece.

On the next track, “Cinch”, Frusciante finally opens up on the guitar. This instrumental establishes a mournful procession, which provides a good base for his expressive riffing. As the drums sink into nervous, over-the-top fills, the guitar finds a balance between the dolorous foundation and the distracting syncopation. The remaining songs aim for something in between “Fanfare” and “Cinch”. They have a lot more musical structure than the first half of the album, but the scattered drum complexity is a relentless shadow.

A quick sampling of Frusciante’s most recent releases suggests a developing artistic arc. The Empyrean (2009) was more traditionally structured, but incorporated synth elements and a fair amount of production. PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone leaned more heavily on electronic influences, albeit with a Zappa-esque flair, but flashes of drumbeat anxiety do surface. Enclosure magnifies that sense of agitation and embraces it. The promotional push for the album offers another perspective. The album was sent up on a small Cube Satellite and streamed to a custom mobile app for the week or so before the release date. Enclosure’s lack of flow and clarity may just reflect where Frusciante’s head is at these days: somewhere out in the fringes.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review: Colin Stetson, New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light (2013)

Sonic illusions show how far the sax can go

Synthesizer washes, keyboard loops, and throbbing electronic bass – it’s all a sonic illusion. While Colin Stetson’s new album might sound like an electro-interpretation of contemporary minimalism, there are no effects added beyond equalization and saturation. Stetson sculpts his bass saxophone into avant-garde mutations using a host of free-jazz techniques, like multiphonics and vocalization, combined with circular breathing, percussive valve work, and microphone manipulation. Producer Ben Frost augments Stetson’s remarkable playing to create the sounds of strings, bass guitars, and grinding metallic tones.

New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light is the third in series of New History Warfare albums. Spaced out over several years, each volume has offered richer technical and sonic refinements since the first release in 2007. New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges (2011) was a major critical success and this release builds on its strengths, featuring features longer tracks and greater physical demands on Stetson. Tempering Phillip Glass style minimalism with raw, challenging textures may seem like a recipe for “difficult listening music,” but the music feels like a natural blend that could be compared to progressive electronica. Even as he focuses on virtuoso performance, it’s never self-indulgent. Performance artist Laurie Anderson provided “vocal presence” on Judges along with Shara Worden (My Brightest Diamond). This time, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver steps in to take on the small set of vocals and his style is very different from Anderson or Worden. I appreciate how Stetson has used these more familiar artists to expand his vision. In a reversal of roles, he teases out their specific characters for this album. Normally, he’s in demand for their projects because of his unique voice. Aside from collaborating with performers like Anderson and Vernon’s Bon Iver, Stetson has been a touring and studio wildcard for other artists like Tom Waits, Arcade Fire and Feist.

Any track on the album could serve as a good example of Stetson’s chameleon-like playing. On “Hunted”, for instance, his sax is closer to a deconstructed industrial sound than what the instrument is normally known for. It’s raw and ragged, throbbing with tension. A minimalist flutter superimposes percussive bass notes over the main register, building rhythmic and tonal complexity. Richly evocative, his raspy vocalizations add the tortured yowl of a big cat on the prowl. Through the course of the song, Frost’s production dynamically adjusts the proximity between distant searching and close-in threat. The arrangement is so thickly layered that it’s almost inconceivable that this performance is free of instrumental overdubs or multiple players.

The awe-inspiring centerpiece of the album is the epic title track, “To See More Light”. The 15 minute sojourn begins with a sparse, exploratory feel. For once, Stetson tosses out simple saxophone stabs without mutating their texture. A hollow echo suggests a large space to be mapped out and understood. The song becomes more purposeful and complex as his line transforms into a thoughtful, repetitive series. Searching and building, he sets a trance groove. His sax bubbles and vibrates, then twists back on itself. The tempo pulses with speedy sprints and eddies of reflection. A moaning undertone and brittle surface create an anxious sense of dread. Gathering murky energy, it resolves into a sonic juggernaut on the move. The quivering pattern from before is completely subsumed by shifting synthesizer-like tones and a heavy percussive plodding. As if the beginning explorations inevitably led to this marching darkness, the music recalls Robert Oppenheimer’s thoughts at the Trinity nuclear test, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” Stetson lets the resonant vibration build and break down the track into unformed chaos. The title may aspire to growth, but the narrative arc offers a cautionary perspective. It’s followed by a cover of Washington Phillips’ gospel hymn, “What Are They Doing In Heaven Today?”, which offers a moment of repose, much like how the Beatles used their lullaby “Good Night” to soothe after “Revolution 9”. Vernon’s overdubbed vocals offer African chorale harmonies. It’s almost acapella, with the sax providing a mere flickering flame of accompaniment.

Isolation is a recurring theme throughout the New History Warfare series. Stetson’s anguished tones are tap into a well of disconnection and need. Those emotions are rawer on To See More Light, making it a compelling collection that transcends the impressive playing and recording techniques.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Colin Edwin | Jon Durant, Burnt Belief (2012)

 A winding trip through space and mind

Colin Edwin is most well-known for his moody bass work with the progressive Porcupine Tree, but his side projects have tackled contexts from ambient to metal. On Burnt Belief, he partners with guitarist Jon Durant to explore a mix of ethereal space rock and multicultural new age instrumentals. Edwin's expressive playing forms the foundation, but Durant's sense of texture colors each song, creating unique settings.

The early tracks on the album suggest Ozric Tentacles, with sinuous bass, keyboard fills, and engaging syncopation. "Altitude" fades in with a pulsating, liquid ripple. Once underway, fluting synths and a steady beat create a sense of movement. The song hints at the quiet opening of Porcupine Tree's "Arriving Somewhere, But Not Here", but with a more fluid bass line. The guitar soars over the top periodically before dropping back to let the song catch its breath. As the title suggests, the piece clambers ever higher, but with the untethered finish, the song overshoots the top and drifts free to unknown destinations.

From here, Burnt Belief slides into the percussion-driven "Impossible Senses". Hints of tabla and polyrhythm give the song a worldbeat flair. Once again, the smooth guitar meshes with Edwin's slinky bass, but this time it takes on a greater sense of purpose. The repetition of the melodic theme becomes a mantra. Each return reworks the idea a little further, like an expanding mosaic that eventually reveals a larger pattern.

From these spacy beginnings, the album moves into new age realms, with ambient shimmers and fog. The epic showpiece track "Uncoiled" starts with muted swells. Low bells and taps flicker, like a dark house settling around you at midnight. Lightly jarring drips of piano ripple in the hazy darkness, creating a mix of expectancy and disquiet. Wandering the halls, a previously unnoticed doorway comes into focus. Slowly opening, a glowing desert is revealed, complete with Native American flute and soft percussion. Stepping into this new world, sparse elements add to the unreal sensation: metallic harping, echoing piano, and restrained bass. The song eventually coalesces into a hypnotic procession of guitar and bass that continues to support the out-of-body vibe.

Most of the music on Burnt Belief is stellar. Durant and Edwin are natural collaborators. Each voice stands strong without eclipsing the other. There are, however, two weaknesses with the project: one conceptual and the other musical. The duo presents the album as a contrast between faith and reason, inspired in part by Leon Festinger’s When Prophecy Fails, an account of a doomsday UFO cult in the 1950s. But the songs don't reflect that theme and it proves distracting. Ironically, the one track that might draw on that idea suffers from its sense of discontinuity. "The Weight of Gravity" lacks the coherence of the other songs as it mashes up too many unrelated moods. Its slow, meditative start creates a sweat lodge atmosphere. This arbitrarily transforms into a futuristic, electro-psych groove with a sense of purpose which clashes with the opening relaxation. The further drift into an organic fusion jam is less jarring, but lacks any clear sense of flow. While the intention might have been to show the conflict between religion and science, the pair miss their mark.

Despite that, Burnt Belief delivers enough beauty that its flaws can be overlooked. The thoughtful bass line and delicately interleaved guitar and piano on the closing track, "Arcing Towards Morning", cleanses the palate and lets the album end in moment of clarity.

(This review originally appeared on Spectrum Culture)

CD review - Fourteen Twentysix, In Halflight, Our Soul Glows (2012)

Atmospheric post rock and electronic production comes through on repeated listening


Fourteen Twentysix grabbed my ears with their single Little Diamonds (review here). Without knowing much more than that, I was excited to finally hear In Halflight, Our Soul Glows.

It was hard, though, to come to the album with strong expectations. On first listen, the other tracks on In Halflight didn't overlap much with Little Diamonds. Sure, the open, ambient sound at the start of Echo seemed in tune, albeit darker. But as the song coalesced, it turned into a muddy mess. Oversaturated levels clipped to distortion, sounding more like an engineering error than a production choice. This special flavor of lo-fi surfaced on several of the tracks, souring my first impression.

As I looped through the album, though, I began to tap into its heart. Once I abandoned my preconceptions, I began to appreciate what Fourteen Twentysix had done. Their real focus was integrating moody, atmospheric post rock with electronic production, packaged in bite sized, pop length segments. The mix of digital and analog recalled Radiohead, especially on tracks like Every Line, which features Mick Moss (Antimatter) on vocals. The moody mix of open range rock and electronic ephemera was full of shiny details.

Also in this vein, Hollow offered a mix of pensive post rock and synth wave jams. Anchored by a steady throbbing bass, the track featured some great dynamics that balanced the trance music tension with thoughtful interludes.

Sleepwalker was another strong track. It had a dark, lazy Soundgarden feel. The solid bass playing provided grounding for the busy electronic beat. The loose, trippy arrangement slipped in some of the saturated clipping from earlier, but at a more manageable level.

I'm glad I gave In Halflight the chance to grow on me. I'm still not fond of the blown speaker production that Fourteen Twentysix favored on several songs (For a Second could have been such a better track), but I've found plenty of gems besides Little Diamonds.