TRUE COLOUR OF BLOOD

(Absence)

Afe/Eibon Records (2003)

The cover of Eric Kesner's, recording as True Colour of Blood, newest album (Absence) is a telling one. A grey-toned photo depicts an equally grey sky punctuated by a spidery treetop populated with two shadowy birds. Though we appear to be upon Earth, it's clear the focus here is the sky--static, not quite dark, seemingly endless. The interior art is similarly composed of grey landscapes interior and exterior--True Colour of Blood's purpose seems to be static soundscaping with a focus on often ignored areas of perception; a barren field, a carpeted hallway floor, a blurry peacock feather devoid of color.

(Absence) begins with "Oracles of a Dead King," a slowly undulating soundshape that makes me think Kesner is Jeff Pearce's older, darker brother in sound. There's an ominous undertone here, but the stratospheric ambient drone is rather like watching a sky completely obscured by a great mass of deep grey clouds. This is a stark ten minutes of gentle, though melancholy ambience that would surely appeal to Oöphoi listeners. "Non Ens" is reverberant darkness, as if one is housed within a giant cistern with only occasional deep drones as company. Kesner's guitar work here is strikingly similar to throat singing making the track feel like some subterranian monastery during mid-morning prayer. "The Secret Doctrine" will tax the lower end of your speaker system as a Lustmordian rumbling skirts the edge of your consciousness. This is a deep drone not for the faint of heart, bringing to mind hidden estuaries that disappear into mountainsides. Spooky. "Close Your Eyes and It Appears" (fantastic title) continues the darkness, bringing the CD to the edge of the barely audible. Industrial soundwashes, very low in volume, hover around. Perhaps Kesner wishes us to close our eyes, but frankly I'm afraid of what I might see when I eventually open them. By the beginning of "Anamorphoris" we are out of the tunnel and back into a more Jeff Pearce style of guitar washes. The deep chiming of the guitar is warm, even if the underlying ambience is isolationist. Echoes of David Tollefson here, remind me that (Absence) would be a perfect match on the Hypnos label. The title track is a ghostly and reverberating soundscape with a psychedelic edge--the tones slowly morph over the eleven minutes, though still manage to stay largely static. "My Favorite Streetlight" is the highlight of the album for me (along with the first track) as a pure beam of light pierces the cloying darkness of previous tracks. Even from a distance, the streetlight functions as a solace from some of the more forboding aspects of (Absence). Finally, we reach our "Last Day on Earth." The sense here is one of waiting, as metallic clangs pervade an isolated drone. Surely, our last day on this Earth of Kesner's is one of claustrophobia--"it" is coming, and there's little we can do about it. But what is "it," exactly? The album fades into silence, offering no answers until surprisingly a gorgeous guitar piece (the most "musical" entry on the disc) sends us straight to heaven after the dissolution of the Earth. This final coda could be a hidden track, but I prefer to think of it as a final commentary on what might occur during the "Last Day on Earth."

While the vistas on (Absence) are anything but sunny, I find Kesner's brand of dark ambience to be very satisfying. While the tracks do suffer from a certain same-ness, Kesner breaks up the potential monotony with some deft and imaginative guitar-playing that manages to be familiar yet original. I found that many of the tracks fell too easily into background ambience, never commanding my attention for track length. While not necessarily a strike against the work, listeners who prefer a more active sound environment should probably look elsewhere. Nonetheless, (Absence), will appeal to ambient fans who prefer darker and more ominous zones of soundscaping. Quality work by an intriguing new artist.

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PETE NAMLOOK

Air 3: "Secret Heritage"

Ambient World (2003)&emdash;Originally released on Fax in 1999

The name Pete Namlook should need no introduction for modern ambient fans--his remarkable Fax label was on the forefront of the early nineties ambient-techno explosion, releasing now classic work by Tetsu Inoue, David Moufang, Jonah Sharp, and many others. Namlook is also a gifted composer himself, arguably picking up Klaus Schulze's mantle for highly proficient space music creation. Namlook has become something of a legend in the intervening decade, due in part to his commitment to creating and promoting ambient and electronic music in a not always supportive environment. Namlook's work is numerous and often hard to find (as with a large number of Fax releases), which in turn sprouted legions of collectors and high prices that always result from low supply and high demand. While many Fax titles are perhaps not "worth" the prices paid for them, Namlook saw fit to create a reissue series of classic Fax titles to allow people to hear seminal releases like Inoue's Ambiant Otaku while not having to sell offspring to do it (I find the Ambient World reissue artwork to be much more aesthetically pleasing, as well.)

This brings me to Namlook's third installment of the Air series, subtitled "Secret Heritage" (originally released in 1999). For me, the Air series is Namlook's most appealing solo work, finding him creating music in a wide variety of styles with the least amount of filler material. While I've always felt Namlook's penchant for twenty-minute tracks has allowed him to fill entire CDs with less than stellar material, the first two installments of Air stand easily alongside classics of the ambient genre. "Secret Heritage" is a departure from the previous Air albums. While earlier albums were traditionally ethno-ambient, "Secret Heritage" seems more comfortable with ethno touches in an extremely light (some might say romantic) and listenable mid-tempo electronica setting. "Secret Heritage" is by no means vapid or "easy" music--but it does forgo some of the mystery of the early entries in the series in favor of an almost "pop" (as close as Namlook gets to pop, anyway) sensibility. But does it hold up?

"Secret Heritage" begins with a sprawling ambient track "Inauguration," somewhat similar in style to much of the previous Air material. The entrancing synth environments are punctuated with flute, drums, and cymbals, leading one to believe that this will be a colossal trip into deep space dreamtime. It's a fine track, highly focused, and rather unusual with jazzy drumming, similar to Grosskopf's work on Schulze's Moondawn. Track two, "Oui," completely changes the atmosphere from deep space to a more earthed terrain. The startling cover image--that of a beautiful woman drawn in the style of Jean "Moebius" Giraud--reminds us that this is less an album of space, and more a rumination on beauty and love (the quote on the inside of the booklet loosely translates to "You are beautiful ... so beautiful that to look at to you is to suffer!"). An insistent rhythm propels us through the ambience; ethnic claps and shakers eventually build to a full-on groove--accompanied by an attractive Middle Eastern-sounding wind instrument. Eventually, some sampled throat singing enters the fray--creating a strange mixture of cultures in this technoid setting; an ambient techno melting pot. Later, these vocals are triggered in such a way that they create a tune. This is a startlingly cheesy moment in the recording, as the power and nuance of throat singing is reduced to the nadir of a Deep Forest recording. Thankfully it does not last long. The final six minutes continue in much the same way, with excellent percussives (and a somewhat sexual underpinning sample) propelling you gently along to track three "Est ce que l'amour fait mal?" Here is perhaps the highlight of the album, featuring Namlook's jazz origins in full force. This is sweet, romantic music featuring synth vocals, French spoken word, strummed dulcimer, jazzy bass, the wind instrument from track two, and all manners of downtempo percussion. The music shifts subtly with marvelous transitions that never break the flow. Surely this is Namlook's idea of music to make love to. Finally, we are presented with a stylistic 180, as Namlook shifts back into ambient mode with "Give Space a Trance," beginning softly with interstellar ambience of the highest order. This music would not have been out of place on a Shades of Orion disc, at first. At around the five minute mark, Namlook switches to trance--reminding us that he made his name creating dance tracks. It's a great track, mixing beats and synth textures with "Garden of Dreams" style synth vocals. By the end, all of the previous Air series styles are mixed together in one breathtaking ambient-ethno-trance (with some fantastic dulcimer melodies) rocketship; an anthemic and highly satisfying ending to "Secret Heritage."

Though "Secret Heritage" never truly reaches the heights of previous installments of the Air series, it does offer some memorable examples of the best Namlook's work has to offer. While I've found most recent Fax output to be generally not to my tastes, "Secret Heritage" takes risks, and largely succeeds in creating a diverse, listenable, and, above all, sexy experience. While I might not recommend this particular work to Namlook/Fax beginners, "Secret Heritage" makes a usually satisfying confection for the ambient-techno aficionado.

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SUBRADIAL

Bioloophorm

DataObscura (2003)

Poland's Subradial was previously reviewed here via the standout track, "Misty Hills," on the Databloem Collection 2: Moving. Now, Databloem's CD-R sublabel, DataObscura, graces us with the first Subradial full-length, Bioloophorm, granting us an opportunity to bask in his unusual soundworlds for over an hour. I'm duly impressed with the offerings from Databloem/DataObscura, as they continue to reflect upon past electronic musics while still maintaining a fresh and creative sheen--Subradial's debut is no exception.

None of the tracks on Bioloophorm are titled, which allows for an album-length flow of subtly (and not so subtly) shifting textures. Each of the five parts of the album is distinctly different, but the mood is maintained throughout, creating a slow, lengthy journey through dark and light. During the first part, deep tones reminiscent of early sections of Namlook and Laswell's Outland 2 mix with phasing and haunting choral synth. Subradial is clearly indebted to Biosphere (in fact, Jenssen is thanked in the album credits)--the icy textures and isolationist drifts are dead ringers for Jenssen's work on Substrata and Cirque. Echoes of Thomas Köner are also present, making for a singularly appealing sonic drift on the order of Aubrite. The minimal atmospheres fade into part two--suddenly all organic machinery, water movement, birds calling--with the Biosphere touch. I also note a resemblance to the early work of Woob; the layered soundscapes somehow rapturous and compelling, though completely exotic and unfamiliar sounding. These layers fade in turn to allow a drone to take command--if we were at forest floor level before, we are now somewhere below ground allowing the humus and detritus to shroud our observations. This is extraordinary deep ambience; with unusual sounds and static breaking up the low sonics. While the mood is ominous here, it is never cloyingly frightful. By this time, the Biosphere similarities have been dispensed with; track three begins with gonging tones similar to the quieter work of A Produce. The music has achieved a stasis of metallic undertones, always anchored by metronomic gonging. Other sonic elements are introduced, including a texture that sounds like wind in leaves. A guitar is added, and the track starts to seem like an impossible combination of Alio Die and Windy & Carl--all strange chirrups, nature's sonic delights, and hazy guitar atmospheres.

Found sounds play a large part in Bioloophorm's construction. The sheer number of different sounds and textures are a pleasure in and of themselves to pick out and enjoy. There's a lot going on here beneath the obvious, and tracks like this make repeated listenings a joy. Part four is somewhat darker than the previous sections, featuring strange scrapings and post-industrial atmospheres that would appeal to fans of Andrew Chalk and certain Cold Meat Industry artists. Later, I am reminded of the bizarre mechanical lullabies of Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works, Volume II--music that will always operate somewhere out of time. Indeed, even the breathing music of Vidna Obmana is present here, making this track a strange melting pot of modern ambient art. Here is where Subradial's strengths are most readily apparent. He is able to assimilate recent classic ambient work, cobbling together what he needs to create a new, original work that reminds one of his influences but never slavishly follows the original sounds. For me, this makes the work all the more appealing--Subradial creates music with respect to past works but with talent enough to make these touchstones his own.

Part five is similar to Alio Die's work, creating deep drones coupled with processed "other sounds" that are hard to recognize. Muted sound in the background hints at vocalization, but one is never sure what exactly one is hearing. It's a mysterious journey that offers little more than hints as to its origin. The latter half of this track creeped me out a little--reminding me more than once of movies taking place on other planets; complete with alien lifeforms chittering ominously off-screen. And there shall come soft rains with part six, along with soft guitar playing and slight, tapping percussives. At just above eight minutes, this is the briefest track on the CD. It is also something of a stylistic shift, offering an extremely listenable ambient-techno groove. Perhaps it is out of place on the album, but I found the unusual percussion and sonic tones to be a pleasing and welcome finish to a very memorable debut.

Tomasz Szatewicz (the man behind Subradial) is clearly a man well-grounded in past ambient works--but with a level of talent that allows him to utilize these past influences and make them distinctly his own. While sonic trailblazing is clearly not the name of the game here, Szatewicz's command of treated found sound is top notch and a definite highlight of the listening experience. Fans of any of the artists I've mentioned above will surely agree that Subradial has crafted a memorable debut; one that would not be out of place with the work of many an ambient master. Szatewicz is definitely a talent to watch, and I'll enjoy hearing more Subradial material in future.

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ANDREW THOMAS

Fearsome Jewel

Kompakt (2003)

If ambient music suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but its few fans and appreciators behind, how would the people familiar with it explain its nature to others? With no aural examples to put forth, what would be the best way to get the point across? Personally, I can think of a number of ways, but for the purpose of the review of Andrew Thomas's mini-LP Fearsome Jewel, I will choose "soundtrack to the mind." It's something of a cliche to call ambient a soundtrack to movies that don't exist. But here we find film soundtrack composer Thomas creating a very different kind of movie score on his Kompakt debut. This is less a score for a film which we view, and more a composition of brief glimpses into an inner world--a world that can often resemble fiction, but is as real as perception.

Fearsome Jewel is a mini-album, though it clocks in at just over thirty-five minutes. One musical theme is represented over the CD's length, a theme that subtly shifts and transforms, never straying far from the sonic elements that comprise it. There is a strong similarity to the work of Wolfgang Voigt's Gas project, particularly on the Zauberberg and Konigsforst records, where classicism is completely overtaken by technological tampering to create a new beast formed by very familiar parts. This essence is the same in Thomas's work here, however this "fearsome jewel" does not dwell in the somewhat claustrophobic and thickly opaque environments of Gas works, but chooses instead to occupy a translucent and open vista. The ten tracks of Fearsome Jewel fade in and out as if they were separate entities, though one listen will convince that this is a work to be taken completely. Synth strings and casually touched piano notes are looped in swelling arrangements, often punctuated by digital crackle that resembles a skipping LP. Newer elements are added and subtracted quietly, giving each track a progressive movement forward rather than maintaining a looped stasis. Sub-bass rumbles are often accompanied by what sounds like a submerged orchestra, like Gavin Bryars filtered through Porter Ricks' "Nautical Zone." Elements of one track are reused in a different context on another track, forcing the listener to reimagine the sounds in a completely different sonic mien.

To some degree, I feel that Thomas's intent is to recreate the effect on works like Bryars's The Sinking of the Titanic and Eno's "Three Variations on the Canon in D Major by Johann Pachelbel." Sonic elements are recycled in different tempos and configurations to form a unified piece of music that refers to itself as it shifts moods and sonic colors. The feeling of this album is not one of underwater beauty, or a renewed classical piece, but rather of autumnal serenity--one ignores the possible intellectualism of the CD to simply bask in its simplicity and beauty.

Here is the soundtrack of the mind. By recycling the elements repeatedly in different configurations, we are reminded to some degree how our own brains work. When presented with memories or experiences, we take them with us in life to be frequently mulled over, compared to other experiences, relived in the chambers of our minds. Similar in feel is this music, which is deceptively simple at first--but sonically is similar to seeing a beautiful woman who reminds you of past loves, old travels, youthful dalliances. Fearsome Jewel is a journey through memory of a sort, as the mind cycles through the past, remembering certain things, unconsciously misremembering others; the familiar subtly changes beneath our notice. A beautiful jewel indeed, but fearsome--here we can never truly recognize what originally happened, only experience the afterimages.

Kompakt records has brought us another unusual entry in their unstated "Pop Ambient" series. Fearsome Jewel is an unexpected delight; one that will stimulate as well as lull into a blissful reverie. This is music that gradually insinuates itself into your consciousness, becoming a part of the tapestry of your mind during its thirty-five minutes. And perhaps this is the true definition of ambient for future generations: music contained within the mind.

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LARRY KUCHARZ

Ambient Blue Washes

Ambient Red Washes

International Audiochrome (2002-3)

Larry Kucharz and his International Audiochrome label have worked on the periphery of electronic music for many years. A quick look at his website reveals release after release of varied electronic texture-driven works, as well as forays into music with techno and IDM characteristics. Kucharz is prolific--in the time it has taken me to review Ambient Blue Washes, the Ambient Red Washes album has been released. It's thus appropriate that I should review both titles at once, as the material on each release compliments the other quite well.

Both Ambient Blue Washes and <i>Ambient Red Washes are studies in color through sound. These compositions can be taken as sonic Mark Rothko paintings; pure washes of ambient drift. This theme is beautifully rendered as soft, subtly shifting textures, often resembling Eno's Music for Airports in their gentle meandering mien, wandering through the edges of the listener's perception. Each of the tracks on Ambient Blue Washes are numbered (as with many of Rothko's paintings), allowing the listener to place his or her own meanings to the particular track. This also, to some degree, seems to be an artistic choice via Rothko on the part of Kucharz: the titles describe nothing. As Rothko himself stated, "silence is so accurate"; it's clear Kucharz does not wish to confine his musical pieces by using titles to guide the listener's imagination.

Blue Washes is the more difficult of the duo, though it begins with a relaxing suite of contrasting textures. If this represents the color blue, then it is most assuredly a light blue resembling the color of sky or a shallow pool of water reflecting said sky. The second track features more pointilist and archly mechanical sounds, arranged carefully around moments of silence. Kucharz's use of silence as "sound" is particularly intriguing here, as the sonic elements seem more vibrant when placed alongside "non-sound." Track four has a more symphonic and shimmering gleam, as angelic tones vibrate with deep crystalline blue colors. Somewhat similar to Thom Brennan's recent Satori, this is some very fine bliss-out material, if a little static over eleven minutes. Track five is also a deep blue color, but this time featuring overlapping drones that resemble Piet Mondrian's painted constructions of lines. Indeed, in this way, the work of Kucharz often seems more an intellectual exercise than an evocative sound canvas. I found that the majority of tracks on Ambient Blue Washes were studies in sound that drifted too much in the periphery and did not command my attention readily. Many of the tracks are more ignorable than interesting (to coin Eno's phrase), though to some degree this is in keeping with Kucharz's implied concept of sound as painting. One may just as readily choose to ignore the painting for months, focusing upon it infrequently at best. Conceptually this thought is interesting, but, logically, it does not make for music played often. In some way, by being so subtle it seems that the majority of Ambient Blue Washes is simply not there at all.

Ambient Red Washes, on the other hand, commands the attention from the first few seconds of play. The concept is the same, but with Red Washes I find the pieces to be more vibrant and emotional. "Red Wash no. 2" opens the album with a computer-choral piece, emotionally charged, bittersweet and romantic at once. The Ambient Red Washes here are subtle (in keeping with its predecessor), with interlocking "voices" always within the listener's grasp. "Red Wash no. 4" is similarly constructed but with an underlying "tech bleep" (that matches the corresponding track two from Ambient Blue Washes to some degree). The "Red Washes" on Ambient Red Washes are combined with tracks from 1993 which are in a similar style. Track three, "1993 no. 10," is a number of soft overlaid drones. The "1993" tracks often resemble a number of parallel lines; continuing on toward the vanishing point, some lines reaching that far into the distance, others ceasing before then. The pieces on Ambient Red Washes are often like slices of infinite music, as if they had been excerpted from some eternally iterating musical program. The sonic palette does not shift remarkably on Red Washes, instead maintaining a sense of variations on similar themes. While this lends a flavor of sameness on all of the tracks, I found the elements to be pleasing, relaxing, and often breathtaking. There is some clinical coldness present in Ambient Blue Washes that made the tracks appear fairly sterile--this sterility is not present on Ambient Red Washes, making for an always interesting listen. Both albums clock in at over seventy minutes, but Red Washes has a lightness to it that belies its length, something that the more ponderously vague Blue Washes tends to suffer from: the tracks are more forgettable on the latter, even if they are sonically more adventurous. I find Ambient Red Washes to be extremely listenable. I've played it frequently during a wide variety of activities; sleep, reading, staring out my office windows. It's ambient in the most powerful sense: music for your own personal environments.

Larry Kucharz has crafted some of the most intellectually stimulating recent ambient works I've had the pleasure to hear. For the neophyte, I unreservedly recommend going for Ambient Red Washes first. Its perfumed tones are intoxicating, sacrificing none of the conceptual imagery intended by the artist. Blue Washes is less pleasing to these ears, ringing as more of a concept that sounds better on "canvas" than it does during real life execution. Like the best of abstract art, Kucharz's two recent sets of ambient "washes" leave the interpretation to the listener. 

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JEFF GREINKE

Weather from Another Planet

FWD Records (2003)

We last heard from Jeff Greinke on his stunning 2002 solo CD, Wide View. Now, in 2003, Greinke returns with Weather from Another Planet. Greinke's never been one to stick with a style or constrained sonic palette (though Wide View was stunning in its simplicity; something of a minimalist triumph for the artist), and Weather represents a shifting of the sounds we are accustomed to hearing on past fourth-world-styled albums. As usual, it is pulled off with aplomb that bespeaks his great talent--making a startlingly different work that fools the listener into thinking Greinke's been doing this stuff all along.

Perhaps the most startling development heard on Weather is the increased attention to rhythm programming (something largely absent from most recent Greinke solo work). There's a jazzy component at work here, giving the electronics a playful sound as evidenced by the first track, "Sunday Afternoon." Perhaps this can be considered some type of antidote to the gentle austerity of Eno's Thursday Afternoon--here we're at play, perhaps powered by light and sweet coffee, where muted rhythms and vibraphone converge to create a type of musical recreation. It's interesting to note that the tracks on Weather from Another Planet are never above seven minutes. This is an album of vignettes with surprising stylistic switchbacks. As an example, the relaxed atmosphere of the first track is abandoned for the compelling "Climb" which combines cello-synth drones and a martial down-tempo beat. This is an uphill ascent, one that promises eventual success--whether the mountain is on Earth or some other terrain is up to the listener's interpretation. "Visitor" begins prettily with sustained tones, gradually accompanied by some affecting electronic vocalizations. The visitor speaks a strange language--outwardly malevolent--though with careful attention, an understanding may be reached. "Dark Glass" recalls Greinke's earlier work in the industrial ambient vein, but shot through with the tones of Wide View. A mysterious trombone-like tonal wash introduces a slow musicality here, somehow uncomfortable and uninviting. Impossibly, after the gothic drapery of the preceding track, Greinke introduces reggae's skittering percussives in "Spin," blended with soloing synths and pointilist piano. On paper it sounds like a trainwreck but Greinke makes it work, using interesting percussion out of context, claiming it as his own. "Krakatoa" begins metronomically, featuring the return of the horn-synth from "Dark Glass" and an extremely melodramatic bell gong. I find this track (and the preceding "Dark Glass") to be a little too similar to television synth-soundtrack music, with an overstated drama that wears thin quickly. No sputtering volcanoes here. "Big Stride" is far more interesting, with quietly swirling water sounds, a chill beat, and ambient atmospherics. Greinke adds synth-tuba(!) that seems out of place, but does not last long or wear out its welcome. By this time in the record I was growing tired of synth-horn sounds, which, for me, detracted from otherwise interesting compositions. "Rolling Square" avoids this trend, with a Paul Schütze-style orchestra of strange sounds coupled with reverberant synth tones. There is still some degree of "synth-soloing," but it fits more comfortably with the sonics here. "Little Dust Devils" is an appropriately swirling track of psychedelic sound washes and what sounds like a guitar soaring along. This is a highlight of the album, compelling and descriptive. Finally, "Flight" brings things to a satisfying finish, featuring Greinke's trademark ambient atmospheres, insistent rhythms, and synth-tones. Plucked strings are beautifully stratospheric, and the final moments are an ambient guitar bringing us right into the heavens.

For me, Weather from Another Planet misses the mark when its synthwork attempts to sound like real instruments. While Weather has more than enough tracks to appeal to die-hard Greinke fans like myself, much of the album seems forced into a musicality that just doesn't sit comfortably. I found myself enjoying the first few tracks and the last two, but as a whole Weather loses steam midway through. The combination of ambient synth and more soundtrack-styled music is an intriguing development in Greinke's solo oeuvre. For me, Greinke's strength lies in his strange, gurgling atmospherics, or the spare, minimalist tones of Wide View; on Weather from Another Planet Greinke's reach seems to exceed his grasp. In essence, Weather is a Pyrrhic victory. When traveling to other planets, the weather is equally likely to be sunny or stormy. It is up to the traveler to interpret which condition is more appealing.

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ANDREW THOMAS

Fearsome Jewel

Kompakt (2003)

If ambient music suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but its few fans and appreciators behind, how would the people familiar with it explain its nature to others? With no aural examples to put forth, what would be the best way to get the point across? Personally, I can think of a number of ways, but for the purpose of the review of Andrew Thomas's mini-LP Fearsome Jewel, I will choose "soundtrack to the mind." It's something of a cliche to call ambient a soundtrack to movies that don't exist. But here we find film soundtrack composer Thomas creating a very different kind of movie score on his Kompakt debut. This is less a score for a film which we view, and more a composition of brief glimpses into an inner world--a world that can often resemble fiction, but is as real as perception.

Fearsome Jewel is a mini-album, though it clocks in at just over thirty-five minutes. One musical theme is represented over the CD's length, a theme that subtly shifts and transforms, never straying far from the sonic elements that comprise it. There is a strong similarity to the work of Wolfgang Voigt's Gas project, particularly on the Zauberberg and Konigsforst records, where classicism is completely overtaken by technological tampering to create a new beast formed by very familiar parts. This essence is the same in Thomas's work here, however this "fearsome jewel" does not dwell in the somewhat claustrophobic and thickly opaque environments of Gas works, but chooses instead to occupy a translucent and open vista. The ten tracks of Fearsome Jewel fade in and out as if they were separate entities, though one listen will convince that this is a work to be taken completely. Synth strings and casually touched piano notes are looped in swelling arrangements, often punctuated by digital crackle that resembles a skipping LP. Newer elements are added and subtracted quietly, giving each track a progressive movement forward rather than maintaining a looped stasis. Sub-bass rumbles are often accompanied by what sounds like a submerged orchestra, like Gavin Bryars filtered through Porter Ricks' "Nautical Zone." Elements of one track are reused in a different context on another track, forcing the listener to reimagine the sounds in a completely different sonic mien.

To some degree, I feel that Thomas's intent is to recreate the effect on works like Bryars's The Sinking of the Titanic and Eno's "Three Variations on the Canon in D Major by Johann Pachelbel." Sonic elements are recycled in different tempos and configurations to form a unified piece of music that refers to itself as it shifts moods and sonic colors. The feeling of this album is not one of underwater beauty, or a renewed classical piece, but rather of autumnal serenity--one ignores the possible intellectualism of the CD to simply bask in its simplicity and beauty.

Here is the soundtrack of the mind. By recycling the elements repeatedly in different configurations, we are reminded to some degree how our own brains work. When presented with memories or experiences, we take them with us in life to be frequently mulled over, compared to other experiences, relived in the chambers of our minds. Similar in feel is this music, which is deceptively simple at first--but sonically is similar to seeing a beautiful woman who reminds you of past loves, old travels, youthful dalliances. Fearsome Jewel is a journey through memory of a sort, as the mind cycles through the past, remembering certain things, unconsciously misremembering others; the familiar subtly changes beneath our notice. A beautiful jewel indeed, but fearsome--here we can never truly recognize what originally happened, only experience the afterimages.

Kompakt records has brought us another unusual entry in their unstated "Pop Ambient" series. Fearsome Jewel is an unexpected delight; one that will stimulate as well as lull into a blissful reverie. This is music that gradually insinuates itself into your consciousness, becoming a part of the tapestry of your mind during its thirty-five minutes. And perhaps this is the true definition of ambient for future generations: music contained within the mind.

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Painting With Sound: The Life and Music of Hans-Joachim Roedelius

Stephen Iliffe

Meridian Music Guides (2003)

My first exposure to the eclectic music of Hans-Joachim Roedelius was back in early 1997--my girlfriend (now my wife) and I lay back in my room at my father's house listening to "Sehr Kosmich" on the debut Harmonia album Musik von Harmonia. I didn't know it at the time, but these drifting, primordial sounds would eventually lead to many years of delighted exploration into the (at the time trendy) 1970s German electronic music scene. I've since collected a large number of CD reissues of this apocryphal material, much of which influenced today's ambient and electronic musicians. One artist stands above all the others for me, coincidentally part of the group who introduced me to this wonderfully obscure genre in the first place: Hans-Joachim Roedelius. It is thus with great pleasure that I am given the chance to review Painting with Sound: The Life and Music of Hans-Joachim Roedelius, an exhaustive guide to a singularly inspiring and fascinating figure in modern music.

It was no easy task for a book of this nature to be produced. The author, Stephen Iliffe, created his own publishing imprint called Meridian Music Guides just to put the book out. But this is no hastily photocopied screed; Iliffe has done everything right with the production of Painting with Sound, which is embellished with rare photos on every page, and benefits from beautifully designed layout and professional editing. Most importantly, it is thoughtful and well written.

Iliffe writes in a clear and intelligent style, beginning with Roedelius's beginnings as a child actor, through the tumultuous period of World War II and the Cold War where the musician found himself conscripted into the Volkspolizei. Roedelius was quick to desert, but was incarcerated, and forced to work in a coal mine by the corrupt regime. His early years make the average teen angst experiences most people know pale by comparison--Roedelius has seen his share of the unfortunate aftermath of war, and this very experience proved to influence the directions he would take in his own future musical endeavors. It wasn't long before Roedelius gravitated to the burgeoning avant-garde activities of his countrymen, and soon fraternized with such figures as Conrad Schnitzler (not to mention brushes with members of the Red Army Faction). This portion of Roedelius's life is particularly fascinating as we are given a glimpse into an infrequently reported time of flowering avant-garde creation at the Zodiak Free Arts Lab. It isn't long before Schnitzler and Roedelius hook up with then steak chef Dieter Moebius, and the rest is Kosmiche history.

Here the biography turns away from the historical experiences of Roedelius, and begins to focus on his disparate musical productions, first as a member of the iconoclastic (though prescient to future-musics) Kluster, then (after the equally iconoclastic Schnitzler chose to pursue his own muses) the more commonly known Cluster. Iliffe describes each ensuing album in minute detail as it is created during the book's timeline, offering possible influences and reverberations tinged with anecdotes culled from other musicians and Roedelius himself. Eventually, the focus strays from the politically-steeped ruminations of Kluster/Cluster's earlier albums, and more into the creative processes and inspirations of both artists as they find their own ways through their music. Each man was inspired by his environs, and for a period both worked in something of an artistic Eden when the duo deserted the large cities of Germany in favor of the idyllic, commune-like village of Forst. Here, both men created their most memorable work as Cluster, not to mention excellent collaborations with Michael Rother and Brian Eno (who also contributes a thoughtful forward). I was swept away by the pure existence both Roedelius and Moebius seemed to have known--living simply, though close to poverty, and creating art in a pastoral world free from the tumultuous mid-twentieth century milieu. This fertile period inevitably lead to Roedelius's solo career, and the gradual dissolution of Cluster.

It seems that Roedelius, by dissolving Cluster, experienced something of a renaissance as he shed the chains of Kosmiche in favor of his own musical directions. Each resulting solo recording (and there are a staggering number, as evidenced by the record guide at the end of the book) represents a further sharpening of Roedelius's focus and attention to unbridled creation, regardless of current artistic trends. Iliffe brings us through Roedelius's career from the late-seventies to the present, focusing less on Roedelius the man, and more upon the works he continually created. It may be posited that at this point in Roedelius's career it is easier to learn about the man through his music than by any anecdotal contribution from Roedelius himself. Still, this narrowing of content made me wonder about certain aspects of Roedelius's life that seemed glossed over; his eventual distance from Moebius, for example.

To some degree, it seems Iliffe is overwhelmed by Roedelius's output--in his zealous attempt to write about each release, he gradually subtracts Roedelius from the equation altogether, merely describing the music. Regardless, Iliffe's writing about the music is very well done (in fact, a highlight of the book), as he dances through each album with his own experiences with, and takes on, the various releases. He's also no wide-eyed Roedelius fanatic--he is equally likely to display everything he doesn't like about a release as he is to give rave reviews. The record guide in the back of the book is a godsend for Roedelius collectors, as an exhaustive commentary on the various CD releases (though the Harmonia '76 Tracks and Traces disc--a favorite of mine--is strangely absent). If anything, Iliffe seems a bit too uncharitable (at least regarding some of my favorites) in his reviews, but the wise reader will gauge Iliffe's opinions with his or her own and make their own judgments. Iliffe has a tendency to lapse into what I humorously refer to as "Wire-isms," where his criticisms are less grounded in utilitarian reality and more focused on artistic showboating, as in his introduction where his metaphors unnecessarily obscure his intellectual points. Certainly, judging by the success of magazines like The Wire, and the newer E/I, there is an audience for this sort of thing--but I am not it. At any rate, these lapses are infrequent beyond the introduction, making the rest of the book a fine music "documentary," written clearly with the reader in mind.<p>

Here is the power of Painting with Sound--above all it does exactly what a good music book should do: it makes the reader want to go out and buy some Roedelius CDs. I can recommend Iliffe's lovingly produced book without hesitation, not only to the most die-hard Krautrock fans, but also to those interested in reading about a seldom documented period in modern music. Roedelius is an icon of artistic achievement, continually moving forward, constantly pushing his own boundaries, and is, above this, an inspiration to all who read about his fascinating life and work. I applaud Iliffe's efforts in bringing this book to fruition. He has avoided sycophantic pitfalls in bringing the first truly critical Roedelius biography to the public bookshelf. This level of scholarly and passionate writing only serves to increase the reader's opinion of Iliffe: he's a good writer with good taste in music--always a positive combination for this reviewer. Painting with Sound gets my highest recommendation; it's a labor of love that manages to instill the reader with a similar love of the subject matter. Fantastic!

Published by Meridian Music Guides

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