Sunday, May 07, 2006

"This will be our new language..."



Change is inevitable, unavoidable and frequently terrifying, There is no permanence in this world, only the moment, the temporary.

By it's definition, change brings about the unknown, and by it's nature the unknown can bless as well as curse, and by design, the difference between the two can be as apparent as the difference between two blades of grass. Change is conceptually complex, and is equally representative of positivity, renewal and reinvention.

I had to say goodbye to a large part of my life this weekend. I didn't want to, wasn't ready to, but things change without any consideration of our thoughts or feelings. Perhaps the purest form of change will effect my life right now, with it's slippery dichotomy, bringing about the brightest of days and biggest opportunities from the ashes of heartbreak and loss.

For those of you who grabbed The Crescent's debut a few days ago, change will be the thing you notice most about By The Roads And Fields, a record that no one ever expected or anticipated, arriving without warning in 2003. The same musicians are present, and the dark and moody groove evokes the same response in the listener, a paranoid and claustrophobic melancholy. But this album is almost the antithesis of Now, the hissing walls of sound are replaced with a sparse and delicate latticework of brooding instrumentation with occasional free jazz elements, the vocals are whispered and mumbled right into you ear instead of struggling to be comprehensible from deep within the thickness of the mix. The sound is unmistakably Crescent, without sounding very much like Crescent at all.

Now, imagine the same band as above, fleshed out with a few more members and a broader palette of sounds, (clarinet, cello, banjo, bass saxophone, trumpet, dulcimer, etc...), lugging their equipment along with a portable studio across the English countryside to record in churches, on the beach and in warehouses. That band would be Movietone, and their most recent effort The Sand and the Stars is one of the most hauntingly beautiful records I have ever heard. Kate Wright's sensual and grief filled vocals play against the acoustic and environmental backdrop perfectly, enveloping the listener in a warm blanket of organic sound.

For that entry I also posted Dead C's Tusk, and since I'm already opening the door wider, Bruce Russell, (affiliated with Xpressway cassettes, Flying Nun label and bassist for Dead C), put out a solo album of aggressive post-ambient drone and looped feedback, mysteriously titled Painting the Passports Brown on his own Corpus Hermeticum label. This one will have you pinned to the floor under the weight of it's shamanistic singularity, don't say I didn't warn you.

2 Comments:

Blogger Sublime said...

Who are you calling FUCKER, Fucker?? Just now telling me you have a damn blog....

Your eloquence is one of the things that has always attracted me to you. Lovely to see it come through in your writing - which I haven't gotten to enjoy since the years we would write letters to each other on a regular basis. Seems so long ago, yet sort of like yesterday, doesn't it? Looking forward to reading more when I get a chance.

The world is starting to seem like a beautiful place for the first time ever. You'll get the scoop this week, even if it means actually talking to each other on the phone for more than five minutes. Trying to say it all in an email might take days to write and seeing it all in print might be too much for me to bear.

Love ya and hang in there,
Sublime

6:25 AM  
Blogger Sublime said...

Forgot to say... imagine that, we both have Post Secret on our link list. Great minds always have thought alike, haven't we?

XOXO

6:26 AM  

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