Bryan Eubanks / Stéphane Rives - fq (Potlatch)

Purchase fq here

As soon as fq begins, Stéphane Rives' soprano saxophone readily unites with the high-frequency tones of Bryan Eubanks' oscillator. It's immediately clear that both musicians are elevating the severity of their respective performances through uniformity. Compare this with Axiom for the Duration, Rives' collaborative release with Seijiro Murayama. There, the contrast in tone and timbre between the instruments was easily identifiable and allowed for a relatively balanced sound palette. Most of what we hear on this album, however, is high-pitched. And across its thirty minutes, it's this effective confluence of all these sounds that makes fq so satisfying.

Through speakers, the additive quality of Eubanks and Rives' instruments is incredibly clear. The components are frequently hard to separate and its only with repeated listens, especially with headphones, that one starts to get a grasp on how well both musicians play off each other. At times, one musician will disappear and the effect it has is noticeable. This first occurs a couple minutes in: a tone fluctuates between both channels, perhaps signaling the listener to note Rives' absence, and when he returns we can easily recognize how he contributes to the piece. This proves strategic as one can more fully appreciate the interplay between the two as Eubanks' feedback synthesizer begins to a play a prominent role in the album's middle section. Its jagged textures are slightly more animated than those on The Bornholmer Suite. And in conjunction with Rives' breathy squawks, this portion of fq finds the duo at their most delightfully raucous.

Earlier in the recording, one could faintly hear the passing of automobiles and people talking underneath Eubanks and Rives. But in the second half of fq, these 'extramusical' sounds are more audible. We hear more conversing and what is presumably a cart being wheeled around. As they get louder and closer, the musicians react and play as if guided by them. But most interesting is how this passage highlights how crucial the mixing is on this record. Around 19:30, a tone pans right and Rives softly returns but with these sounds accompanying him. A minute later, a tone pans right again but is soon counterbalanced with one in the left channel. This allows for the entrance of the aforementioned cart to be highlighted as it's situated directly between these two tones. This conscientious arranging of sounds exists throughout fq and lends to its effective pacing, making for a constantly engaging listen.

Elements of fq can feel familiar to those who have heard previous records from Eubanks and Rives. For one, Eubanks explored the acoustic properties of a cistern in Fort Warden State Park on his previous solo record and a continued interest in psychoacoustic phenomena is present here. Similarly, Rives has been an adventurous saxophone player for more than a decade and his style of playing here echoes that of Much Remains to be Heard and Fibres. Nevertheless, fq sounds like nothing in either artist's discographies, and the elegant marriage of styles here highlights the immense talent of both Eubanks and Rives.

Kevin Parks / Vanessa Rossetto - Severe Liberties (ErstAEU)

Purchase Severe Liberties here

The pairing of Kevin Parks and Vanessa Rossetto may, at first, seem odd. Parks seems largely interested in pure portrayals of improvisation—his collaborations with Joe Foster and Alice Hui-Sheng Chang are comprised of untouched recordings and his live performances don't show signs of prior preparation. Rossetto, on the other hand, would primarily consider herself a composer. And since the release of Dogs in English Porcelain, her records have been the result of meticulous assemblage. What makes Severe Liberties so satisfying, then, is how these two elements—composition and improvisation—come together so harmoniously.

As Matthew Revert noted in Surround, Rossetto's music is interesting because her "source material is often gathered from improvised experimentation" but "is made to exist within a compositional framework." On her solo releases, field recordings are frequently juxtaposed with instrumentation or one another. This consequent reframing highlights, or perhaps imbues, certain emotional qualities to the sounds we hear. Furthermore, the musical qualities of these sounds are explored, and there's a spirit of randomness to them, even if they're coming from pre-programmed machines like those in "348315" and "Whole Stories".

Parks, then, seems like a perfect counterpart to Rossetto because of how talented he is as an improviser. Acts Have Consequences, for example, sounds like a carefully coordinated record. There's a precise balance in dynamics between both Parks and Foster and it's surprising that each track is completely improvised and unedited. That Acts Have Consequences sounds just as thoughtfully constructed as Parks' record with Hong Chulki and Jin Sangtae, an album that was mixed and edited, only further attests to his abilities.

The combination of these two artists leaves us with Severe Liberties, an album whose title refers to the numerous edits that were made with the source material—hours of improvised recordings taken in Vanessa's home. And as the record starts, it makes that idea known to the listener with the sound of contact microphone-derived sounds bouncing across both channels. As Revert's fantastic cover art portrays, Severe Liberties is a record about exploring domestic spaces. It's about our homes and the familiarity of it both as a place and a feeling. And with three tracks that range between 14 and 22 minutes, we're able to get a feel for this space. As is characteristic of previous albums from both Parks and Rossetto, these long-form pieces allow for an involved engagement with these tracks and get a sense of their unfolding narratives.

There are a lot of sounds we hear across these 53 minutes—zippers, the stacking of dishware, processed electronics that sound like fireworks—but it's all so purposefully considered. Take "the details of the anecdote": early in the track, Vanessa walks around and we hear floorboards and doors creak. She eventually turns on a faucet and water begins to funnel down the drain. A high-pitched tone then appears, and because it's so noticeable, it naturally draws our ears back to the running water. And in that moment, we're able to compare both sounds and acknowledge and appreciate the inconsistent rhythm of the water's movement. A softer electronic hum soon appears underneath to assuage the previous tone and the piece moves forward. This sort of methodology permeates Severe Liberties and is exactly what makes it so captivating: there's a constant redirecting of our ears—across field recordings and instrumentation, timbres and rhythms, melody and silence—and it feels like a tour of the house, perhaps not lineally in space or time, but in mood.

Despite the variety of sounds that exist inside Severe Liberties, a few seem especially significant. One of those is the use of voices. While Rossetto has incorporated vocalizing before, and even used her own voice to provide a meta-narrative in Whole Stories, what's here seems especially candid and naturally presented. About three minutes into "seeing as little as possible", we hear her casually talking with someone who is presumably an acquaintance. It's a short exchange, and it's obfuscated by a bit of noise, but it feels all the more personal because of it. The attention isn't drawn towards the conversation. Instead, it's just another sound in the mix, another element that brings up a familiarity of home—the short but polite conversations we have with neighbors. And at the end of "they sit", we hear Rossetto ask Parks, "are you getting tired?" It's humorously positioned, as Parks gets cut off and the following track abruptly starts, but it also provides a glimmer of humanness to the piece. It's safe to say that the human voice would provide such a feeling regardless of what it said, but it's also the genuineness of the question here, and the sound of a weary Parks replying "yea" that makes it so effective. Home is, after all, our place of rest and where we should feel cared for.

Even more emotional is Kevin Parks' guitar. It's often used here alongside contact microphones to create different textures but what really stands out is Parks' decision to incorporate highly melodic instrumentation. These passages appear about halfway through each track and when they arrive, dominate the mood of the piece entirely; it's a sharp contrast with how all the rest of the sounds on the album function. And consequently, it's why these sparse guitar chords and melodies feel more potent than when they appeared on Acts Have Consequences. Nevertheless, Parks' guitar feels wholly appropriate, essentially contributing to the nostalgic atmosphere and tone that the album often evokes.

Perhaps the most interesting element on Severe Liberties, though, is silence. There are four extended periods in which we hear absolutely nothing and they each function in multiple ways. For one, they provide a nice flow to the album; their presence is a building of momentum through repose. At the same time, their placement in each track also allows for the sounds that precede and follow them to be all the more effective. Most compelling, however, is how they allow for us as listeners to fill in the space with the sounds of our own home. It becomes a participatory event, which naturally makes the record all the more intimate.

There are numerous reasons as to why this record is such an accomplishment but it ultimately comes down to how beautifully these artists' styles converge. They're both incredibly talented, of course, but the natural merging of styles on Severe Liberties goes beyond that; it's because both Parks and Rossetto were willing to accommodate their own ideas for a greater whole. Various aspects of Severe Liberties sound characteristically Parks or Rossetto-esque but the final product is something unlike anything in either artists' discographies. And for that reason alone, Severe Liberties is worth hearing. Fortunately, it's a success in many other ways as well.

Devin DiSanto/Nick Hoffman - Three Exercises (ErstAEU)

Purchase Three Exercises here

The opening track of Three Exercises ends with a brief statement: "It's August 9th, 2014. Devin DiSanto and Nick Hoffman, St. Thomas the Apostle Elementary School." Yet before we're told this, certain sounds help to establish the environment we're in—tables squeak loudly across tile floors, doors with push bars reverberate as they close, and both a parent and child talk in the distance. Even if one hadn't glanced at the photos that decorate the CD's packaging, one could likely deduce that these performances took place inside a school gymnasium. But more than just an unveiling of the sounds and location that characterize Three Exercises, "preparation / introduction" reveals a very important component to the album: transparency.

Two writers, Justin Palmer and Sharon Glassburn, are tasked with recording notes out loud into a tape recorder. And throughout the album, we get an understanding, albeit a vague one, of the ensuing sounds. The actual three exercises that take place are hard to parse, however, and an overlap of sounds between tracks diminishes any sense of clarity regarding when each activity took place relative to one another. In "sequence 1" and "exercise 3", we hear Devin playing with a Boggle game—the container is shaken, an hourglass is flipped, and a list of words is recited. Interestingly, a portion of the former is replayed over speakers in "sequence 2", and DiSanto performs a variation of this process that replaces the Boggle game with Bingo, cage and all.

The first and second "exercise" tracks and "sequence 1.2" seem to be interrelated. From piecing the tracks together and viewing the images on the cover, one can somewhat figure out what's going on here: duct tape is measured and placed on the gymnasium floor, DiSanto walks along the duct tape foot-to-foot with a collapsible table that's placed on a moving dolly, ping pong balls fall off that table and their end point is numbered and marked with duct tape. An interlude entitled "recreation" also occurs midway through the album which, appropriately, features basketballs being dribbled and shot into the gym's hoop.

For many, the task-driven nature of Three Exercises will be reminiscent of DiSanto's Tracing a Boundary. On that record, numerous sounds—namely the folding of paper and the soft hum of wind—were heard in an open space. The piece channeled the calming nature of working on a project or doing housework on a Sunday afternoon. Instruments were occasionally played and announcements with specific times (e.g. "13 minutes") periodically interjected but they never detracted from the overall mood. Three Exercises isn't exactly meditative but it feels very much like the product of DiSanto's approach there with Nick Hoffman's texturally-minded works via different types of synthesis (on this recording, frequency modulation and dynamic stochastic synthesis). It never gets too noisy, but it's a clear combined effort and the interplay between both musicians is harmonious and engaging, often helping to pace the record effectively.

There's a lot happening in Three Exercises but the beauty of the recording is that its mysteries don't need to be thoroughly decoded to enjoy. At times, the reveal is delightful—knowing that the terrifying crunch that opens "sequence 2" comes from a spinning Bingo ball cage is hilarious. But more often than not, a play-by-play isn't necessary to be fixated by what's present on these eight tracks; the juxtaposition between the twirling Bingo ball cage and the silence that follows is potent and affecting whether or not we recognize the source. And because of that, the record holds a fascinating paradox of sorts—the semi-acousmatic nature of the work affirms how nonessential it is to see and know the source of any given sound to appreciate it.

During my initial listens of Three Exercises, I made sure to pay close attention to Palmer and Glassburn's notes. At first, they functioned solely as guides who helped me unearth what DiSanto and Hoffman were doing. But after my "need" for them was presumably finished, their roles shifted from somewhat auxiliary to indispensable—their voices, usually signified with tape feedback, were important elements that contributed just as much as anything else to the sonic make-up of these tracks. In other words, the very things that exposed these sounds were better appreciated as pure aural elements. Three Exercises is transparent but the innate qualities of the sounds therein, and our visceral engagement with them, take precedence. And the record manages to point out that exact phenomenon. That the alluring mystique of the record's production is sustained after its literal unveiling is at the heart of what makes Three Exercises a masterpiece.

Joda Clément ‎– I hope you like the universe (Notice Recordings)

Purchase I hope you like the universe here

In a sense, Vancouver-based composer Joda Clément constructs music that feels like a direct continuation of his father's works. While Joda's music never errs on the side of new age, there's a clear interest in juxtaposing field recordings with one's own instrumentation. What truly separates these two artists from each other, though, comes not from the immediate sonic differences but the degree with which one is able to distinguish between these two source materials.

Ever since Clément's debut solo album Movement + Rest, he's tried to intensify the innate emotional and musical characteristics of nature by layering it with his own input. Identifying what came from Clément's own hands wasn't particularly difficult then, and the mixing proves it wasn't his intention to make it such, but there was still a sense that he was striving for a unified sound. That same goal has stayed with him and defined releases like Silo 11, The Narrows, and North North.

The two sides of I hope you like the universe feature field recordings from around Canada but both are wholly distinct. On the first side, we hear the sound of wind rustling leaves and children talking. It isn't the most relaxed atmosphere but it soon dips into something far more sinister; a mood that is primarily established by brooding synths and harmonium. The different sounds that Clément accompanies this with—machinery, static, the faint sound of bells—only make the piece feel more tense. This new soundscape is so well realized that single water droplets around twelve minutes in evoke a sense of helplessness. Soon after, the synth disappears and it sounds like we've exited a cave and the world around us has opened up; sirens, rain, and insects sound surprisingly pleasant.

The second side starts off dense. There are some sounds that penetrate the fog, most noticeably the sounds of cars driving by, but it isn't until about five minutes in that the song starts to shed its skin. What follows is essentially a long-form drone. Synths occasionally warble and the sound of seagulls and ringing buoys act as nice flourishes but most of these sounds coalesce due to their similarities in tone and timbre. It's a piece that envelops the listener and it proves constantly engaging due to its expert mixing and the way in which the focus frequently shifts between the different elements of the recording.

Interestingly, the final minutes of the track feature a slowly dissipating field recording that sounds like white noise. It eventually fades into silence and our attention slowly shifts to the actual environment we're hearing this piece in and we become conscious of the different sounds around us. The 34 minutes that make up I hope you like the universe are the most homogeneous of anything that Joda's created yet. And through it, he shows us the beauty that lies in his corner of the universe. It ends with an invitation for us to realize how it also exists in ours.

Prants - Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut (Notice Recordings)

Purchase Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut here

On Ain't it Grand / Journey to the Center of Something or Other, Bhob Rainey and Chris Cooper took a stab at imitating each other. While not a collaborative effort, the resulting tracks gave insight into the sort of music both generally create. Rainey's track shows how frenetic Cooper's music is, particularly under the Angst Hase Pfeffer Nase moniker and in noise "rock" band Fat Worm of Error. Cooper's piece is also noisy but it reveals the more reserved approach to sound design that Rainey aims for in his solo works and Nmperign.

Both artists were involved in The BSC but as Rainey was the director and founder of the ensemble, the project sounded more in line with his own works. Consequently, Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut is the first truly collaborative release from Rainey and Cooper and the result is one of the most satisfying records from either artist to date. It's an interesting title—both items are lab equipment, one stirs liquids while the other stabilizes the flasks that contain them. And appropriately, the combination of these artists leads to a volatile but carefully controlled reaction.

"Vapor Viper" opens up the record with shrieking from both Rainey's sax and Cooper's processed guitar/electronics. There's piercing high-pitched noise heard but it's balanced by sounds that frenetically pan across both channels. It all eventually fades out into the sound of church bells and the song thereafter stays relatively mild. Field recordings and oscillating tones occupy much of the space for the duration of the recording but the electric squelches return about two-thirds of the way in. It's a fascinating and thoroughly detailed track, one whose louder moments contrast and give purpose to the quieter one and vice versa. 

"Igotu Otius" is even more ambitious than "Vapor Viper". While it doesn't feel quite as cinematic, largely due to its nonlinear progression, it's mostly fascinating for how it arranges and balances its collage of sounds. On the track we have numerous musicians playing a variety of instruments—cello, contrabass, harp, viola, and dry ice—and that's on top of all the electronic whirring and input that Rainey and Cooper have. It never sounds obnoxiously erratic though: each plucked string and dizzying burst of noise is in its proper place. It's a real treat, a product of mindful mixing and adventurous composing. Both of those ingredients have existed in previous releases from Rainey and Cooper but with Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut, it seems more apparent than ever.

Graham Stephenson & Aaron Zarzutzki - No Dice (Hideous Replica)

Purchase No Dice here

In 2013, Erstwhile launched its ErstAEU sublabel in order to highlight experimental musicians from America. And right from the start, it became the home of three great releases. One of those came in the form of Graham Stephenson & Aaron Zarzutzki's texturally rich Touching. A couple months after its release, the duo performed at ISSUE Project Room in Brooklyn and the resulting concert is what's presented on this disc from Hideous Replica.

As No Dice starts, it sounds as if it'll be filled with the same cacophonous noise that characterized Touching. But after a couple minutes, the album settles into something far more subdued for most of its runtime and the general atmosphere is one of understated intimacy. Naturally, one would expect such a result for a quieter record but it's also directly related to how these instruments are presented the interactions between them. As before, Zarzutzki utilizes his synthesizer while Graham dons his trumpet and microphone but the noises they create here often function to serve each other. On Touching, they mostly acted as compounding building blocks that pointed towards the album's overall sound. It was still possible to parse who was contributing to the individual elements of the songs but the different textures, timbres, and tones blended into a monolithic unit.

The different approach that Stephenson and Zarzutzki use here makes for a constantly engaging listen. It especially comes through with any changes in dynamics; the louder sections of the song, and even the louder moments within quieter passages, feel much more dramatic than one may expect after hearing Touching. Even more, this approach gives a real human element to the airy tones that come from Stephenson playing his trumpet. And juxtaposed with the more metallic and sharp analog synthesizer, this consequent contrast proves for a satisfying array of sound. The most apparent testament to this is how this arrangement often allows for moments that are surprisingly playful, particularly when the synth skitters around the sound of an unwavering trumpet tone.

Perhaps the most delightful moment on No Dice appears about eleven minutes in--stuttering electronic squelches gradually shift in rhythm as to mimic the sound of galloping horses. It's one of many exciting moments on the album, and for only the second recording between Stephenson and Zarzutzki, No Dice proves that the two compliment each other really well. They make the most of these thirty minutes, and while it's only half as long as their previous release, it feels equally as accomplished.

Radu Malfatti - One Man and a Fly (Cathnor)

Purchase One Man and a Fly here

In interviews, Malfatti talks about three aspects of music: material, structure, and form. Material refers to the individual elements used in a recording—the instruments played, the timbre of notes, the key of a song—while the form is its general, overall shape and sound. What Malfatti is particularly interested in, however, is the structure that makes up the form. Unsurprisingly, a lot of his recordings are fascinating for the way in which he creates interesting relationships between the different material. As with previous recordings, Radu Malfatti plays his trombone on One Man and a Fly without embellishment, giving its presence in the recording equal weight to everything else we hear. It’s juxtaposed with a relatively active background filled with varying sounds of nature. Because of this, the record isn’t characterized by the stark contrasts of instrumentation and silence that defined Malfatti’s Edition Wandelweiser disc in 1997. But neither is It imbued with the same controlled tension derived from the coalescing of sounds on Düsseldorf Vielfaches and Rain Speak Soft Tree Leaves. Instead, One Man and a Fly proves intriguing for the way in which the interactions between all the sounds foster a continuously meditative atmosphere.

Malfatti’s performance on One Man and a Fly is understated but crucial. On one level, the monotone trombone notes function to augment the album’s hushed atmosphere. They enter infrequently and without pageantry, naturally blending in with the other material to grant the record an even richer texture. And in fact, this depth in sound is at the crux of what makes One Man and a Fly so satisfying. Across these 50 minutes, the sounds we hear are generally discernible; wind, automobiles, and various animals are all heard from a distance but with relative clarity. They’re contrasted with subtle noises that share space in the foreground: Malfatti quietly tapping on the trombone itself, the gentle rustling of clothes as he moves, and the sound of him readying the correct embouchure to play his instrument. The very nature of this pairing of sounds—magnified minutiae alongside comparatively domineering (but here diminished) noises—lends itself to a natural confluence. The result is something personal and intimate, qualities that are attractive in themselves but also prove beneficial for the way in which they invite the listener to be more attentive to the detailed world of One Man and a Fly.

The effective mixing of material seems to indicate another important role that the trombone plays throughout the record: a softening of the harsher sounds that occasionally appear. Within the album’s first minutes, we hear an airplane fly overhead. It moves away from the point of recording and soon thereafter, Malfatti plays a note as if to retroactively diminish the contrast in sound between the airplane and the collage of noises from the environment. Later around the twenty minute mark, we hear the starting of a lawn mower. Malfatti is quick to mask it with his trombone, initially starting a halftone too low but eventually matching the pitch of the machine’s engine. We’re thus more quickly accustomed to the presence of the lawn mower as it continues to run. And about ten minutes later, the same process occurs but to a lesser degree; the individual elements of the compounded sound are easier to distinguish. Malfatti follows by playing airy tones on his trombone. They’re a bit more conspicuous than the typical trombone notes but it’s appropriate given the necessity to make the sound of the lawn mower feel normal. It’s an intelligent strategy, and just one of many moments on the record where Malfatti’s expertise as an improvisatory musician is evident.

But given how important Malfatti is to constructing the overall sound of the record, one may question the significance of the titular fly. Is it a mere gimmick? Superfluous? A nuisance? Thankfully, it’s none of those things. Unlike everything else we hear, it quickly pans across the stereo field and diverts our attention upon arrival. While it may draw attention to itself, it isn’t overly distracting; it appears on the record randomly, seconds at a time, and acts as another instrument that’s aligned with Malfatti’s style of playing. And in a way, it reflects the sort of humor that Jacques Tati creates from meticulous sound design. Like the flickering of a neon sign in Playtime, the buzzing of the fly contrasts the homogeneity of the entire piece and the result is one of utter delight. For that alone, One Man and a Fly is worth a listen. At the same time, it’s important to recognize that this is all so effective because of Malfatti—his handle of the recording’s structure anchors the record, and it’s nothing short of impressive.

Rahel - Alkali (Lo Motion / Camp & Street)

Stream Alkali here

To many, Alkali might feel like a safe, low-stakes r&b record. It’s a mere thirty minutes long and filled with cozy, dreamlike production courtesy of The-Drum’s Jeremiah Meece. Even more, the lyrics don’t ever border on obtuse or hauntingly dark; these are straightforward pop songs dripping with magnetic romanticism. But while it may not present itself as a Grand Artistic Statement, Alkali gets so much right that the majority of the r&b underground doesn’t. For one, Meece understands how to use his production to work with Rahel. Vocals aren’t awkwardly forced on a track nor are they mere ornamental flourishes; Rahel’s silky vocals feel like an integral part to the album’s entire sound. This is primarily done by placing them a bit deep in the mix. Because of this, they’re given equal weight to the rest of the instrumentation. Not only does this sustain the album’s hazy, love-struck atmosphere but it makes it all the easier to be smitten by it.

If there’s any one thing that a contemporary r&b album needs to do, it’s to make the grandiosity of its emotions transferable. And because of the production and mixing, different elements of Rahel’s vocalizing—rhythm, melody, and tone—are considerably intensified. On highlight “Currents”, Rahel fluctuates between different vocal rhythms to express the eagerness of being with a lover. It never feels excessive or clumsy; it’s just another element that’s swirling alongside the synth pads. And even when it’s hard to make out the lyrics, be it from obfuscation or being too caught up in each song’s groove, certain key phrases are strategically emphasized. On “Flutter”, Rahel sings “‘cause you know I’m a winner / gotta have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby”. Its vocal rhythm is faster than anything that’s come before but also happens to be the first perfect rhyme of the song. The fact a pitch-shifted voice echoes the word “baby” only draws more attention to the line. It’s this careful attention to detail that makes Alkali so addicting. Four of the tracks don’t even stretch past three minutes but the restraint is purposeful, making the intro and its reprise on the interlude feel like crucial components of the album. And that’s exactly what makes Alkali so great: everything, from the production to the singing to the guest features, feels carefully planned and thoughtfully considered.

Nico Niquo - Epitaph (Orange Milk Records)

Purchase Epitaph here

Epitaph draws from the same sound palette as Oneohtrix Point Never’s R Plus Seven and Giant Claw’s Dark Web but it doesn’t shoot for the kaleidoscopic grandeur of the former or the plunderphonics frenzy of the latter. Instead, Nico Callaghan aka Nico Niquo keeps things relatively neat. He feels right at home on Orange Milk Records but he utilizes this retro-futuristic pastiche to draw out the soft beauty of its glossy, pristine sound. On opener “Maru Dai Dawn”, arpeggiated chords glide over new age-inspired synths and it sounds more Dire Dire Docks than Glass or Reich. There’s a delicate sensitivity to it, and it’s a trait that permeates all of Epitaph. Perhaps it’s expected on something like the title track—a shimmering, four-minute ambient meditation—but the album’s busier moments aren’t much different. On “Pandimension”, he dips his toes into post-Classical Curves grime but the stomping bass drum and shattering glass never overwhelm the listener; the song’s tone stays decidedly serious but its introspective spirit is never lost. There’s a smidge of jungle influence on the song too, and it’s something that eventually gets fleshed out on album closer “Not Here”. Callaghan starts the song with crystalline keys and builds on them with a warbling bassline and a high-pitched melody that pans back and forth. With these pieces in place, the breakbeat cuts right through the middle and feels unusually appropriate. It happens elsewhere on the record too, most notably with the stock music-y jazz piano on “Beyond AD”. It all just shows how well Callaghan can recontextualize these different elements into his own singular vision. And it’s ultimately what makes Epitaph such a cohesive and satisfying album.

[note: this mini-review originally appeared in a multi-part post recounting my ten favorite records of February]

Mrs. GREEN APPLE - Progressive (ProBabLy RecOrds)

Purchase Progressive on iTunes

Mrs. GREEN APPLE are a young band filled with young members but their music is self-assured and well-realized. They play with the youthful energy of a mid-2000s pop punk group or a rock band like Number Girl but lack the amateurish charm of the former and have too neat a sound to be directly associated with the latter; it’s decidedly pop music. And characteristic of many other contemporary J-pop groups, the instrumentation is noticeably precise. Each note feels calculated, but not sterile, and is mixed effectively to allow each instrument to serve their own purpose. There’s a cohesive interplay that helps with pacing too. On lead single “ナニヲナニヲ”, the verses are anchored by consistent bass lines that let the drums comfortably play an offbeat rhythm. With this foundation set, the synth and guitars can play an accessory role in the second half of each verse, essentially noodling around and keeping things interesting. But even when they peak in the bridge with their clashing solos, none of it feels overwrought.

Perhaps the most crucial element to Mrs. GREEN APPLE’s sound is lead vocalist 大森元貴. His voice is always positioned front and center in the mix while the rest of the instruments surround it. And considering his technical ability, it makes sense to let it be a focal point. Closing track “WaLL FloWeR” best demonstrates the range of his delivery and the ease with which he can switch between pitch, tempo, and tone. He can handle the more reserved passages but also knows how to liven up the chorus, and it’s all done with an understated elegance. And ultimately, the way his voice is utilized proves to be another testament to the group’s incredible songwriting. In the pre-chorus, his fluctuating vocal melody is enough to propel the song forward. By the time the chorus enters its second half, the drums slow to half-time to shift the impetus of the song to the sung high notes. The rest of Progressive displays this same attention to detail and it proves to be the band’s greatest strength. This was already obvious for anyone who had heard Mrs. GREEN APPLE’s first release but it’s been less than a year and their hooks are catchier and their overall sound tighter. There’s a long future ahead for this five-piece—two are still teenagers and the rest aren’t much older. With such a strong start, it’s exciting to see how they’ll continue to grow.