Album: Ravedeath, 1972
Though it's not my specialist subject area, I do occasionally dabble in ambient electronic music; much of the time I find it a bit dry and academic, especially "musique concrète" or field recordings created by "sound artists", and sometimes it's (frankly) just plain boring. But just every now and again I stumble across something that I find emotionally engaging as well as intellectually stimulating, which really is the measure of any good music. Ambient has had a long flirtation with rock music, starting in the 70s with the likes of Can (Aumgn on Tago Mago, with its speed-shifting waves of sounds and religious chanting, is drone music ground zero), Brian Eno and, by extension, David Bowie's Low. Ambient music also had a lot of crossover with the kosmische end of krautrock. In the modern era, records like Scott Walker's The Drift have dabbled in drone, but the real pioneers have been the likes of Wolfgang Voigt (Gas), Black Swan, La Monte Young, William Basinski, Earth and Sunn O))). As a sign of the genre's momentum, Walker and Sunn O))) teamed up in 2014 to record Soused, arguably the most accessible record that either part has released in years. Other great modern ambient records include Julianna Barwick's Nepenthe, Boards Of Canada's Tomorrow's Harvest and Oneohtrix Point Never's Returnal, but my favourite of all is Tim Hecker's Ravedeath, 1972. Like Tomorrow's Harvest, it has a post-apocalyptic mood and it's by far Hecker's most textured and layered album, with many of the songs based around the sound of organ music recorded in a church in Reykjavik, Iceland.
One thing that I appreciate about Hecker is his respect for the album as an art form. Everything about Ravedeath, 1972 is meticulously thought out, from the album cover (which shows MIT students throwing a piano off the roof of a faculty building -- see video above) to the track names and the sequencing, all of it a meditation on music's declining value in modern society. Also, though I find a lot of drone music tedious, Hecker's compositions are head and shoulders above the norm, completely immersive sound sculptures that demand to be listened to in long, uninterrupted sittings (like a lot of ambient music, if you don't pay close attention, it washes over you). In The Fog, Hatred Of Music and In The Air are all multi-song suites, and my only regret is that opener (The Piano Drop) and Analog Paralysis, 1978 don't go on for longer. The sound of the organ persists throughout but it's often impossible to distinguish it from the sound of other instruments, especially the overlayered wash of digital synths. Then, at the end of the record (In The Air) the ambient noise clears and all that's left is just the plinking sound of the organ, as if to say that digital music degrades and has a shelf life whereas organic music is timeless. In the way the organ mimics the form of sacred music, the album has a spiritual feel, almost like church music for atheists. The general formlessness, and lack of rhythm or melody, makes the songs that do have a sense of structure (like Hatred Of Music) more memorable, and occasionally there are reference points from pop music's past (the heavy reverb is reminiscent of shoegaze, especially My Bloody Valentine). In most other respects, this album is completely unique and a reminder of the power of the LP in an era of short attention spans.
Artist: Tim Hecker
Born: Vancouver, British Columbia
Released: February 2011
Genre: Drone
Though it's not my specialist subject area, I do occasionally dabble in ambient electronic music; much of the time I find it a bit dry and academic, especially "musique concrète" or field recordings created by "sound artists", and sometimes it's (frankly) just plain boring. But just every now and again I stumble across something that I find emotionally engaging as well as intellectually stimulating, which really is the measure of any good music. Ambient has had a long flirtation with rock music, starting in the 70s with the likes of Can (Aumgn on Tago Mago, with its speed-shifting waves of sounds and religious chanting, is drone music ground zero), Brian Eno and, by extension, David Bowie's Low. Ambient music also had a lot of crossover with the kosmische end of krautrock. In the modern era, records like Scott Walker's The Drift have dabbled in drone, but the real pioneers have been the likes of Wolfgang Voigt (Gas), Black Swan, La Monte Young, William Basinski, Earth and Sunn O))). As a sign of the genre's momentum, Walker and Sunn O))) teamed up in 2014 to record Soused, arguably the most accessible record that either part has released in years. Other great modern ambient records include Julianna Barwick's Nepenthe, Boards Of Canada's Tomorrow's Harvest and Oneohtrix Point Never's Returnal, but my favourite of all is Tim Hecker's Ravedeath, 1972. Like Tomorrow's Harvest, it has a post-apocalyptic mood and it's by far Hecker's most textured and layered album, with many of the songs based around the sound of organ music recorded in a church in Reykjavik, Iceland.
One thing that I appreciate about Hecker is his respect for the album as an art form. Everything about Ravedeath, 1972 is meticulously thought out, from the album cover (which shows MIT students throwing a piano off the roof of a faculty building -- see video above) to the track names and the sequencing, all of it a meditation on music's declining value in modern society. Also, though I find a lot of drone music tedious, Hecker's compositions are head and shoulders above the norm, completely immersive sound sculptures that demand to be listened to in long, uninterrupted sittings (like a lot of ambient music, if you don't pay close attention, it washes over you). In The Fog, Hatred Of Music and In The Air are all multi-song suites, and my only regret is that opener (The Piano Drop) and Analog Paralysis, 1978 don't go on for longer. The sound of the organ persists throughout but it's often impossible to distinguish it from the sound of other instruments, especially the overlayered wash of digital synths. Then, at the end of the record (In The Air) the ambient noise clears and all that's left is just the plinking sound of the organ, as if to say that digital music degrades and has a shelf life whereas organic music is timeless. In the way the organ mimics the form of sacred music, the album has a spiritual feel, almost like church music for atheists. The general formlessness, and lack of rhythm or melody, makes the songs that do have a sense of structure (like Hatred Of Music) more memorable, and occasionally there are reference points from pop music's past (the heavy reverb is reminiscent of shoegaze, especially My Bloody Valentine). In most other respects, this album is completely unique and a reminder of the power of the LP in an era of short attention spans.
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