Joda Clément: composition, all sounds
The practice of random repêchage among the countless boxes of older promos refreshes the spirit when you come across a subdued dark crystal such as 2011’s The Narrows. Its sonic continuance is mostly flawless; yet, the disclosure of an inbuilt (and, in this case, barely graspable) narrative is never authentically completed, allowing the listener to fill up a few of those unreal black holes with their own psychic contributions. The “try-understanding-the-source” exercise would constitute a rather hapless attempt to draw limits to something that refuses them in virtue of some sort of natural law. Of course we’re still able to realize that a thunderstorm is a thunderstorm, that processing and altering ordinary phenomena can transfigure small drops of vague reality into immense caverns where getting benumbed by the lower frequencies becomes a private delight. The class of an album born inside the jam-packed casbah of drone-based environments is usually proportional to the humbleness of its creator in front of the result, without counting the (unfortunately rarefied) ability of not exaggerating with any component. Clément employs his sensible know-how to distill ominous gracefulness from far-off echoes and arresting subsonic propagations amidst more concrete elements. Not content with that, he applies a commonsensical sequentiality to make sure that every state of the matter sounds as it was meant to be, gradual emergences intermeshed in an aurally rewarding blur of anomalous achromatic radiance.