Third release in about a year and a half for Vine, who has rapidly become a personal favorite among the younger composers. The reason for my fondness is translatable as “essentiality”. Take a single concept and make the most of it, in the meantime managing to capture the listener and place him/her in the zone where mundane identity-related troubles are swallowed by a quivering polyphonic mist.
Accordingly, the bewitchingly ataractic Interstices is another classic (and classy) specimen of slow motion inside apparent stasis. Its glory comes from the sheer color of the bordering tones: pallid, with just few pitches actually emerging from the obfuscated mix. The lack of distinctness generated by the overspreading of attacks, decays, pauses and environmental whispers originates an impenetrable fluorescent light that leaves no clue in regard to signals to decrypt or recondite messages to untangle. The lingering intuition is that of amassed frailties – elongated snapshots of anonymous lives, if you will – creating a compelling strength. It might sound irrational, given the harmony’s uncertainty; and yet, the core of the meaning lies exactly in this theoretical contradiction. Right after the 28th minute, a droning chord repeatedly attempts to open up at an even higher level of sublimity; the predominant clusters struggle to restore the composition’s overall dissonant character. It’s a truly wonderful moment, perfectly rendering the taciturn spirituality transmitted by this music.
Sometimes it’s better not to surrender to the merely mental necessity of learning or defining. Soon the answers we’re desperately looking for will materialize, sudden disclosures of blue strips of unexpected knowledge in the depressingly grey sky of grandiloquent obtuseness.