Daniel Menche keeps fighting against the disreputation of noise by constantly resetting aesthetic parameters, the ensuing music thriving on a mix of entrancement, strengthening pulse, and order. He might be described as an overcharged neo-minimalist, if you will: the second part of Cave Canem could easily remind someone about Steve Reich’s Drumming, not exclusively for the use of tuned percussion but also for the similarity of the respective rhythmic cadences. But the man meditates differently from past engenderers of mathematical mantras: he may employ repetitiveness, but is guided by the majestic clamor of natural phenomena, including those we can’t see but are able to feel.
Every time we tackle an album by the drone-and-else-meister we desperately try to unearth terms to convey the incredible levels of puissance transmitted by the large majority of his output. The beneficial effects given by a correct superimposition of mesmerizing patterns and harmonically prosperous electronic matters are by now understood even by the masses. Moreover, Menche adds the “belief” factor: as one listens, the immediate effect is one of total involvement and trust in the force that’s going to lead us who knows where. The body responds to movement with movement; the necessity of “cranking” – as the artist himself suggests – becomes apparent after a little while.
“Ritualistic” would be a worn-out adjective to stick to this offer; to escape from commonplace, this is just another facet of the silent “positive dissent” characterizing the energized essence of a creative specimen who’s equally at ease in a studio and inside a normal life. It can only come from a musician who loves the kids he works with on a daily basis, and treats his cute chihuahua Arrow like a son (remember: all Menche’s Bandcamp earnings are destined to the nourishment of the tiny hero). And who continues to probe the bowels of his homeland, systematically finding sources of inspiration to keep us content and quaking with fantastic sonorities.