TODD ANDERSON-KUNERT – When There Is Nothing Left To Say.


Profound titles to begin with. Both the LP’s and the three tracks, whose names form the phrase “you just know (inside) when a warm embrace feels cold”. Melbourne’s Todd Anderson-Kunert is a specialist in the relationship between brain-upgrading frequencies and ineffectiveness of verbal correspondence. In fact, he explains, the concept behind this work originates from the “quiet, insular times” in which he realized – as discerning individuals do – that expecting people to lend some comfort when it comes to supporting a fellow human during complicated periods constitutes a big error.

The 30 minutes are connoted by a compositional demeanor revealing know-how and succinctness. A round of applause also goes to Anderson-Kunert’s facility in swinging across high and low frequency spectra. What is heard responds to a non-standard symmetry of darkness and light, materializing and vanishing when the time is right. Not a second before or after. These discharges rumble and hum one moment, sandblast the cochlea the next; then they may shape a brief ataractic stasis, only to become an underground tremor escorted by radioactive quintessences. Nothing can be found here giving the idea of having been generated by criteria of randomness. Listeners are almost immediately sucked into a vortex and subsequently regurgitated over the course of a thorough process of clarification of their position within the transitory scheme of things. In regard to sound placement, every choice appears to be entirely logical: all pitches and noises are perceived as direct consequences of conscious decisions or, at the very least, scrupulous investigations. An expert ear can feel it.

This must be ranked among the most bewitching albums of distorted (or less) electronic matter of the last five years or so. It was rediscovered by chance – as it often happens – while I was rummaging through my archive boxes, and instantly struck a sensible nerve in this writer, who totally recommends it to any lover of order embedded in (apparent) chaos. It pairs nicely with my current mental stance, which caused love at first spin. And finally: as its fumes were starting to spread around the room, a spring-like afternoon suddenly produced an ill-boding somber sky.

Never trust warm embraces.

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