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Artist: Robert Scott Thompson Reviews:
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Sidereal is a new semi-long form ambient recording from Robert Scott Thompson. I write "semi" long form, because while there is a definite flow and cohesion to the album (and there is only one time cue) the music does morph between distinct and separate moods and feelings. However, there is also an underlying drone (per the liner notes) and I'll admit that there is also a subtle atmosphere at work throughout the recording as well. Sidereal is Thompson's musical impression of the "background noise of the universe," that miasma of cosmic static that permeates all of space. Which is not to say that Sidereal "mimics" or recreates those sounds of the cosmos. Instead, what ambient music pioneer Thompson has done is create a work that is truly sublime and exists in a constant yet subdued state of flux. However, even more of a testament is that Sidereal has moments so wonderful that you may want to "freeze frame" the CD and just bathe in the musical bliss you hear at any one moment. Using an assortment of synths, samplers, guitars, and his patented Thompson electronic and computer wizardry, the album opens with a passage that is forlorn and somewhat dark, yet flowing with a melancholic romanticism. Reverbed piano notes are juxtaposed with strange cosmic wiggling noises, angelic vocal samples (is that Latin she is singing?), and an assortment of electronic music textures and drones weaving an eerie - yet never scary - musical web. The reverbed piano is particularly evocative, its minimalism bearing some resemblance to Ernesto Diaz-Infante, James Johnson, and Brian Eno. The pervasive background textures (which are barely there sometimes) lend an air of cosmic spaciness to Sidereal. On headphones, this continuous stream of electronic shading is better appreciated than on speakers, although on loudspeakers, the music takes on a more traditional "ambient" feel and gives the CD a certain palpable spaciousness and openness as the music "hits" the listening environment. As mentioned above, the CD passes through several separate musical "boundaries" such as the transition into an arrhythmic series of bell/gong tones, strange wire sounds, and deep bass reverberations, along with even more minimal piano music (this time not reverbed but the single notes are sustained). From there, the album melds into shadow and mystery and even darkness with the emergence of more traditional dark ambient trappings (meant in the best possible sense). Floating minor synth chords, strange alien drones, and a scraping bell-like sound send chills up my spine. But even amidst this spooky soundscape, the inherent beauty of the music still comes through loud and clear. Sidereal is not Stalker or Heresy - not be a longshot. However, it's also not And the Stars Go With You. In fact, Sidereal is wholly original (which is no shock, since it comes from an artist whose middle name should be "unique" instead of "Scott"). I haven't scratched the surface of describing Sidereal yet. Like Robert's last album (the ultra-ambitious and awesome Acousma), reviewing an album like this is not about relating a blow-by-blow account. It's more a study in capturing the mood and sensations of the album. I don't know that I could even do that very well (without writing another 1,000 words) but Sidereal is an amazing album because it somehow manages to be intellectually (and artistically) challenging and stimulating yet is also completely accessible for almost any ambient or spacemusic fan. One section of Sidereal is blissful with floating synth chords matched against high-pitched synths lending an air of celestial magic. This is followed by an alien soundscape of whirling effects, disturbing 2001-ish drones, and a sense of immense expanses of blackness. Yet later, arrhythmic clangs and percussive effects play out against piano that recalls parts of Ennio Morricone's score to Carpenter's The Thing - a tangible sense of dread and loneliness settles over the music. Then, the music quiets way down with a simple background machine-like drone (almost like the background noise on the spaceship Discovery from 2001). This section morphs into Eno-esque ambient heaven - full of minimal piano, gentle synth shadings, and a sense of gossamer-thin beauty, held together by plucked-strings and graceful snippets of melody. If you like spacemusic or floating ambient music, I'd find it hard to believe that you won't enjoy exploring the various sonic terrains that Robert Scott Thompson maps on Sidereal. I played this CD five or six times and enjoyed it more each time, as layer upon layer of the album revealed itself to me. It's also the rare ambient recording that rewards both direct and indirect listening. Somewhere between light and dark, Sidereal sets its course for the area of deep space which can be both inviting and scary - as it reminds us of how infinite the universe is and yet also how, with spiritual synchronicity, we fit squarely into it all. Sidereal (if there is any justice) should finally garner the praise and recognition that has eluded Robert Scott Thompson for far too long. It's that good an album and comes highly recommended.
(from the album's liner notes: "acousma [Gr. akonsma, from akonein, to hear]: Ger. Akusma; Fr. illusion ou hallucination auditive; Itl. acusma. - a form of auditory hallucination. acousma - Sensation of hearing imaginary sounds. Also called acouasm Reviewing a CD like Robert Scott Thompson's brilliant Acousma is a maddeningly ridiculous venture. It's difficult enough to review straightforward ambient music, with it's subtle twists and turns as it morphs endlessly in tiny steps or wild deviations. But this recording - yikes! First of all, it's a two-disc set; second of all, each disc holds over 75 minutes of music; third, the music contained therein is some of the most adventurous I've heard since Ken Moore's Conviction from my Extraction. Acousma is extremely heavy-duty and is only ambient in the most broad sense of the word. To my mind, playing this in the background is pointless. You will never appreciate it to any degree whatsoever, simply because it is too dense and complex to absorb indirectly. Which is not to say that direct listening will appeal to many people either. Abstract and experimental, sometimes in the extreme, the music on Acousma is comprised of acoustic sound sources, both musical (e.g. violin, guitar, voice, flute, piano, et al.) and non-musical (field recordings, spoken word, other acoustic sources), that are literally transformed through computer devices and techniques that, while well-explained in the liner notes, are so far beyond my level to understand that I won't even try to do so. And, I'll admit, the first several times I attempted to listen to Acousma, I was completely lost somewhere between bewilderment and extreme dislike. In the beginning, it just all seemed so confusing - a jangle of noise, musical snippets, and distorted sounds. However, out of this chaos, beauty did emerge for me. Not traditional beauty, but a sense of loveliness amidst the purity of the invention which is part and parcel of what Acousma is all about. As Robert Scott Thompson himself states in the liner notes, "Sounds become enchanted, imbued with enriched nuance, essentially changed and transformed through the agency of computer synthesis and processing." "Enchantment" is a good choice of words. There is a special breed of magic at work at the selections on these two discs. It's almost hypnotic. If one was to craft a perfect listening environment (no outside noise or disruption, comfortable position, headphones, low light or no light), I would imagine that this recording would provide quite the fuel for an active imagination. On the other hand, something about the music is also amazingly non-visual and incredibly aesthetic from a purely intellectual standpoint. This is not to say that an emotional response won't be evoked by various sections of either disc. However, the overall feeling of the record is more exploratory and less celebratory, frightening or somber. I also would caution you that on first listen, (as was my case), you might hear this as a soulless exercise in "gee whiz" studio chicanery. I'd only urge you to stick with this CD and do your best to get past that stage of comprehension. While I have painted a picture of Acousma that may make it sound harsh or completely non-melodic, it's not all like that (if even like at all). Since the sound sources are, mostly, musical instruments, an astute listener will catch moments of melody and phrasing, as one catches a firefly as it flits about in the dark night air. Some stretches of the CD are cacophonous, bringing to mind conflict and the clashing of powerful forces, while at other times the music is diaphanous, floating and wafting as delicate as a wisp of smoke. Crescendoes that erupt from seemingly out of nowhere are melded into eerily beautiful stretches and then reverse themselves back into an explosion of discordant sound. Processed vocals can sound ghostly one minute and celestial the next. Violins, flute, and koto flirt with normalcy and are swallowed up in a miasma of soundscapes that would be grating if they weren't so intricately crafted and meticulously engineered to take the listener just to the brink of some sonic cliff, gazing over the edge and yet never losing balance as one teeters at the abyss. I won't even attempt to single out a track on either disc as a favorite, since that is missing the point of "the whole" of this album. I suppose that, over time and repeated listenings, I may come to like one track more than another (the songs are markedly different from each other). I strongly recommend Acousma, even though I imagine my review has left many of you scratching your heads and wondering "Yeah, but what does it sound like?" Well, there is no easy answer to that question. Acousma sounds like music that has been changed and transformed (as Thompson states in the notes above) into something new, exciting, and courageous, and also something dangerous, scary, and unstable. It's a statement of how unique and startling this CD is that if I was pressed to compare it to anyone else that I know, I'd say this: If L. Gaab and Daniel Byerly (recording under his pseudonym Bertrom Cabot Jr.) mind-melded and recorded an album, you might get something that sounds like this. But, on the other hand, Robert Scott Thompson is such a rugged individualist when it comes to composition (never taking the easy path in anything he records), even that comparison is hopelessly flawed. In the end, Acousma will delight and thrill you if you are searching for music that strays far afield of traditional ambient or even twentieth century classical or avant garde recordings. While not as unfriendly as some of what I have received from the Staalplaat label (which, in my opinion, frequently is just bizarre noise), Acousma is seldom, if ever, accessible or "normal" in any true sense of the word. But somehow, through all the altered sounds and brief strains of familiarity, something amazingly artistic and innately human emerges. I don't know how or why, but Acousma speaks to the open-minded listener in tones that are both alien and native. It's an amazing album!
The more I listened to the collaborative album between Robert Scott Thompson and James Johnson, Forgotten Places, the more I tried to isolate what it was that Robert "brought to the party" which made this CD such an astounding piece of work. I heard definite elements of James Johnson's trademark minimalist ambient piano and keyboards (some which were new on this CD), but I also knew there was a musical element that represented a marked, if not a drastic departure, for the man (Johnson) I once referred to as the heir apparent to Brian Eno. It was, perhaps, the twelfth or fifteenth listening. I was preparing Sunday dinner for an (quite ill) Kathryn, who was asleep on the couch. The setting sun was streaming into the kitchen from the back sunroom's windows and Onyx was outside harassing squirrels on a perfect early autumn evening. I felt a sense of calm brought on by the combination of hearing this music I loved along with performing an activity that I loved (cooking). Wham! That's when it hit me! James Johnson has always worked in long-form music, including his destined-to-be-classic effort with Stephen Philips, Lost at Dunn's Lake (an album-length piece of music). Robert, on the other hand, is consummately talented at piecing together shorter songs, unified by an intangible feel, yet still quite varied (if one breaks down the music technically). That was the key to this unique album! And that is also why I'm prepared to make a statement that's quite bold, even for a critic like me (who's prone to wax eloquently about many album I enjoy). Forgotten Places may well be The Pearl for the new millennium. If you're not familiar with The Pearl, it's a considerably older recording, a collaboration between Brian Eno and Harold Budd (two musicians more or less credited with creating the genre of minimal ambient music). The Pearl is considered, by many, to be one of the finest and most influential albums ever recorded in this genre. And yes, I'm now fully aware what I have written about Forgotten Places. And yes, it's that good. Ten tone poems, each unique and suffused with an amazing balancing act of emotional impact - serene yet brimming with tension, tragic yet achingly beautiful, mournful yet content, and melancholic yet hopeful. This truly is the perfect union of two superlative musical talents! The music on Forgotten Places can be as restrained as gentle minimal piano notes suspended over a soft whisper of synthesizers, or it can carry strains of synth strings, synth choruses, overt electronic effects, or even synthesized woodwinds to flesh the sound out until the music is like a miniaturist piece of neo-classical music. Like an assorted collection of fine gems, e.g. jade, opal, sapphire, onyx, ruby, and, well, pearl, each song on the album sparkles in its own individual way. The opening number, "A Slow Return," will sound instantly familiar to Johnson fans, with minimal piano accented by both a solitary synth string and string section, along with hushed synth choruses. The sound is so fragile and delicate, yet so beautiful that it fills the room with a warm glow. "Resonant Landscape" starts off with a cello-like sound, soon joined by other strings (a viola, perhaps), evoking comparisons to Tim Story, until the subtle dissonance of what sounds like a flute briefly flits into view. As the song develops, it becomes a duet of sorts between floating synth chords and piano, with occasional contributions from a solo violin. The piece has a fuller sound than the first cut, yet the comparison to Story's brilliant miniaturism is right on the mark. As stated above, the music deftly maneuvers between polar opposite evocations - peaceful yet with a thread of regret running through it...an unasked question or a word of comfort not offered in a time of need perhaps. Heavy duty stuff? Well, my emotional response to the album was pretty intense, but the music on Forgotten Places is not in the least bit oppressive. That's the genius of these two musicians, i.e. their combined ability to weave such complex and deep emotions into music that can be heard as something relatively simple (this is, of course, the very essence of minimalism when it's done right, as it's performed here). While I have only described two songs, I'm aware that I have to rein in my enthusiasm somewhat or no one will finish reading this review due to its length. Again, I want to stress that the individual selections on Forgotten Places brim with individuality, yet the common thread of piano, synth, and a minimalist approach winds its way throughout all ten cuts. There are moments of dissonance and atonality, but never in the least are these harsh or obtrusive. Instead, these occurrences (and they are rare, believe me) serve as brilliant counterpoints, effectively undercutting any possibility (remote as it would be otherwise) that the listener would feel the music is too warm or too "pretty." Cuts like "Innocence Lost," which approach a darker texture, with more overt spacy synth effects, still retain a core of humanity, the same way that Tim Story does likewise when he eschews piano (such as on "Eyelids of the Sea" from Beguiled). Favorite songs for me would be the opening number ("A Slow Return"), "Stolen Moment," "Then & Now" (with gorgeous use of synth choruses and synth woodwinds - or so they sound to me), "Low and Clear," which contains brief environmental sounds (water lapping at the shore) amid a less melancholic use of keyboards and synths, the lovely but quite sad "Malay," with cello, violin, piano and keyboards, and the album closing "Endless," which ends the CD on a somewhat optimistic, yet not necessarily cheery note. Fans of The Pearl should (obviously) order this CD immediately! So should fans of either of the two artists (Budd or Eno) who recorded that album. In addition, lovers of Tim Story's work, and those of you out there who own (and love) the late Dan Hartman's New Green Clear Blue will also find this CD to your liking, I'd wager. Unless you are almost zealously committed to only long-form ambient music or are loathe to listen to piano mixed in with electronic keyboards, I would be amazed if you don't enjoy (to put it mildly) Forgotten Places as much as I did. Whether or not you feel it deserves to be compared to The Pearl I can't say. In my opinion, if it doesn't equal that masterpiece, it comes as damn close to it as anyone ever will. Kudos to James and Robert. Need I say it? My highest recommendation.
After releasing The Silent Shore last year, people finally took some real notice of one of the strongest electronic keyboard players composing and performing today - Robert Scott Thompson. His new release on Mirage, Frontier, is a near perfect exploration of the place where dark ambient meets floating ambient in a myriad of expansive soundfields. From the first cut, "Cloud Fragments," with almost whispered synth washes rising and falling (a la Liquid Mind) it's apparent this will be sonic voyage of deep spaciousness. Each of the songs on this recording flow into the next one, despite the relative variety of tone and mood between them. Take this first transition from cut one to cut two, "Lumina." Immediately apparent is a change in tone to a darker more noir-like style of music. Heavily reverbed gongs echo along with minor tone chimes, while disturbing effects come in and out of focus. This is deliciously different dark ambient in its use of synth effects and bell-like tones. There is the "noir characteristic" deep bass rumbling present, as well. The next transition again provides a contrast between moods, as the third song, the title cut, is faded in via the sound of crickets and long synth washes and synth strings. Not as pastoral as the first song nor as dark as the second, "Frontier" paints a sonic image of a vast expanse of land opening up ahead of you (great visualizing music!). The piece blends ominous rumblings with those sadly soft synth strings for quite a dramatic effect. Throughout the rest of the album (which I'd love to delve into here but it would take too many words to describe), Robert paints from a myriad of sonic textures, some more calm than others. He has a startling command of layering his keyboards. While I have mentioned the change in mood between songs, I found none of it jarring in the least. Far from it, Frontier is one of the best ambient releases I have heard in a while. Robert's richly complex compositions combined with his excellent technical production (headphone listening is a revelation) make for a deep space/dark ambient experience that should prove a wonderful ride for all fans of either genre. Extra points are awarded for outstanding album graphics and evocative liner notes detailing the composer's thoughts about each track. Well done, indeed!
If there are awards for an unjustly ignored albums in the ambient genre, I'd probably cast one of my votes for Robert Scott Thompson's Air Friction. With all the adoration (deserved, I might add) of works from Brian Eno (such as Music for Airports) and Harold Budd (such as Lovely Thunder and his collaboration with Eno, The Pearl), I don't understand why Air Friction is seldom mentioned. The fourteen cuts on this recording are gentle minimal sound paintings, usually quite beautiful, and ranging from just over two minutes to a notch over seven. Some of pieces bear some resemblance to Tim Story's music, except that where Story uses the repetition of a musical phrase, Thompson follows a more fluid and evolving method. For instance, the opening cut "The Moon and Certain Angles" weds delicate bell-like tones with several underlying layers of electronics, including a serene wash that bathes the song in a soft warm light. The underlying washes of keyboards ebb and flow in a series of electronic sighs. It's an evocative and emotional opening selection. Differences between Thompson and Eno/Budd include a relative (note the use of that word) lack of "naked" acoustic instrumentation as well as a more exploratory nature to the music. Pitch bending and occasional subtle dissonance is mixed in with the sad beauty to create not so much a sense of disquiet as much as a sense of unfamiliarity - as in memories (or photographs) that have begun to fade. But these devices I mentioned do nothing to diminish the loveliness of songs like "Pure Vision Through a Looking Glass," or the title cut. Instead, they add a maturity and intellectual quality to the music (which is another similarity to Tim Story, whose recordings I consider among the most intelligent in the genre). The choruses, synth-oboe, piano and guitar on the title cut elicit deeply emotional responses - this is seriously sad music yet is devoid of faux sentimentality. "Sky of Albion" is another gem (background echoed wood-chime effects played against an assortment of lush yet tragic keyboards) as is the rhythmic (courtesy of assorted electronic drum beats) "The Westward Way," which does contain the use of a repeated refrain (and, as such, evokes the feeling of movement along a road). On "A Picture of Moments" the pitch-bending to the synths gives the cut an off-kilter feel but in a most pleasant way - almost cheerful in fact. "The Shifting of Spheres" opens with washes of synths and wind chimes tinkling, before somber piano, synth choruses, and cello combine to paint an elegy of sorts. It's a stately piece and one that would not be out of place at a funeral, but not because it's sad - it's reverential. In fact, for some reason, when I listen to Air Friction, I can't help but think this music is meant for worship in some regard. It has a cathedral-like quality to it that I can't isolate, but I feel it quite palpably. However, thank goodness the music is never pretentious or sanctimonious. It's a testament to Robert Scott Thompson that I never heard the music calling attention to itself. Still, make no mistake about it - this is a brave exercise in ambient music. Just because I have drawn comparisons to Eno, Budd and Story - Air Friction is highly unique (the closing cut, "Atmosphere," marries hand percussion with echoed piano and muted electric guitar). But it remains imminently accessible to fans of the artists I have mentioned. As such, if you have works by them, I recommend adding this to your collection. And when you get it, really explore it - song by song on headphones. There's a lot of sonic wonder in these tracks. Make sure you hear it all. |