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Deaf
Center – Pale Ravine (Type) |
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Hot on the heels
of Julien Neto's wonderful Le Fumeur de Ciel earlier this year, this
latest release on Type must surely establish John Xela and Stefan Lewandowski's
still barely two-years-old label as one of the jewels in the crown of the
UK independents. They used to call Default – their club night partnership
before Type took over – 'warm electronic music' – which lays out
the stall eloquently enough for its migration to the record label: there's
no denying it – it's warm, it's electronic, and its music. Clearly, though,
in this post-eclectic universe, there's generous scope within that fairly
wide brief for a catholic interpretation of the label's label (tell me if
this let's-have-fun-with-words stuff starts to get tedious).
If anyone were ever to do a themed David Lynch night, for instance, they'd
need look no further than the Deaf Center discography for their mixing palette.
Pale Ravine, the follow-up to their impressive début EP, Neon
City, is a typical example of the type that is Type – a set of hypnagogic
reveries inspired by beauty but slightly infected with alarm.
Norwegians Erik Skodvin and Otto Totland are a pair of old school chums whose
combined resources mass a perceived aesthetic tonnage disproportionate to
their number – their music is old-school synth-orchestral atmospherics
relying heavily on some minimalist-meets-jazz piano (my, hasn't this been
a good year for pianos?) that puts it right up there in the classy OST-like
category of such composers as Cliff Martinez, Michael Nyman, or perhaps Dun
Tan (I'm thinking that fabulous double-looped oriental/occidental crossover
that contributes so significantly to the epic atmospheres of Crouching
Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Hero).
Unlike the experience of listening to a normal OST, however, the imaginary
narrative we reverse engineer from this soundtrack-without-a-movie will be
different for everyone who listens to it. There's an overarching parabola
of hovering angst and barely shielded neurosis that summons images of fog-shrouded
fjords, deep, dark, cold water, guilt, and dark secrets in small tight-lipped
communities – but maybe that's just me cos I've been there. Uplifting
it certainly ain't, but if you like your music to raise the hairs on the back
of your neck a bit, this should uplift them nicely.
December 2005
