There is something really intriguing about Efrim Manuel Menuck‘s recent work outside Godspeed You! Black Emperor and A Silver Mt Zion.
The vaporous drift of electronics accompanies a vocal duet that veers towards soul and nearly into gospel, the disparate vocals feeling almost reversed in places, Ariel possibly taking the deeper route while Efrim’s familiar quaver has a measured quality that suits the warm dawn wash of the beatless aura. The vocals intertwine quite beautifully, so it is pretty much impossible to tell who is who. All I can say is that the voices feel so right together, filling each other’s spaces as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Meanwhile, the sounds hover, stuttering electronics interspersed with hints of percussion and a fathomable heartbeat, holding everything down way in the depths.
Efrim’s voice seems to change from track to track. On the intense “We Live On A Fucking Planet And Baby That’s The Sun”, it is Liam O’Neill‘s drums that seem to set him off with Ariel trying to calm him, to avoid the cataclysm which sounds imminent and builds to a crescendo, just how we might expect things to go. But that idea of a long-form constant build is the exception in the tracks collected here. There are more similarities with Sing Sinck Sing, but the vocals somehow prevent that stasis and allow generous but subtle movement, a hesitant positivity that recognises the state of things, but as ever holds a precious cup of hope. There are echoes of previous work, but the martial drums that accompany Efrim on “A Workers’ Graveyard (Poor Eternal)” are offset against more ethereal elements, making the journey far more varied and in places is reminiscent of the slow revolutions of Jace Lasek‘s Light Conductor. The meandering keys and insistent throb of “The Sons And Daughters Of Poor Eternal” turns darker and more sinister as the piece progresses, the structure lifting it out of formlessness but only just, the voices changing and sparking all the way through.When Ariel is alone however, there is a real plaintive quality to her voice that is delightfully affecting and when set against the kosmische-inspired soundscape of “Anchor” is a real highlight. The image of the raised anchor is apposite, her voice deep and reflective, as the words drift almost lifeless, a celestial duo-tone movement and flickering shards of sound accompanying the mournful observations.
Overall, this is an inspired collaboration, each of the duo bringing something rewarding to the other with the addition of fellow traveller Jessica Moss‘s violin raising the slow and solemn progress of final track “Lie Down In Roses Dear” to the kind of atmosphere that hints at Dead Can Dance. A surprising and delirious ending to an album that pushes and pulls, but draws everyone in its wake.-Mr Olivetti-
