The packaging for the latest Aperus release is a thing of beauty, containing a number of glorious weather photographs selected at random from Brian McWilliam‘s well-curated archive. Thankfully, the sounds contained within live up to this lush presentation, channelling the spirit of Covid as well as the New Mexico mountain fires which were delivering smoke to Brian’s back door.
As you can imagine, these disturbing events have fed into Brian’s processes, lending a sense of some ravaged, remote outpost on opener “Echoes Of Thunderbirds”, the sound of heavy rain and the squeal of distant trains creating a distant, puzzling soundscape, at points shining in an afterglow and at others reeling in a kind of purity and stillness.
The sounds quiver and flicker but are stealthy in their repetition. A background tone of hypnotic intent invades “Somewhere Else, Not Here”, and the clatter that accompanies could be of human origin; but also could be left dangling from the trees in a malignant breeze.There is always a touch of recognition, but often it is the very faintest reminder, a shadow that brings to mind the dust-filled desert, though as if something unexplained or inexplicable has taken place. Searching sounds, distant repetition, forgotten machinery invaded by sand. It is reminiscent of that scene in Planet Of The Apes where they discover the Statue of Liberty, the evolving tones pushing at one another gently, producing dunes of sound with the constant menace of an impending storm.
Elsewhere, the search leads underground where caves drip and hidden recesses beckon on “Descending From Alto”; but on “Up In Flames”, the dusty loops hold a certain Earthy sensibility, derived from the familiar but twisted to suit a particular frame of reference or moment in time, though it is just out of our reach or recognition. We feel we should be able to, but it slips from the grasp. The sky clears on “Collective Memory” and the intensity drops like high cirrus coating the edges of the atmosphere. Up here, the sounds drift in a liminal state, touched by the sun and falling slowly, joined by the whistle of high-flying birds. The sparseness and random textures are sometimes hard to figure, an implied sense of threat, but one seen from a great distance; while at other times guitars breathe slowly with overtones and faint rejoinders bringing to mind the likes of Labradford. By the time we reach the scattered disquiet of “Shadow Of A Shadow”, much time has passed and many moods and vistas have moved before us, always shifting, the patterns like sand or waves under a clear blue sky or a rain-lashed retreat. It keeps us guessing but at the same time does allow us to enter into this rarefied world.Head for Bandcamp and don’t miss out.
-Mr Olivetti-
