This is the sixth Orchestra Of The Upper Atmosphere release in ten or so years, and the distant adventures on which they embark are always welcome.
Still an eight-piece, Theta Six finds the ensemble distilling their ideas into shorter pieces, although where some of them end and some of them start is not always so obvious. But the essence of spatial exploration and yearning for ways to take new sounds and expand the mind of the listener is as pure as if this were their first outing.
A slow-burn intro once again allows a re-introduction of the players, space unfolding with gentle locomotion, little sax motifs around which the piece revolves and tosses its sprawling patchwork textures, Jan Todd‘s spectral voice and Yvonne Magda‘s scattered violin dropping in and out of the amorphous jam.There is a mysterious folky wordlessness to Jan’s vocalising which wanders throughout the pieces, joining in with tattered percussion on the miniature “Monochrome” or hovering over the vacuum of “Trichromat”, its seamless movement and open space consuming the carefully produced sounds. Violin scuffles against a metallic gauze, everyone picking their way gently around the pull of this dangerous concoction. “Black Paradox” allows the rhythm section to ensure some structure, its sturdy ambivalence joining with melodica and desolate piano to show another side to the collective with momentum and subtle power.
The use of rhythmic structure occurs at points throughout the Theta Six, just when you think the album has totally loosed its moorings. “African Lady Pilot” is a longer example, the pulse marauding with sax and eddies of keyboard wash. There is a searching progressive feel, the sax duetting with Jan’s voice, which is the light that guides the track onward. Sepulchral keyboards constantly evolve, laying a backdrop that melts into the distance. At other points, the pieces become a kaleidoscope of barely tethered sounds, stretched and taunted, pointed toward the deepest recesses of a hidden system. A messily experimental percussive jam might emerge, with Walt Shaw hacking and rending myriad new sounds from tape spool nightmares as Martin Archer‘s sorrowful clarinet tries to make sense of it all.This constant searching for other ways to express themselves is what makes this album essential from start to finish. Jan’s voice is curiously alluring on the most song-based of the pieces here, her siren’s lament pushing at “Spinshift”‘s agile, muscular bass waiting for the percussion breakdown and then turning against it. Nobody wants to be seen to do the expected, so songs fall away, are deconstructed into atoms and then re-engineered.
The long-form pieces reveal much dexterity, wrapping and repurposing, standing way outside any obvious musical styles. Instead, the ensemble finds their own place in the cosmic firmament, with sounds at times familiar but taken out of context and laid alongside others to produce an entirely unexpected effect. Their old friend Alan Halsey‘s words appear on the final track, bringing a sense of loss; yet these vocal emanations seem to also be freeing, as he watches over the group’s constant reinvention around the text..It is a fitting conclusion to an extremely enjoyable and endlessly fascinating suite of songs. Theta Six is an essential addition to anyone’s collection.
-Mr Olivetti-
