Joda Clément ‎– I hope you like the universe (Notice Recordings)

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In a sense, Vancouver-based composer Joda Clément constructs music that feels like a direct continuation of his father's works. While Joda's music never errs on the side of new age, there's a clear interest in juxtaposing field recordings with one's own instrumentation. What truly separates these two artists from each other, though, comes not from the immediate sonic differences but the degree with which one is able to distinguish between these two source materials.

Ever since Clément's debut solo album Movement + Rest, he's tried to intensify the innate emotional and musical characteristics of nature by layering it with his own input. Identifying what came from Clément's own hands wasn't particularly difficult then, and the mixing proves it wasn't his intention to make it such, but there was still a sense that he was striving for a unified sound. That same goal has stayed with him and defined releases like Silo 11, The Narrows, and North North.

The two sides of I hope you like the universe feature field recordings from around Canada but both are wholly distinct. On the first side, we hear the sound of wind rustling leaves and children talking. It isn't the most relaxed atmosphere but it soon dips into something far more sinister; a mood that is primarily established by brooding synths and harmonium. The different sounds that Clément accompanies this with—machinery, static, the faint sound of bells—only make the piece feel more tense. This new soundscape is so well realized that single water droplets around twelve minutes in evoke a sense of helplessness. Soon after, the synth disappears and it sounds like we've exited a cave and the world around us has opened up; sirens, rain, and insects sound surprisingly pleasant.

The second side starts off dense. There are some sounds that penetrate the fog, most noticeably the sounds of cars driving by, but it isn't until about five minutes in that the song starts to shed its skin. What follows is essentially a long-form drone. Synths occasionally warble and the sound of seagulls and ringing buoys act as nice flourishes but most of these sounds coalesce due to their similarities in tone and timbre. It's a piece that envelops the listener and it proves constantly engaging due to its expert mixing and the way in which the focus frequently shifts between the different elements of the recording.

Interestingly, the final minutes of the track feature a slowly dissipating field recording that sounds like white noise. It eventually fades into silence and our attention slowly shifts to the actual environment we're hearing this piece in and we become conscious of the different sounds around us. The 34 minutes that make up I hope you like the universe are the most homogeneous of anything that Joda's created yet. And through it, he shows us the beauty that lies in his corner of the universe. It ends with an invitation for us to realize how it also exists in ours.

Prants - Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut (Notice Recordings)

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On Ain't it Grand / Journey to the Center of Something or Other, Bhob Rainey and Chris Cooper took a stab at imitating each other. While not a collaborative effort, the resulting tracks gave insight into the sort of music both generally create. Rainey's track shows how frenetic Cooper's music is, particularly under the Angst Hase Pfeffer Nase moniker and in noise "rock" band Fat Worm of Error. Cooper's piece is also noisy but it reveals the more reserved approach to sound design that Rainey aims for in his solo works and Nmperign.

Both artists were involved in The BSC but as Rainey was the director and founder of the ensemble, the project sounded more in line with his own works. Consequently, Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut is the first truly collaborative release from Rainey and Cooper and the result is one of the most satisfying records from either artist to date. It's an interesting title—both items are lab equipment, one stirs liquids while the other stabilizes the flasks that contain them. And appropriately, the combination of these artists leads to a volatile but carefully controlled reaction.

"Vapor Viper" opens up the record with shrieking from both Rainey's sax and Cooper's processed guitar/electronics. There's piercing high-pitched noise heard but it's balanced by sounds that frenetically pan across both channels. It all eventually fades out into the sound of church bells and the song thereafter stays relatively mild. Field recordings and oscillating tones occupy much of the space for the duration of the recording but the electric squelches return about two-thirds of the way in. It's a fascinating and thoroughly detailed track, one whose louder moments contrast and give purpose to the quieter one and vice versa. 

"Igotu Otius" is even more ambitious than "Vapor Viper". While it doesn't feel quite as cinematic, largely due to its nonlinear progression, it's mostly fascinating for how it arranges and balances its collage of sounds. On the track we have numerous musicians playing a variety of instruments—cello, contrabass, harp, viola, and dry ice—and that's on top of all the electronic whirring and input that Rainey and Cooper have. It never sounds obnoxiously erratic though: each plucked string and dizzying burst of noise is in its proper place. It's a real treat, a product of mindful mixing and adventurous composing. Both of those ingredients have existed in previous releases from Rainey and Cooper but with Hot Shaker Meet Lead Donut, it seems more apparent than ever.

Graham Stephenson & Aaron Zarzutzki - No Dice (Hideous Replica)

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In 2013, Erstwhile launched its ErstAEU sublabel in order to highlight experimental musicians from America. And right from the start, it became the home of three great releases. One of those came in the form of Graham Stephenson & Aaron Zarzutzki's texturally rich Touching. A couple months after its release, the duo performed at ISSUE Project Room in Brooklyn and the resulting concert is what's presented on this disc from Hideous Replica.

As No Dice starts, it sounds as if it'll be filled with the same cacophonous noise that characterized Touching. But after a couple minutes, the album settles into something far more subdued for most of its runtime and the general atmosphere is one of understated intimacy. Naturally, one would expect such a result for a quieter record but it's also directly related to how these instruments are presented the interactions between them. As before, Zarzutzki utilizes his synthesizer while Graham dons his trumpet and microphone but the noises they create here often function to serve each other. On Touching, they mostly acted as compounding building blocks that pointed towards the album's overall sound. It was still possible to parse who was contributing to the individual elements of the songs but the different textures, timbres, and tones blended into a monolithic unit.

The different approach that Stephenson and Zarzutzki use here makes for a constantly engaging listen. It especially comes through with any changes in dynamics; the louder sections of the song, and even the louder moments within quieter passages, feel much more dramatic than one may expect after hearing Touching. Even more, this approach gives a real human element to the airy tones that come from Stephenson playing his trumpet. And juxtaposed with the more metallic and sharp analog synthesizer, this consequent contrast proves for a satisfying array of sound. The most apparent testament to this is how this arrangement often allows for moments that are surprisingly playful, particularly when the synth skitters around the sound of an unwavering trumpet tone.

Perhaps the most delightful moment on No Dice appears about eleven minutes in--stuttering electronic squelches gradually shift in rhythm as to mimic the sound of galloping horses. It's one of many exciting moments on the album, and for only the second recording between Stephenson and Zarzutzki, No Dice proves that the two compliment each other really well. They make the most of these thirty minutes, and while it's only half as long as their previous release, it feels equally as accomplished.

Radu Malfatti - One Man and a Fly (Cathnor)

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In interviews, Malfatti talks about three aspects of music: material, structure, and form. Material refers to the individual elements used in a recording—the instruments played, the timbre of notes, the key of a song—while the form is its general, overall shape and sound. What Malfatti is particularly interested in, however, is the structure that makes up the form. Unsurprisingly, a lot of his recordings are fascinating for the way in which he creates interesting relationships between the different material. As with previous recordings, Radu Malfatti plays his trombone on One Man and a Fly without embellishment, giving its presence in the recording equal weight to everything else we hear. It’s juxtaposed with a relatively active background filled with varying sounds of nature. Because of this, the record isn’t characterized by the stark contrasts of instrumentation and silence that defined Malfatti’s Edition Wandelweiser disc in 1997. But neither is It imbued with the same controlled tension derived from the coalescing of sounds on Düsseldorf Vielfaches and Rain Speak Soft Tree Leaves. Instead, One Man and a Fly proves intriguing for the way in which the interactions between all the sounds foster a continuously meditative atmosphere.

Malfatti’s performance on One Man and a Fly is understated but crucial. On one level, the monotone trombone notes function to augment the album’s hushed atmosphere. They enter infrequently and without pageantry, naturally blending in with the other material to grant the record an even richer texture. And in fact, this depth in sound is at the crux of what makes One Man and a Fly so satisfying. Across these 50 minutes, the sounds we hear are generally discernible; wind, automobiles, and various animals are all heard from a distance but with relative clarity. They’re contrasted with subtle noises that share space in the foreground: Malfatti quietly tapping on the trombone itself, the gentle rustling of clothes as he moves, and the sound of him readying the correct embouchure to play his instrument. The very nature of this pairing of sounds—magnified minutiae alongside comparatively domineering (but here diminished) noises—lends itself to a natural confluence. The result is something personal and intimate, qualities that are attractive in themselves but also prove beneficial for the way in which they invite the listener to be more attentive to the detailed world of One Man and a Fly.

The effective mixing of material seems to indicate another important role that the trombone plays throughout the record: a softening of the harsher sounds that occasionally appear. Within the album’s first minutes, we hear an airplane fly overhead. It moves away from the point of recording and soon thereafter, Malfatti plays a note as if to retroactively diminish the contrast in sound between the airplane and the collage of noises from the environment. Later around the twenty minute mark, we hear the starting of a lawn mower. Malfatti is quick to mask it with his trombone, initially starting a halftone too low but eventually matching the pitch of the machine’s engine. We’re thus more quickly accustomed to the presence of the lawn mower as it continues to run. And about ten minutes later, the same process occurs but to a lesser degree; the individual elements of the compounded sound are easier to distinguish. Malfatti follows by playing airy tones on his trombone. They’re a bit more conspicuous than the typical trombone notes but it’s appropriate given the necessity to make the sound of the lawn mower feel normal. It’s an intelligent strategy, and just one of many moments on the record where Malfatti’s expertise as an improvisatory musician is evident.

But given how important Malfatti is to constructing the overall sound of the record, one may question the significance of the titular fly. Is it a mere gimmick? Superfluous? A nuisance? Thankfully, it’s none of those things. Unlike everything else we hear, it quickly pans across the stereo field and diverts our attention upon arrival. While it may draw attention to itself, it isn’t overly distracting; it appears on the record randomly, seconds at a time, and acts as another instrument that’s aligned with Malfatti’s style of playing. And in a way, it reflects the sort of humor that Jacques Tati creates from meticulous sound design. Like the flickering of a neon sign in Playtime, the buzzing of the fly contrasts the homogeneity of the entire piece and the result is one of utter delight. For that alone, One Man and a Fly is worth a listen. At the same time, it’s important to recognize that this is all so effective because of Malfatti—his handle of the recording’s structure anchors the record, and it’s nothing short of impressive.

Rahel - Alkali (Lo Motion / Camp & Street)

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To many, Alkali might feel like a safe, low-stakes r&b record. It’s a mere thirty minutes long and filled with cozy, dreamlike production courtesy of The-Drum’s Jeremiah Meece. Even more, the lyrics don’t ever border on obtuse or hauntingly dark; these are straightforward pop songs dripping with magnetic romanticism. But while it may not present itself as a Grand Artistic Statement, Alkali gets so much right that the majority of the r&b underground doesn’t. For one, Meece understands how to use his production to work with Rahel. Vocals aren’t awkwardly forced on a track nor are they mere ornamental flourishes; Rahel’s silky vocals feel like an integral part to the album’s entire sound. This is primarily done by placing them a bit deep in the mix. Because of this, they’re given equal weight to the rest of the instrumentation. Not only does this sustain the album’s hazy, love-struck atmosphere but it makes it all the easier to be smitten by it.

If there’s any one thing that a contemporary r&b album needs to do, it’s to make the grandiosity of its emotions transferable. And because of the production and mixing, different elements of Rahel’s vocalizing—rhythm, melody, and tone—are considerably intensified. On highlight “Currents”, Rahel fluctuates between different vocal rhythms to express the eagerness of being with a lover. It never feels excessive or clumsy; it’s just another element that’s swirling alongside the synth pads. And even when it’s hard to make out the lyrics, be it from obfuscation or being too caught up in each song’s groove, certain key phrases are strategically emphasized. On “Flutter”, Rahel sings “‘cause you know I’m a winner / gotta have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby”. Its vocal rhythm is faster than anything that’s come before but also happens to be the first perfect rhyme of the song. The fact a pitch-shifted voice echoes the word “baby” only draws more attention to the line. It’s this careful attention to detail that makes Alkali so addicting. Four of the tracks don’t even stretch past three minutes but the restraint is purposeful, making the intro and its reprise on the interlude feel like crucial components of the album. And that’s exactly what makes Alkali so great: everything, from the production to the singing to the guest features, feels carefully planned and thoughtfully considered.

Nico Niquo - Epitaph (Orange Milk Records)

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Epitaph draws from the same sound palette as Oneohtrix Point Never’s R Plus Seven and Giant Claw’s Dark Web but it doesn’t shoot for the kaleidoscopic grandeur of the former or the plunderphonics frenzy of the latter. Instead, Nico Callaghan aka Nico Niquo keeps things relatively neat. He feels right at home on Orange Milk Records but he utilizes this retro-futuristic pastiche to draw out the soft beauty of its glossy, pristine sound. On opener “Maru Dai Dawn”, arpeggiated chords glide over new age-inspired synths and it sounds more Dire Dire Docks than Glass or Reich. There’s a delicate sensitivity to it, and it’s a trait that permeates all of Epitaph. Perhaps it’s expected on something like the title track—a shimmering, four-minute ambient meditation—but the album’s busier moments aren’t much different. On “Pandimension”, he dips his toes into post-Classical Curves grime but the stomping bass drum and shattering glass never overwhelm the listener; the song’s tone stays decidedly serious but its introspective spirit is never lost. There’s a smidge of jungle influence on the song too, and it’s something that eventually gets fleshed out on album closer “Not Here”. Callaghan starts the song with crystalline keys and builds on them with a warbling bassline and a high-pitched melody that pans back and forth. With these pieces in place, the breakbeat cuts right through the middle and feels unusually appropriate. It happens elsewhere on the record too, most notably with the stock music-y jazz piano on “Beyond AD”. It all just shows how well Callaghan can recontextualize these different elements into his own singular vision. And it’s ultimately what makes Epitaph such a cohesive and satisfying album.

[note: this mini-review originally appeared in a multi-part post recounting my ten favorite records of February]

Mrs. GREEN APPLE - Progressive (ProBabLy RecOrds)

Purchase Progressive on iTunes

Mrs. GREEN APPLE are a young band filled with young members but their music is self-assured and well-realized. They play with the youthful energy of a mid-2000s pop punk group or a rock band like Number Girl but lack the amateurish charm of the former and have too neat a sound to be directly associated with the latter; it’s decidedly pop music. And characteristic of many other contemporary J-pop groups, the instrumentation is noticeably precise. Each note feels calculated, but not sterile, and is mixed effectively to allow each instrument to serve their own purpose. There’s a cohesive interplay that helps with pacing too. On lead single “ナニヲナニヲ”, the verses are anchored by consistent bass lines that let the drums comfortably play an offbeat rhythm. With this foundation set, the synth and guitars can play an accessory role in the second half of each verse, essentially noodling around and keeping things interesting. But even when they peak in the bridge with their clashing solos, none of it feels overwrought.

Perhaps the most crucial element to Mrs. GREEN APPLE’s sound is lead vocalist 大森元貴. His voice is always positioned front and center in the mix while the rest of the instruments surround it. And considering his technical ability, it makes sense to let it be a focal point. Closing track “WaLL FloWeR” best demonstrates the range of his delivery and the ease with which he can switch between pitch, tempo, and tone. He can handle the more reserved passages but also knows how to liven up the chorus, and it’s all done with an understated elegance. And ultimately, the way his voice is utilized proves to be another testament to the group’s incredible songwriting. In the pre-chorus, his fluctuating vocal melody is enough to propel the song forward. By the time the chorus enters its second half, the drums slow to half-time to shift the impetus of the song to the sung high notes. The rest of Progressive displays this same attention to detail and it proves to be the band’s greatest strength. This was already obvious for anyone who had heard Mrs. GREEN APPLE’s first release but it’s been less than a year and their hooks are catchier and their overall sound tighter. There’s a long future ahead for this five-piece—two are still teenagers and the rest aren’t much older. With such a strong start, it’s exciting to see how they’ll continue to grow.

easyFun - Deep Trouble (PC Music)

On the penultimate episode of Master Chef Junior a few weeks ago, two contestants were eliminated and unable to enter the finals. Before they left, Gordon Ramsey said some encouraging words while dramatic stock music played over flashbacks of their key experiences on the show. I got teary-eyed but felt sort of pathetic. Am I this easily manipulated? Do I even care about these kids? Isn’t most of this show scripted? A week later, Deep Trouble dropped and I immediately thought of that scene. It, along with this three song EP remind me of why I ever loved PC Music in the first place. Stuff like GFOTY’s “Don’t Wanna / Let’s Do It“ intentionally tries to capture pop at its most bizarre a la My Teenage Dream Ended while something like Kane West’s cover of “Archangel” is absurdly humorous. Both of these elements are largely missing in pop music but what really keeps me coming back to PC Music is the way it channels teen pop’s wide-eyed, idealistic views of life and love.  I engage with PC Music in a way I do a lot of other genres but there’s a strong, empathetic response I have to their songs that reminds me most of Ark Music Factory and the songs they create for children. It just feels “authentic”, at least relatively. But despite the inauthentic sheen of PC Music’s aesthetics, their artists’ embrace of “unfashionable” pop sounds has a similar way of breaking down my cynicism (see also: bvdub). And when expertly produced, like the three tracks on here by Finn Keane, their lyrics feel more sincere than most of the chart-topping manufactured pop from around the world.

On “Laplander”, lyrics about a crumbling romance culminate in celebratory shouts. It’s surprisingly empowering, and all of its cliché lyrics only echo the universality of such an experience. “Full Circle” also concerns an unrequited love but appropriately flips the roles. If the instrumentation and teeny bopper vocalizing didn’t already conjure up thoughts of middle school infatuation then the specific mention of a “locker room” will further cement that idea. For how silly a lot of our teenage drama may seem in retrospect, the emotional intensity was still real. “Even though we’re meant to be / why don’t you need me?” may sound like something from an immature adolescent’s diary but it’s poignant in its naivety, the sort of truth only kids can so candidly exclaim. The first easyFun EP was aggressively colorful, a tongue-in-cheek collage of Glass Swords panache and grooves. Its only use of vocals was accessory but the EP showed how Keane has a knack for sound design. Deep Trouble is a bit more straightforward but it’s just as vibrant and shows how well he can extract unbridled joy from each saccharine blip. Most exemplary of this is “Fanta”, the only song on the EP whose lyrics are a bit difficult to parse. A minute into the song, Keane strips the song down and the lyrics that are clear—”you’re my fantasy”, “baby you don’t look at me”, “once in your life”—are imbued with a pained aching that didn’t exist when we heard them earlier. All in all, easyFun’s Deep Trouble is a reminder of how PC Music’s brash approach of capturing various emotions can feel so invigorating. More importantly, it’s the most fun 11 minutes from any artist this year.

Drake - If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late (Cash Money)

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Nothing Was The Same opened with “Tuscan Leather”, a track that functioned more as a thesis on the Toronto rapper than a simple glimpse of what the album had to offer sonically. On it, we saw three different sides of Drake: Drake the braggart, Drake the big dreamer, and Drake as one appreciative of his relationships. These three things feed into each other, however, and it was appropriate that the beat was made from the same song (Whitney Houston’s “I Have Nothing”) flipped three times. Drake’s always been open about his influences so if anything, his “tough guy” shtick should be seen as a tribute to his heroes, especially on an album with multiple Wu-Tang references and lines from one of Biggie’s biggest hits. But at the same time, it’s hard to gauge how much of his “worst behavior” stems from that or his need for approval from others, be it his hip hop contemporaries or Courtney from Hooters on Peachtree. As a result, Whitney Houston singing “Don’t you dare walk away from me / I have nothing […] If I don’t have you” feels apt because it could be applied to all these different sides of Drake. Let’s play a game: if he sang those lyrics himself, what would it sound like—a vulnerable confession? A tactless demand? A bit of both? The answer doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it would sound like, and make you feel, something. That it’s unsurprising for a Drake review in 2015 to be, at least partially, a character study attests to how how his music is inseparable from his persona. When Drake opens If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late by nonchalantly claiming  ”if I die, I’m a legend”, it sounding like a troll or problematic to certain people is only more proof of his complicated, and conflicted self. It’s the same Drake as always, just maybe not the one you like. In other words, it’s Drake feat. Drake, and we get a lot of that across these 17 tracks.

If You’re Reading is split into two halves, the first of which moves at a slow, murky pace. It has the same ethereal atmosphere that’s defined his previous releases, just noticeably darker. 40’s signature sound shines through, even in the hands of other producers. Long gone, however, is Drake’s soft crooning; this is Drake at his most unapologetically serious. And for the first six songs, he utilizes specific signifiers—moody piano melodies, snippets of Jamaican voices, samples of Ginuwine’s “So Anxious”—to reinforce that he means everything that he says. The nuisance of haters on “Energy”? He’s over them. Instead, he’s spending his time mastering his craft and striving for the success he’s touting on “10 Bands” and “No Tellin’”. But he’s also just as sure of the girl he’s gonna get on “Madonna”. Put bluntly, it’s the most overtly sinister thing Drake’s penned, and the way he switches his flow and tone from detached to overly insistent gives the lyrics an enormous amount of weight. There’s even an uneasiness to the way 40 morphs the Ginuwine sample, and letting the song close on such a foreboding note allows the following track, “6 God”, to feel more potent than when it was released as a standalone single back in October.

At this point, If You’re Reading starts chipping away at its tough surface; the production becomes more spacious and the lyrics more sensitive. “6 God” and “6 Man” still find Drake as boastful as ever, even referencing his previous works, but they sandwich some of the album’s most vulnerable moments. “Star67” starts with a list of Drake’s possessions but it soon drifts into a hazy blur— drums lose their authoritative power and synth pads take over. We’re left hearing Drake recall his history getting money via phone scams and the pride that characterized the “goddamn, we ain’t even gotta scam” line from earlier makes sense. Right after, PARTYNEXTDOOR takes over on “Preach” and “Wednesday Night Interlude”. The former ends up being the brightest moment on the album, but only deceptively so, as it leads into the loneliness described on the latter. To have the “My Boo“-sampling postlude of "Preach” sound distant and melodramatic only seems appropriate. For the first time on the record, there’s an openness to defeat both past and present. It’s a taking off of masks, and having PND do the heavy lifting on “Wednesday Night Interlude” helps to set the stage for when Drake does the same later.

Drake’s duplicity is a result of many different things. And in the album’s final stretch, we see how admirable it can be to hear Drake at his most sincere. On “Now & Forever”, he feels the need to leave a relationship to focus on his career. He’s convinced it’s a healthy decision but it’s soon contrasted with “Company”, a song that reveals how his insatiable craving for women was probably a major factor. But Drake owns up to it, and we’re soon reminded on “You & The 6” that he’s just another person dealing with his own issues. On it, he converses with his mother about his romantic interests, his place in the rap game, and his father. The most affecting lines end up being “I can’t be out here being vulnerable, momma” and “I used to get teased for being black / And now I’m here and I’m not black enough” for the precise reason that they reframe Drake’s tough guy front to those who didn’t catch on earlier. And in a way, the song reflects the sequencing of If You’re Reading: Drake’s midsong frustration and stuttering eventually gives way to personal confessions and a final, genuine thank you to his mom and Toronto.

Bonus track “6PM in New York” is a wonderful victory lap of a song but “Jungle” closes the record on an appropriately heartfelt note. Drake’s biggest desire has always been to love and be loved by someone. And while Drake’s been manipulative and self-centered in the past, it really sounds like he wants to grow. “Still finding myself, let alone a soulmate” he sings. And throughout the course of the song’s five minutes, “that’s cutting all into my time” turns into “are we still good?” It’s always seemed silly to knock Drake for his inauthenticity and selfishness when I see so much of it in myself. In the opening lines of “Jungle”, Drake croons “the things I can’t change are the reasons you love me”. The same could be said of Drake by any of his fans. I just hope one day we can all, Drake included, say the same thing to ourselves.

Arek Gulbenkoglu - The Reoccurrence (self-released)

Purchase The Reoccurrence at ErstDist

In the recent issue of Surround, Arek Gulbenkoglu describes two specific themes that pervade The Reoccurrence. The first involves the lack of “instrumental imprint” and “technical virtuosity”. And appropriately, the nine tracks that comprise this disc are interesting, almost surprisingly so, for the way in which Gulbenkoglu removes himself from the material. There were echoes of this on his Points Alone record a decade ago, mainly from its shortest tracks, but I’m mostly reminded of his untitled recording with Adam Süssmann in 2008. On that album, we hear the two musicians quietly play over the sounds of their environment. The recording itself sounds completely untreated, and what could have easily resulted in a tedious 76 minutes turns into a calming meditation. That same “purity” of sound seems to exist in other works from this Australian scene but it’s so impressively utilized on Gulbenkoglu’s works, and especially with The Reoccurrence, that it’s consequently reframed everything I’ve previously heard in this area of music.

The second theme that characterizes The Reoccurrence involves “our ability to perceive and comprehend the patterns we hear and see in our everyday actions”. It works mutually with the first theme and points the listener to the minutiae of the sounds around us. The record’s two longest pieces, “Part 3” and “Part 7”, are perhaps the clearest examples of such. The former is a field recording of “an elevated point in the gardens”, and Gulbenkoglu is content with letting the confluence of sounds—birds, cars, children, a constant flow of water—shine on their own. The latter takes on a more conceptual approach, tracing “the sound of the walkway, recording of the structure” and solely consists of quiet, low-frequency rumbles for the entirety of its twenty minutes. Both are drastically different but force us to recognize their inherent patterns as well as the tiny differences in rhythm and tone that break them. The sheer length of these pieces helps in fostering such keen perceptibility but the shorter tracks prove just as effective. “Part 2” creatively utilizes an oscillator to translate a topographical map to sine tones while “Part 4” features a constant stream of playfully scintillating objects. Both are, again, different in approach but the result is still a rawness of recording that eventually illuminates the tiny details of sound held within.

A single arrow adorns the cover of The Reoccurrence. It loops around, ending at where it started. In a way, it reflects the sequencing of tracks here; this record is bookended by a pair of songs whose interferences are relatively noticeable. Because of that, the contrast between these tracks and everything in between is only made more obvious. And of course, the circular arrow represents the album’s central thesis: repetition forms discernible patterns which then provides for us the ability to recognize when the pattern is broken. It’s a simple concept, but Gulbenkoglu shows how delightful it can be when executed masterfully.