(released April 17th, Nuclear Blast)

What tropes come to mind when you think of black metal? Probably not anything as nominally cheesy as synthesizers or surf rock drum grooves. Yet on ‘Mestarin Kynsi’, Oranssi Pazuzu has unearthed an odd kinship between these unique ingredients, among many others. Purists may question whether this album is really black metal, but if the judgment is made based on the genre’s core motivations, instead of its contingent practicalities, it is indeed a masterful example, one that in fact acquires much from its unconventional approach.

Black metal primarily aims to conjure an ‘evil’ atmosphere, evoking horror, dread or misery, and synthesizers are perfectly capable of achieving that aim. But instead of imitating the one-dimensional harshness of an electric guitar, they provide a completely different entry point for the black metal aesthetic. On ‘Ilmestys’, their tone is crisp and artificial, building into layers of pinging melodies that sound extraterrestrial or perhaps just insane. Bass synthesizers are also used prominently - lurking drones that have a mechanical menace which is absent from mere bass guitars. While these are often juxtaposed against more standard black metal timbres, such as the tremolo guitar and string pads on ‘Taivaan Portti’, they are capable of providing a creepy mood all on their own. The flute synth peppered into ‘Uusi Teknokratia’, for example, heralds a lengthy middle section, where softer instruments churn in a macabre wash of atonality.

The other instrumentation often embraces a similarly synthetic approach. The guitar and bass parts vary widely in timbre, frequently embellished with phasers and thick, crunchy distortion. This is often incompatible with black metal's typical tremolo picking, and instead, the guitar’s loudest efforts are simple and gestural. Flailing noise-scapes underpin ‘Kuulean Ääniä Maan Alta’ and pealing feedback dominates ‘Tyhjyyden Sakramentti’, though the latter track’s opening section builds up to this from a subtle clean guitar tone. Diminished scales are used heavily throughout the album, though usually each motif only probes a few notes at a time, so the inventive arrangements often avoid establishing a clear key. ‘Oikeamielisten Sali’, for instance, begins with several lydian motifs that overlap in a way that just barely avoids tone-clustered dissonance. Finally, any doubt in ‘Mestarin Kynsi’s commitment to ghastly atmosphere is certainly laid to rest by its vocals. Black metal vocals are typically discordant, but here they have an arrestingly unnatural croaking or choked quality. The elongated vowels of the Finnish tongue further support this notion, conjuring impressions of atavistic incantations. In ‘Uusi Teknokratia’, the vocals are further drenched in delay, yielding some truly massive, wild-sounding shrieks.

Yet with all this variety, there are a number of features that lend structure to the album with their consistency. There are no overwrought song structures - each track instead consists of only a few long, unrepeated sections. The opening bass parts usually highlight a simple minor second interval. And as each track unfolds, the drums plunge forward with a characteristic 16th note phrasing, similar to the propulsive feel of surf rock, even when these rhythms explore various patterns and time signatures. These mannerisms serve as the infrastructure for ‘Mestarin Kynsi’s adventure into diverse and ominous textures. The success of this combination makes it my 2020 album for the year, and a foundational work for the genre of ‘psychedelic black metal’.

(released April 24th, 2020, Warp Records)

Could EDM exist without drums? Italian musician and visual artist Lorenzo Senni investigates this question by way of his ‘rave-voyeuristic’ aesthetic. This approach borrows techniques from a spectrum of genres that fall under the broad label of ‘electronic dance music’, but omits virtually all percussion. In spite of this, ‘Scacco Matto’ (Italian for ‘checkmate’) is made dynamic and danceable by catchy songwriting and clever production that enhances the aspects of this nominally non-percussive music.

In a sense, ‘omitting percussion’ is a double negative, since percussion differs from other instrumentation by its absence of tonality. Thus, the album’s central concept is in fact the addition of tonality, using synthesizers in the place of of typical EDM percussion. Big ‘orchestra hit’ stabs, instead of bass drums, anchor the main motif of ‘Dance Tonight Revolution Tomorrow’ with a typical 4-to-the-floor pattern. On the track ‘Move in Silence’, grainy, high-timbre synths play the role of hats or cymbals. The actual composition harkens to electro-house, trance, or drum and bass, but freshly filled with tonality and timbral diversity.

Yet without percussion, ‘Scacco Matto’ also conjures a more dreamy, blissful mood than most EDM. Even the more drum and bass-inspired tracks lack that genre’s drill-like intensity - there is still plenty of fast, 16th note syncopation, but it is tempered by low-intensity production and grounded against slower motifs. This restraint also facilitates a few more experimental rhythms - the loose, almost-swung rhythms on ‘XBreakingEdgeX’ or the microrhythmic stutter on ‘Wasting Time Writing Lorenzo Senni Songs’ would likely sound out of place against actual percussion. 

‘Scacco Matto’ is full of contrasts, its moods ranging from energetic to contemplative, even within a single track, such as ‘Discipline of Enthusiasm’, which contrasts stark, digital, chiptune-inspired instruments with more nuanced, organic instruments like string and piano. ‘The Power of Failing’ features perhaps the most representative sample of instruments that Senni seems to prefer, including orchestra hits, plucky bass synths (often tone-shaped, similarly to a clavinet), and more ‘pure’ high-pitch synths. No matter what is used, though, there is a lot of attention to detail - synthesizers subtly warp in timbre, often in ways that interface with the rhythm, such as the stuttery quality of the primary rhythm synth on ‘THINK BIG’. Attention is paid to every parameter, including vibrato, panning, arpeggiation, and ADSR, and there is a wide variety of effects, especially phasing, delay and reverb.

The reverb especially gives a sense of spaciousness that would be difficult to fully appreciate were it masked by the timbral white noise of traditional drums. This aesthetic is complemented by the tonal content of the music, which mostly consists of very simple diatonic major and minor chords, with refined yet unpretentious melodic sensibilities. The overall feel is wistful and cleansing, all the more so on lower-key tracks like ‘Canone Infinito’. Senni has a great instinct for building ambience, knowing just when to dial down the intensity and insert a few very simple notes here and there for ambience. This fusion of the abstract and complex composition of electronic music with a serene and sentimental aesthetic is greater than the sum of its parts.

(released June 12th, 2020, Crammed Discs)

Ceremonial or ritual drumming is practiced by countless cultures around the world, but recordings of this kind of music often lack the intensity the term ‘ritual’ should evoke. In some cases, the recording is simply too removed from the cultural context and physical process of the ritual to be exciting to anyone besides ethnomusicologists. In other cases, the performers dilute their music with more accessible genre staples, creating something more listenable but less authentic. On ‘Kaloli’, Ugandan ‘electro-percussion’ group Nihiloxica avoid both of these common pitfalls by mixing traditional Bugandan drumming with dark, abrasive electronic soundscapes to produce a work that is modern and vital while still capturing the electrifying energy of ritual itself.

This mixture is in no way a dilution - drums are by far the central instrument on ‘Kaloli’, and they would likely sound just as powerful without accompaniment. From the opening track ‘Supuki’, the feral-sounding slap of the engalabi drum and the booming motifs played on the low-pitched empuunyi drums form a robust foundation. They are crisp and loud, and it’s hard to resist the basic impulse they seem to establish - to move, to dance. They are joined by the distinctive pitched namunjoloba drums, whose round, diatonic timbre carves out a distinct space in the mix. Unlike the other drums, these don’t have much intrinsic aggression, but tracks like ‘Salongo’ pit them against droning synthesizers, forming a lurid, atonal atmosphere. Other percussion instruments round out the ensemble, including shakers, cymbals, and snare drums.

This dense composition on 'Kaloli' is typical of traditional Ugandan folk-rhythms, which employ many interlocking parts. The overall effect is very textural, with individual phrases seamlessly buried in a larger, tumultuous rhythmic theme. This technique facilitates some really interesting rhythmic ideas, including layering complex pseudo-polymeters over typical 3/4 or 4/4 beats. On ‘Tewai Sukali’, 7/8 patterns strike like hot irons against the anvil of an underlying 4/4 pulse, whereas in the middle section of ‘Busoga’, the syncopation flutters craftily between overlapping 5/8 and 6/8 rhythms. Of course, these brain-bending rhythms are balanced by a few more straightforward tracks, such as 'Black Kaveera' which blasts ahead in a simple breakneck 4/4. But regardless of their specific form, the song structures on ‘Kaloli’ rely on the gradual accumulation of layers, amounting to an absolute wall of kinetic energy at its climax.

The synthesizer parts are often the topmost layer of this noise, ranging from slowly decaying metallic moans to outright screeches or bangs that are percussive in their own right. In fact, some songs like ‘Gunjula’ and ‘Bwola’ have almost no tonal content. Nonetheless, there are a few places where the synthesizers slither with almost-jazzy major seventh chords, such as on ‘Mukaagafeero’, though they are scattered around with little regard to chord progression. The chords on ‘Busoga’ and the flutes of closing track ‘170819’ also flirt with normal harmony. These momentary flashes of consonance in a sea of frantic drums and hostile electronic noises find a parallel in ‘Kaloli’s cover - a Marabou stork, for which the album is named, standing amidst a sea of garbage, brightly colored bits of plastic peeking out from the muck.

(self-released January 31st, 2020)

The shoegaze genre has been continually reinvented over the last few decades, with the current popularity of the scene accentuated by a couple of high-profile band reunions. It’s hard to innovate within such well-worn territory without incorporating influences from other styles. As close neighbors to the genre, post-rock and post-metal (well-worn themselves) seem like an odd choice for inspiration, but on ‘Blue Mirror’, Folian miraculously blends these styles into a refreshing and cohesive journey. The album is not overtly experimental, instead succeeding by balancing stylistic elements in pursuit of a polished, introverted aesthetic.

If ‘Blue Mirror’ could be described in one adjective, it would be ‘slow’. Virtually every track is set at a dirge-like tempo that would be hard to find in other shoegaze or post-metal, endowing the album with a tranquil mood that is mirrored in its sprawling, almost formless arrangements. On paper, these song structures might seem boring or repetitive, but each track is brought to life by its evolving texture and density. The album showcases its immaculate production by focusing strongly on these unique timbres and thoughtful harmonies instead of rhythm. In fact, the drums play a somewhat minimal role, though their timbre - akin to the tinny, fuzzy drum machine sounds of vintage shoegaze - is an interesting ancillary texture in its own right.

The gradualness of this approach turns ‘Blue Mirror’ into a continuous experience, with several shorter transition tracks scattered throughout it to provide space and contrast in between more filled-out songs. In this continuum, each track explores a single tonality and instrumentation. Accordingly, the first full song, ‘Go Alone’, draws heavily from the post-metal template, beginning with an extended lone guitar part before building up or interposing additional layers. But while post-metal tends to default to minor keys, especially in proportion to how low-tuned or otherwise ‘heavy’ the song is, ‘Blue Mirror’s tonality frequently includes or even centers on major chords. Along with the tempo, the overall effect is one of resplendent relaxation.

Two prominent guitar tones are used to augment this mood. Most of the soft sections feature a clean tone saturated with delay, which pleasantly blankets the senses with post-rock arpeggios. A distorted tone is used to ramp up the intensity when appropriate, though it eschews aggression for gentle, low-tuned fuzz that is just as serene in its own way. There are a few places, such as ‘I Am You’, where a minor or diminished tonality establishes a slightly more sinister mood, but this provides a variety and richness to the album’s emotional narrative. This variety of moods is rounded out by some easy-going acoustic guitar parts. On ‘No Wake’ they even serve as a focal point, even imitating the rich, low tuning of the distorted guitar.

Perhaps the most distinct part of ‘Blue Mirror’ is its vocals. Consisting mostly of soft delicate crooning that is buried in the mix, the vocalist becomes just another texture in the arrangement. Yet careful listening reveals the mature, clear vocal tone of a talented singer, all the more apparent in the few places where he bursts into the foreground with emotive force. On ‘Erasure’ this verges on screaming, though it is still mixed quietly enough to not interrupt the sense of internal reverie that permeates the album and makes its heavier aspects all the more satisfying.

(self-released July 10th, 2020)

When it comes to guitar shredding, there’s a fine line between genius and self-indulgence. Virtuoso guitar work has been increasingly common in the math rock genre, but as a riff’s speed increases, it becomes increasingly difficult to imbed with purposeful structure. On ‘Crosshatching Holographs of a Cityscape (Antiopus)’, Uruguayan guitarist Tenchio keeps a firm grip on conceptual songwriting even as his riffs accelerate to light speed. 

This album is chock full of 32nd note shredding, with plenty of tapping, sliding, and other tricks. But the real cleverness comes in how these parts are applied, in a technique Tenchio himself calls ‘auditory crosshatching’. The meaning of this phrase becomes apparent from the opening track ‘Let’s Sell Our Lifespan’, which layers guitar lines one by one until they form a densely textured carpet. A wide selection of guitar timbres support this aesthetic, the most distinctive one employing a particular squeal-like distortion - these ‘lead’ guitar parts are actually rather quiet, sitting in the far upper register, using all available auditory space. Even when there aren’t quite as many layers, the guitar often uses delay to similar effect, transforming relatively simple arpeggiation into the lush major seventh or major ninth chords that are ubiquitous on this album.

Of course, for all this texture, ‘Crosshatching Holographs’ is still an exhilarating album. The fast riffs are complemented by restless montage-like song structures, including abrupt shifts in tempo such as those dividing ‘Shadow Newspaper Technique’. As expected for math rock, there are also quite a few odd time signatures, especially the abbreviated-sounding 7/8. Programmed drums do a lot to keep up this frenetic pace, and while they aren’t the highlight of the album, they periodically explode into some remarkable syncopation, especially favoring off-kilter hi-hat patterns. On ‘Ache’, the drums become overtly digital with some break-beat inspired bursts. But just as often, they fall into upbeat grooves pulled out of punk or dance rock, such as on ‘reDISconnect’, whose simple but energetic snare downbeats highlight the track’s rapid tempo. 

Still, there are a few softer elements to balance all this speed and intensity. Sometimes a track will briefly hold its breath to let in a pop-punk rhythm guitar pattern. Acoustic guitar or piano are also used here and there - on the slow cut ‘Climber (Lettuce ver.)’, they serve as a toned-down facsimile of the album’s main aesthetic. Glitchy electronic effects are another digression, though sometimes they are used to enhance a riff’s sheer exacting velocity. ‘Multiband Depression’ combines both these uses, alongside a synthesizer that imitates a tapped guitar pattern.

But let’s not forget the album’s distinctive vocal parts. Harsh vocals might seem out of place here, but the screams that are scattered across the album are buried deep in the mix, and come across more joyous than angry. Their energy is then contrasted with synthesized ‘vocaloid’ parts, which betray a certain kinship with the Japanese math rock scene. This latter style sets a more understated mood on the electronic-soaked ‘Genuine’, whereas on ‘Donchee Lunch’ the two vocal styles are juxtaposed amidst thrashing drums. Still, the most prominent vocal cut is on ‘Peace Signs at a Crash Site’, which features charmingly sloppy emo vocals, which perfectly encapsulate the album’s combination of spiralling momentum and pleasant sentimentality.

(self-released May 22nd. 2020)

Due to its scarcity in mainstream music, the concept of microtonality is almost interesting by default. But Methods Body brings it to an even more individual level on their self-titled album, whose sound is largely shaped by an extraordinarily unique tuning system. This form of microtonality produces not only novel harmonic qualities, but also a sense of tactility that reaches beyond merely clever production. These two properties are reflected by the album’s structure, which consists of two overarching pieces - ‘Quiet’, favoring traditional songwriting with a focus on melody, and ‘Claimed Events’, favoring percussion and freeform texture.

Pianos and synthesizers comprise the main tonal features of ‘Methods Body’, and employ a striking free-intonation tuning (something I needed to confirm with the band themselves). In this setup, notes were chosen neither to reflect ‘pure’ musical intervals nor to equally divide the octave. Some of the notes do seem to draw upon just-intonation impulses, but just as often, they are willfully skewed into something slightly sour or even outright dissonant. This dissonance is usually not harsh per se - the impression of ‘Quiet Pt. 4’ is rather quaint, redolent of an old, out-of-tune piano, and further softened by reverb and joined by mellow synth pads. 

The strangest aspect of this microtonality, then, is how these deliberately ‘out of tune’ intervals produce beat frequencies that further sculpt the timbre of each instrument. On ‘Quiet Pt. 5’, this imbues the lead synthesizer with a glittery sound similar to gamelan instruments, while the energetic playing on ‘Quiet Pt. 3’ is almost beyond real-world comparison. This effect is even more pronounced when the synthesizer occupies the bass register, such as the electronic growls and wobbles in the outro of ‘Quiet Pt. 2’. In contrast, the album’s approach to melody is relatively normal, with simple riff ideas that are repeated and developed through improvisation. Yet this format owes a lot to timbre as well - the sub-semitonal intervals on ‘Quiet Pt. 1’ are made more distinct by the percussive piano timbre, similar to John Cage’s ‘prepared piano’.

While microtonality is the most innovative part of ‘Methods Body’, its drumming is certainly not to be ignored. The drums combine independent layers of rhythm into sprawling, kinetic grooves, supported by organic drum sounds which include shakers, broken cymbals, and other small percussion. Side A’s drumming is abstract, but it also has a sense of continuity and odd-metered rigidity. On Side B, however, this complexity expands beyond precise form. ‘Claimed Events Pt. 3’ channels a subtly-permuting rubato groove with an ambiguous meter, while ‘Claimed Events Pt. 1’ is woven out short, polytempic phrases. Electronic manipulation contributes to this looseness, while also complementing impressionist piano and cascading synth parts.

‘Claimed Events Pt. 2’ is a particularly unique track. The album draws from both primitive and post-modern ideas, and here their fusion is at its most mysterious. Elongated synth tones and reverberant, free-jazz saxophone are cradled by understated rhythm, like ancient ritual drums, before being joined by quiet vocals, and eventually, a slow and solemn chant. The lyrics of this chant are semi-nonsensical, yet also evoke the sanitized quality of newspaper copy. So strange it is almost normal, this technique is a good analogy for the esoteric sound of the album itself.

(released June 12th, 2020, Olindo Records)

As its name suggests, Waaju’s album ‘Grown’ was not constructed top-down. Featuring several prominent members of the UK jazz scene, the band’s sound is something that could only have been cultivated organically from eclectic musical influences and interests. Their techniques, instrumentation, and improvisational impulses are pulled from jazz, and then recontextualized in an exploration of numerous Afro-Latin styles. The commonality among these genres is a propulsive, ethereal grooviness that becomes far more than the sum of its constituent parts.

Rhythm is a central aspect of this genre fusion - ‘Grown’ is full of bubbling and roiling counterrhythms that harken to Latin polyrhythms. This hypnotic percussion isn’t swingy, but jazz influence is still apparent in its indulgent mode of improvisation, as well as a few choice tropes like the upbeat hi-hats that underlie the bustling rhythm on ‘Listening Glasses’. This confident playing almost camouflages the album’s rhythmic complexities, such as the agile, bouncy 5/4 on the closing track. But perhaps the most notable rhythmic oddity on the album is the unhurried ‘Rollando’, which prominently features both a microrhythm (its hi-hat pattern dithering loosely between straight and triplet feel) as well as a polyrhythm. This contrast between the drums’ triple meter and guitar’s duple meter lends the track a slippery, liquid atmosphere.

The guitar and bass weave themselves into these rhythm schemes with funky, staccato melodic lines or strum patterns that imitate snippets of the percussion’s polymeters. However, their tone brings something new to the album’s mood - the guitar’s clean timbre especially has a pleasant, airy sound that complements the album’s breezy, free-wheeling aesthetic. At times, a spacious-sounding reverb is dialed in, which gives its often minimalist playing more presence.

In tandem with this mellow ambience, ‘Grown’s song structures are characterized by wandering passages that eschew obvious chord progressions in favor of modal improvisation. These are headed by the saxophone, whose melodies borrow the articulation and syncopation of jazz without its overwrought chromatic scales. In fact, leaning away from scale complexity, a few sax solos even include lengthy ‘one note’ phrases. These rely on dynamic playing and similarly fiery accompaniment, such as on the infectious opening track ‘Moleman’, to maintain interest. The saxophone strays even further from tonality on the opening section of ‘Rollando’, producing clicks and pops that would befit a percussion instrument.

What really brings life to each of these aspects, however, is their restraint. The most memorable riffs are those which hold something back, leaving room for other instruments to shine through. The band isn’t afraid to let all but two or three instruments drop out in order to demarcate a section or spotlight one of the players. Even the Will Heard vocal feature on ‘Time’s Got a Hold’ does this, balancing attention between the singer’s soulful crooning and the slinky, North African guitar stylings that browse the track’s triple meter. This uncluttered format makes density all the more noteworthy - for instance, the gentle ‘Wassoulou’ essentially has only one riff, but builds momentary structures upon it with layers of sonic texture. The combination of this supple, relaxed feel with the complex and inventive playing is what makes ‘Grown’ truly stand out.

(released November 20th, 2020 Flightless Records)

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard are nothing if not prolific. They have released 16 studio albums in the past 8 years, including a whopping 5 albums in 2017 (all met with relative acclaim). ‘K.G.’ has been a long-awaited album, but its comparatively long development time has produced some of their most mature and well thought-out music to date. Combining their unique brand of microtonality with various stylistic touchstones from many of their previous releases, ‘K.G.’ is compelling and catchy despite its diverse and unusual artistic choices.

It’s hard to analyze ‘K.G.’ without bringing up its spiritual predecessor, 2017’s ‘Flying Microtonal Banana’, where King Gizzard first experimented extensively with microtonality. Drawing heavily from Turkish psychedelic folk from the 1970s, the band combined traditional Turkish quarter-tone tunings with their edgier, heavier brand of psychedelic rock. It was a bold fusion of ideas, but that first foray still largely stuck to one particular Turkish folk scale. And while much of side A sticks to that old favorite, the band strikes boldly into new terrain starting with ‘Ontology’, which mixes several microtonal adjustments into a major phrygian theme that is paradoxically both joyous and ominous. A few songs even expand the role of microtones beyond tonality into sound effect, such as ‘Honey’ which extensively invokes quarter-tone trills.

Microtonal composition is intrinsically trickier than traditional Western composition, which makes the diverse and layered approach on this album all the more impressive. The band often uses unison patterns (typically between a vocal part and an instrument melody) to build up texture without complicating the harmony or compromising the album’s accessibility. Nonetheless, there are times they lean into the sourness that microtonal dissonance produces - the lurching ‘Some of Us’ is an example of this, its extensive effects nearly pursuant to a 'musique concrète' ethos.

These complexity of many of these microtonal intervals is smartly highlighted by the fuzzy guitar distortion, giving them a raucous edge that lets the band get away with the occasional ‘big dumb riff’, frequently devolving into squeals of their trademark short-delay guitar feedback. Really, much of this style still draws on those same catchy lo-fi garage rock tropes that characterize much of their earlier work. The vocal parts still have their distinctive graininess, and the drums often roll along with the same krautrock stomp. But the genius of ‘K.G.’ is in how it upgrades these features - the production here suits the wider variety of instruments and ideas, while still serving as an ambitious summary of the band’s stylistic progress to date.

There are almost too many little nuggets of experimentation on ‘K.G.’ to cover in one review, and virtually all of them are successful. How about the frequent use of odd time signatures or even polymeters (like the subtle 7-on-3 that weaves through ‘Honey’)? Or the half-cheesy, half-freaky synthesizers on ‘Intrasport’, sounding like a Turkish disco spiked with acid punch? Or the subtle acoustic guitar parts on ‘Straws in the Wind’ which embrace a little bit of soft, neo-psychedelic moodiness? King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard never shy away from experimentation, and if this album is anything to go by, they will be uncovering fertile new ground in the psychedelic rock and microtonal categories for years to come.

(released September 25th, 2020, Captured Tracks)

New Zealand seems like an odd place for post-punk, a genre whose aesthetic often entails a gloomy sense of dystopia. But this is where Wax Chattels is from, and their album ‘Clot’ is both a stellar example as well as a fresh take on the genre. Much of the instrumentation and songwriting is unusual, but the album still adheres to post-punk’s core artistic intention - expressing disillusionment by finding a balance between refined ideas and empty space.

Perhaps 'Clot's most obvious departure from post-punk tradition is the exclusive use of keyboards. While they fill a role similar to electric guitar, including a similar level of distortion, there’s a certain clarity that comes from their organ-like volume and sharp attack/release which fits naturally with the album's often spartan composition. Frequently, the keyboards simply hold a note or chord layered with metallic effects. The intro of ‘Glue’ is a hypnotic drone that serves as a blank canvas from which the rest of the track is built. One of the more distinctive effects is a hard tremolo - on ‘Forever Marred’, it helps create a cavernous atmosphere, whereas on ‘Mindfulness’ it syncs up with the skittering drum parts. When a track requires more customary guitar riffs that rely on audible pick patterns, these are instead played on the bass guitar. The bass lines are often simplistic, but use a fuzzy distortion that enhances their presence, such as on ‘Yokohama’ where minimalist accents underscore the track’s odd time signature.

Rhythm is another place where ‘Clot’ flouts convention while retaining an austere attitude. Some of its cleverest rhythms are actually rather simple on paper, such as the tricky-to-parse ‘Efficiency’, whose recurring extra beat is accented a sixteenth note late. ‘You Were Right’ seems to have a similar goal, the ambiguously spaced beats of its intro eventually filled in by an unexpected 11/8. These ambiguities are often balanced by catchier elements, though. The chorus of ‘No Ties’, for instance, jerks spontaneously around some displaced rhythms, but in the verses, these patterns coalesce into a seductive and driving 16th note feel. These rhythmic intricacies are even offloaded to texture on ‘Less is More’, where an illusory unevenness arises out of snare hits and hat rolls that skirt the edges of what would otherwise be a rather straightforward drum loop.

The interplay of these minimalist compositional choices defines many of the album’s harmonic sensibilities. Chords are rarely played wholesale, instead arising indirectly from individual melodic ideas. These ideas usually stick to simple minor scales, but occasionally diminished or atonal features emerge. This leads to a certain edginess or discomfort, such as the minor 9ths on ‘Spanners and Implements’, or the groaning and drifting semitones on ‘An Eye’. The vocals round out this aesthetic, often preferring to play a more textural role. Wax Chattels has two vocalists, one male and one female, and their vocal styles are quite varied. They can be quite clear and vibrant, such as the spoken word cadence of ‘Efficiency’, but most songs adopt deliveries ranging from disinterested drawl to hyper-pronounced yelps. The 2-minute outburst of ‘Cede’ even culminates in some irate shouts. But even when the combined vocals, riffs, and rhythms amount to dissonance, there is an underlying order in how they interact. ‘Clot’ reaches out to the ears with clarity in order to express its own perceptions of obscurity.

(released July 28th, 2020, Yestereve Records)

I use the term ‘abstract’ rather frequently, but no album on this list meets the criteria as fully as Jacob Garchik’s ‘Clear Line’. While its instrumentation and uninhibited attitude are reminiscent of jazz, this album’s composition diverges in many respects from any obvious style besides, perhaps, the most forward-thinking modern classical. By exploring every possible approach and technique available to its core concept, it makes for a dazzling and dizzying experience.

The notion of ‘abstract’ music lends itself to unusual instrumentation, and ‘Clear Line’ is no exception. A first impression might belie a big band jazz lineup, but it is quickly apparent that the album has no rhythm section - no piano, no bass, and no drums or percussion. In fact, the full lineup has four trumpets, four trombones (including a bass trombone), and five saxophones (two alto, two tenor, and a baritone). Of course, wind instruments are still perfectly capable of delivering rhythm, with much more control over envelope and duration to boot.

This latter ability is very important for an album that so thoroughly prioritizes form over tonality or harmony. This is obvious from the opening track ‘Visualization of Interior Spaces’, where overlapping upward runs contrast against sustained, pedal point-like notes. ‘Clear Line’ is full of swells, jabs, runs, sustained broken chords, and other items that communicate more in terms of shape or movement. It’s not that the album is opposed to harmony - the opening motifs on ‘Sixth’, for example, are fairly consonant. But as the track imbricates a succession of increasingly distant concepts, dissonance is generated by the friction between them. The title track employs a similar technique, but instead of dealing with small, shapely motifs, it uses extended jazz-centric melodies that range from slow meanderings to energetic swing.

Of course, rhythm is just as critical to form, but also contributes much to the album’s mood and energy. Many tracks have an agile, bouncy demeanor that provides direction to their more obscure ideas. ‘Ligne Claire’s elastic quintuplet rhythm manages to approximate straightforward swing despite being more fertile ground for complex syncopation. In contrast, the catchy rhythmic motif that starts ‘Moebius and Mucha’ gradually disintegrates into something more akin to the unpredictable jabs of a boxer. This impact of each of these blows is further enhanced by the voicing, which often brings together multiple instruments into emphatic unison.

‘Clear Line’s focus on form results in a pretty eclectic assortment of harmonies, ranging from simple fanfare-like harmonizations to angular chords or tone clusters. When chord progressions exist, they seem to emerge and decay from other more insistent motivations. The sheer variety often leaves a vibrant and colorful impression, but in a few places it can also come across as cryptic or unnerving, such as the short, quiet interlude ‘Herge: Vision and Blindness’. At times, harmony seems to be abandoned entirely in favor of timbre. ‘Stacked Volumes’ diverges completely from traditional harmony, with siren-like blares and sudden punctuations scattered through a vast and questionably rhythmic space. This makes for a challenging listen, but for every challenge ‘Clear Line’ poses, there is a wealth of intricacy and novelty to enjoy.