When Ana Roxanne recorded an EP in 2015, she wasn’t making a debut. ~~~ originated as a private project, the culmination of formal and informal musical training from church and school choirs to college to studying with a teacher of traditional Hindustani vocal music. Freshly rereleased by Leaving Records, the EP’s warm meditations feel unconnected to a particular time or place. Its title is utilitarian, the kind of placeholder symbols tapped out to keep a digital file at the top of an alphabetized folder. Its low, wavering hums and glassy plinks have a restful, restorative quality; it fades into the background or rewards close listening with equal ease.
~~~ sets a mood through pacing as much as through sound. The quiet recordings of ocean waves that open “It’s a Rainy Day on the Cosmic Shore” and “In a Small Valley” serve as long pauses, building the illusion of space into a short album like mirrors in a small room. The fuzzy, analog aquatics recall the Environments series of field recordings, originally released in the 1960s and 1970s and recently reissued by Numero Group as an app—a modern edition of an earlier generation’s serene, anonymous background sound. Such sound can aid in introspection or distract from it, depending on your priorities; by shifting field recordings towards melody and spirituality, Ana Roxanne invites contemplation.
When ~~~ incorporates vocals, they fall between a murmur and a soft melody, intimate without getting personal. “In existential mathematics, the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory,” instructs a man’s gentle voice on “Slowness,” before pausing to ask, “Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared?” Synthesizers cycle and burble, a kind of ambient music that’s more USS Enterprise sound effects than seashores. Ana Roxanne’s intermittent use of her own voice helps unify the collection, an individual stamp on a humanistic style. On “Nocturne,” her ethereal croon is an overheard echo of the cathedrals where, as a young person, she came to understand music as a sacrament.
In its final third, ~~~ shifts outward, taking a turn toward pop’s past. “I’m Every Sparkly Woman” is a cover of a cover, draining the funk from the Whitney Houston version of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” and recasting it as a whispy strand of melody over bubbling Moog arpeggios. Misty and distant, the song’s karaoke influence shines through in sound and ambiance: virtualized pop with the forlorn glow of an empty bar. But it’s still of a piece with the music that surrounds it: textured but uncomplicated, soothing without feeling narcotic, flashing glints of personality without leaving the chill zone. Ambient music has perhaps never been so readily available as it is right now; Ana Roxanne’s quiet soundscapes offer the promise of artisanship in an automated age.
