Though it's often gentle and reflective, there's a forcefulness to the drone-based music made by Rachel Evans, both as Motion Sickness of Time Travel and in Quiet Evenings, her duo with husband Grant. I'm not sure whether to call it drive or vision or presence, but something makes even her calmest moments propel forward and grab attention. She's kept that focus through many LPs, cassettes, CD-R's, and split releases, carving a path that's open to all sounds yet has a clear direction.
Her next step on that path feels like the destination she's been traveling toward all along. Plainly titled and simply structured-- each of its four tracks take up an LP side-- Motion Sickness of Time Travel is a definitive 90 minutes of music that needs no novel angle or overt theme to hold interest. Which is not to say that it merely sums up what Evans has done before. There are new approaches here, the most noticeable being a shift from gritty, murky atmospheres to a cleaner, smoother sound.
So what makes Motion Sickness of Time Travel definitive is not the qualities on its surface, but the confidence at its core. All kinds of moods and tones seem easily within Evans' reach, so she never has to worry about sustaining intensity over a 25-minute album side, or about picking a sound that's too light or too dark, too simple or too complicated. Bubbles, ripples, chirps, hums, moans: Many of the familiar sounds of ambient music are here, and Evans boldly breathes new life into them. They pulse and flow even when there's no discernible rhythm or movement. Her assuredness is reflected in simple, direct song titles: "The Dream", "The Center", "One Perfect Moment". And it allows Evans to journey around the sonic map without losing her way.
In drone-based music there's often a fine line between sticking to one mode beyond its expiration point and pivoting prematurely out of fear of losing impatient listeners. But Evans' changes all feel natural, and the album's variety comes off as earned rather than contrived. When she drifts from whirring notes into wavy tones halfway through "The Dream", or when she sings in words you can actually make out (a rarity for her) near the end of "The Center", these moves seem logical, even inevitable. Comparisons are tempting-- after I listen, I think of the drift of Windy & Carl, the flights of Terry Riley, and the soar of Emeralds, whose John Elliott runs Spectrum Spools. But while the record's playing, Evans' own musical personality is what commands my attention.
It's also tempting to call this music "spiritual," as its high-pitched, ethereal sound calls to mind religious hymns or New Age mysticism. But to me Motion Sickness of Time Travel evokes a different sense of spirit-- the kind of inner presence that separates humans from machines. Often drones can feel cold or automated, as if the gear were doing the work and the musician were just a conduit or a witness. That can produce interesting art too, but Evans' music is different. There's a guiding force behind it, a sense that everything happens for a reason. And that's not religion, because Motion Sickness of Time Travel is less about higher power than human power, and the way it can turn inanimate sound into moving experience.
