I love music. You'd think that's a bit of a no-brainer for someone like me-- I've been writing music reviews for a year now, own thousands of albums and just completed four years at a music college. But when you're surrounded by something you love, it can be easy to forget just how important it is to you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.
This past week, I haven't had much of a chance to listen to music. Between finishing up classes, attending graduation, giving time to my visiting family and frantically searching with a friend for an apartment that didn't seem to be materializing, my stereo and I didn't get a whole lot of quality time together. Even now, my computer and stereo are sitting packed in boxes, in limbo at my parents' house, waiting to be moved again.
Of course, now that the blur of airports, trains, mortarboards and landlords who never called us back that was this last week is finally over, I've got some time on my hands. So here I am at my parents' computer, finally getting a chance to spend a couple of hours with some new music. My deadline for Pitchfork notwithstanding, it's like Heaven-- and it reminds me of just why music is such a big part of my life.
Maybe it's just a coincidence that the CD I'm reviewing now perfectly suits my mood. Slow, beautiful and contemplative, the debut from Charles Kim's Sinister Luck Ensemble couldn't be a more perfect soundtrack for my state of mind if it had been improvised to a video of my brainwaves. Some of you may be familiar with Kim's work with Pinetop Seven-- he was responsible for the instrumental interludes that dotted their albums and played foil to Darren Richard's narratives of warped Americana.
Striking out on his own with some of the Midwest's finest players in tow, he makes it clear that his Pinetop Seven contributions were just a tiny glimpse at the landscape of sounds that exist in his head. Anniversary opens with the title track, a brief statement from Rob Mazurek's muted trumpet designed to prick up the goose bumps on your arms, no matter how warm it is. From there, Kim & Co. bring on the night like nobody's business, effortlessly sliding through almost an hour of arresting, nocturnal music.
Kim's steel guitar soars over Robert Cruz's accordion and Glenn Kotche's restrained drumming on "Deep Ellum," recalling Friends of Dean Martinez at their most majestic, while it mixes perfectly with Andrew Bird's violin on the effervescent, sepia-toned "What Holds Them Above." Kim turns to the melodica for the album's gorgeous closer, "This Will All Be Yours," intertwining his playing with Diana Parmeter's softly moaning cello to great effect.
Elsewhere, Ken Vandermark's clarinets battle Kim's reverb-soaked guitars for dominance on "The Black Pool," easily the album's most sonically challenging track. Though much of the music here rests near the line between freedom and structure, this song is one of the few that actually crosses that line, with controlled waves of swelling noise. Possibly the album's finest song, though, is "Spit in the Well," a stirring waltz featuring Andrew Bird's commanding violin and thoughtful counterpoint from Parmeter and double-bassist Kent Kessler.
For those of you who're multimedia inclined, Anniversary contains a Quicktime movie for "Cakewalk," prepared by Jeff Economy, whose films with Carolyn Faber provided the basis for half of Califone's Deceleration One. As Mazurek's trumpet blares in the foreground, you're treated to some grainy footage of snow-covered streets, a lighthouse in a storm and a man operating a cement mixer, all sped up in odd contrast with the music.
It's hard to slap any kind of label on music like this. Calling it post-rockin'-folk-Americana or some other compound hyphenate could never really do it any type of justice, so let's just say that it's gorgeous, emotional instrumental music that's perfectly tailored for those times after the sunset when you need to bring your blood pressure down a few points. Rest assured, when I finally do get into that new apartment, this disc will be coloring a lot of my nights.
