M. Geddes Gengras has been exploring the outer edges of synth music for more than 20 years. The Woodstock-via-L.A. experimentalist is probably best known for his work with Sun Araw and the Congos on 2012’s Icon Give Thank, one of the most potent cross-generational collabs of its era. But the bulk of his catalog is crafted in solitude: sweeping, typically lengthy modular synth albums ranging from the strikingly pretty (2022’s Expressed, I Noticed Silence) to the disarmingly heady (the lockdown-era Time Makes Nothing Happen). Guest List marks his first album as a bandleader, corralling 24 guests over nine tracks, and though it might seem like a left turn for Gengras, the liner notes by Wooden Wand’s James Toth assure us it’s not such a huge leap. “An element of indeterminacy necessarily plays a crucial role in the creation of synthesizer music,” Toth writes. “By presenting raw material to his collaborators and providing minimal instructions, Gengras again places his faith in the unpredictable process of chance.”
Consistency is low on the list of priorities for a project like this, and on first listen, Guest List can be a bumpy ride. “All the Light” opens the album with what sounds like a Balearic ballad, something Gigi Masin or Jonny Nash might’ve dreamed up, with crooned vocals from Grey McMurray simmering low in the mix. Nothing else on the record will sound anything like it. Instead, Gengras and his collaborators sprint through Chicago post-rock circa Tortoise’s “Djed” on “The List Is Millions Long,” post-Jazz from Hell hyperprog on “Motore,” spoken word on “The Weather,” pure ambient drift on “Little Tonshi,” and even a rap verse from NYC prankster Lungs on “Soup,” amid stuttering breakbeats from IDM lifer Brian Foote. You probably never expected to hear a “beef/shrimp” joke on an M. Geddes Gengras album, but here we are.
As the album develops, it becomes clear these tracks are united less by a particular sound than by a spirit of musical progressivism. The guests unabashedly chase the prog dragon, not least drummer Greg Fox (Liturgy, Body Meπa), whose fills spill all over “Seven Dials” and “Little Tonshi.” The roster of guitarists is virtuosos-only; Ben Chasny contributes “maggot guitar” to “Laplace/Montagne,” and one of the brightest moments on the record belongs to Hand Habits’ Meg Duffy, who rips a flawless Larry Carlton-style session-cat solo over vaguely Kabbalistic spoken word from Cory Plump on “Seven Dials.” Gengras hangs back, letting his synths thicken the air rather than leaping boldly to the front. This is one of those albums that bears its creator’s name on the spine not because they’re the loudest voice in the mix but because they’re the glue: the one who gathered disparate parts under one roof and prompted them to start jamming.
Some guest-heavy albums, like Beatrice Dillon’s Workaround, seem to pick their contributors based on their ability to strengthen the general hive mind, folding the all-star cast seamlessly into the sound. Others, like Matmos’ The Consuming Flame, only have as much personality as whichever guest is stepping up to the forefront at any given moment. Guest List plays more like the latter. Gengras has assembled a great survey of exciting players in the experimental world, but at this juncture it’s hard to say what they can do for Gengras’ music, rather than what Gengras can do for them by giving them a moment in the spotlight. This newly collaborative approach is promising, but Guest List only hints at the horizons to which Gengras could steer his music by letting more of his friends into the fold. But the potential of his VIP shredder parties is there: As the title of one track suggests, “The List Is Millions Long.”
