Tim Hecker's fourth full-length under his own name isn't so much a new direction as a refinement. The differences between 2002's Haunt Me Haunt Me, Do It Again, 2003's Radio Amor, and 2004's Mirages are apparent but incremental. On each of these records, Hecker plays with pink-into-white noise, tinkling synths that float between the speakers, the occasional over-the-airwaves voice, and knotty samples of guitar with the Earth-drone pedal pushed to the jet-black metal.
But while Hecker continues to revisit some of the same sonic elements, he also seems to be listening closely to what works and playing with structure. So his latest record, Harmony in Ultraviolet, has none of the docile synth instrumentals he borrowed from Brian Eno on his debut, nor the ultimately distracting disembodied radio chatter from the follow-up. Rather, he's taken what's left and focused, zoomed in, amplified, and stretched.
Harmony is, paradoxically, Hecker's most dramatic and most oceanic record. The former implies twists, arc, and carefully planned change intended to evoke specific effects; the latter suggests stasis, immersion, and a state of dreamy contemplation. Harmony manages to be both these things by surprising as it mesmerizes, with Hecker reigning in or tempering any jarring effects just enough to keep the self-obliterating sense of endless drone intact. One key is that the tension never really dissipates, varying only in degree and quality. The opening "Rainbow Blood" sets the scene with a screeching and trebly drone, like an orchestra tuning up in the darkened theater where Rebecca del Rio performed in Mulholland Drive, and for the next 48 minutes, Harmony keeps the pulse elevated.
Tuneful passages like the Tangerine Dream sonata "Chimeras" leading into the Windy & Carl-like blissout of "Dungeoneering" have a relatively lulling effect, but the mood remains dark and uneasy. The four-part "Harmony in Blue" at the album's center, which starts nice and warm, is like a gradually descending slope into a coal black pit. The first section begins with gently modulating drones and only a bare minimum of glitchy accents; the second is dubby and aquatic, with upper harmonics lopped off; the third is a slightly lighter and wispier; and the fourth gathers an increasingly thick blanket of distortion around chilly, held tones.
By the time the suite has finished, the record is zipping along on a tightly ratcheted wire, which leads to the heightened drama of the final act. When the floor gives way following "Harmony in Blue IV", during the explosive "Radio Spiricon", it can seem nearly breathtaking, especially at higher volumes. Hecker's synths here are massive, sounding like something huge that's been torn in half with great force, exposing a bouquet of prickly and splayed binding material. We're suddenly seeing the guts of the thing, the album turned inside out. That the following "Whitecaps of White Noise" gets even crazier with its surges of distortion but then bleeds into a funeral organ drone only adds to the emotional punch. This closing 22-minute suite is some of the finest abstract electronic music of the laptop era.
What Hecker delivers when he's at his loudest and most noise-drunk is the thing that will always bring to mind My Bloody Valentine: a sense of submitting to oblivion. The violence inside tracks like "Spring Heeled Jack Flies Tonight" and the rougher bits in the "Whitecaps" section is oddly comforting, like it shows a way to tune into and accept the destructive chaos of nature. That this racket which Hecker specializes in-- top-heavy with prickly static, a dark undercurrent of synths providing a wobbly foundation beneath-- can engender such a pleasant sense of surrender is the key to his appeal. Harmony in Ultraviolet is sensual body music of a very particular kind, and it's the sort of record that asks a lot. But if you trust it and go along, it knows exactly where to lay its hands.
