Listening to Perila’s album on headphones at a coffee shop, I heard the faint sound of a trumpet. I was about halfway through the track “Mola,” which sounds like a field recording of footsteps on a wet forest floor. The trumpet, I thought, was an interesting choice, the brass moan an effective contrast to Perila’s rumbling, ambient gloom.
Until I paused the music and the trumpet was still there. The coffee shop was playing jazz through their speakers. Then I pushed play and in a dark whoosh, Perila’s song faded out and, with another dark whoosh, the next one began. In the background, the trumpet tooted away.
This is not a bad thing. Perila, the abstract music project of Alexandra Zakharenko, a Russian artist now based in Germany, is not a muscular endeavor. That the outside might seep into her hushed soundscapes is inevitable. It may even be the point. Listening to the outside world was John Cage’s whole deal. On YouTube, you can watch a video of Pauline Oliveros, purveyor of deep listening, playing her accordion in “duet” with a barking dog.
Across multiple albums and collaborations, Perila has invented a way of performing where moments that feel incidental are tightly composed. At her best, her music feels buoyant and brash, heartrending and exciting. On her new album Intrinsic Rhythm, there are some of those moments.
Intrinsic Rhythm is a long album: 21 tracks and just over an hour. The music, more a collection of ideas than songs, often feels like imitations of field recordings more than field recordings themselves—though there are, of course, snatches of birdsong. As they blend with Perila’s production, they become snapshots of dreamlife. Or nightmare life. Depending on how you want to think about it. “Sepula Purm” sounds like a fire in the winter wind or a stethoscope on a gassy stomach. “Nim Aliev” sounds like a dial tone (is it a dial tone?) that fades out slowly. The little rumblings on “Air Two Air” sounds like mouse Morse code, the rippling parts like if a diamond could play synthesizer. All of these instrumental moments blend together, ephemeral.
Better are the pieces where Zakharenko uses her voice. I’d say “sings,” but that’s not always accurate. Sometimes she does sing, other times she hums, whispers, speaks. On “Darbouse Song,” my favorite track on Intrinsic Rhythm, she sings to herself. The recording quality is particularly low. You can hear footsteps in the background. It sounds like she accidentally recorded a voice note of herself mindlessly singing while on a hike. It’s a lovely moment, intimate and human. It feels like you’re walking beside her. She seems like good company.
“Note on You,” the album’s following song, feels more purposeful, with Zakharenko in duet with herself, one version speaking the lyrics, the other singing. It sounds like she is teaching herself a lullaby. It’s sweet. The next song, “She Wonder,” is another self-duet, with Zakharenko repeating brief, weird phrases while singing a breathy melody. It’s quite creepy, to be honest, witchcraft music.
Any music that makes the hair on your arms stand up is doing something right. But I found the difference between Intrinsic Rhythm’s moments of beauty and its moments of creepiness to be an odd juxtaposition. It feels like some songs are from an album recorded in the optimistic light of day, the others from one made in the cruelty of the night. On vinyl, the album is split across two LPs, and the breaks between the four sides may help make sense of those contrasting visions. I listened on streaming, where it just felt like a lot. Perhaps 21 tracks is too many. Perhaps I need to lighten up. Or perhaps the album needed more trumpet.
