Having already amassed a solid discography of limited-run releases on numerous labels, St. Louis drone architect Joseph Raglani arrives at Kranky with a well-formed aesthetic. You can hear that experience and the confidence it inspires on Of Sirens Born (previously a 2006 CD-R on Gameboy). It's a dense, patient work that could only have been made by someone who's done this before. There are certainly precursors to his music: the haunting film scores of Popol Vuh, the all-night minimalism of Terry Riley, the garage din of Yellow Swans, the natural timbres of South American folk music. But the assured way that Raglani mixes these styles is less mimicry than synthesis, as if he were directing his influences like actors on a film set.
Raglani's movie features an ensemble cast, but the name above the title belongs to Popol Vuh. Through a Kranky press release, he cites the German group's score to Werner Herzog's Aguirre, Wrath of God as a reference point, and you can hear PV's trance-inducing soundtracks in this album's ringing atmospheres. That gives Of Sirens Born a cinematic quality, with widescreen drones perfect for slow pans across foggy landscapes and ominous bodies of water. Through layered sounds and well-timed changes, Raglani builds a wordless narrative, each track feeling like an abstract painting set in motion.
The most Popol Vuh moment is opener "Rivers In". Pushing choral tones like ocean waves, Raglani sounds both austere and organic. You can practically see empty fields of grass wafting back and forth to these windy chords. The 10-minute "The Promise of Wood and Water" follows with similar environmental leanings, but floats off a bit too far, caught in a loop of hums and chimes that veers toward new age. Of Sirens Born recovers quickly. "Perilous Straits" evokes Terry Riley with rolling tones that gradually grow denser yet somehow clearer. "Jubilee" continues that upward drift, as sheets of static and distortion cover each other like winter blankets.
The album's noisiest cut, "Washed Ashore", is its peak, a grinding sprint that conjures images of an exploding temple, then descends into small, sparse sounds, like the crackling embers of an acre-sized fire. On an album with such clear antecedants, it's the one track that sounds only like Raglani, blasting away all traces of influence. If he keeps heading in this direction, such reference-deletion will become permanent very soon.
