Did Steve Hauschildt consider naming this 2CD set A Young Person’s Guide to Steve Hauschildt? I ask because there are lots of similarities between S/H and his Emeralds colleague Mark McGuire’s 2011 double-disc A Young Person’s Guide to Mark McGuire. Both are compilations of rare and unreleased tracks; both offer everything from short vignettes to fleshed-out, 10-minute-plus journeys; and both paint a pretty comprehensive picture of the ideas and skills each artist brought to their work in now-defunct Emeralds. Both even use a fluorescent blue color palette on their covers.
This isn’t to say that Hauschildt ripped McGuire off—tons of artists have put out similar compilations—nor that his work should automatically be judged next to that of former comrades. But the two share a musical method that remains fascinating. As noted in Pitchfork's review of the McGuire set, the guitarist finds “remarkable flexibility” in a narrow stylistic range. The same goes for Hauschildt’s synth-based work on S/H. Its tones and moods are devoutly consistent, yet it’s richly engaging throughout.
Part of that is due, somewhat paradoxically, to the lower-stakes nature of S/H. Many of its pieces have a work-in-progress feel, moreso than the developed, honed material on Hauschildt’s previous albums. There was a lot to like on those—especially 2011’s Tragedy & Geometry—but I prefer him in this kind of lab-rat, see-what-sticks mode. Nothing here sounds tossed off, but Hauschildt doesn't always feel obligated to stretch each idea into an ebb-and-flow song. He’s happy to focus on a single sonic concept, then pursue another one on the next track rather than forcing them to work together. This tack has the added effect of making Hauschildt’s wallpaper-y pieces, which can sometimes feel like filler, more integral, serving as transitions and pace-changers between more gripping tracks.
The draft-ish quality of S/H also makes it more personal than Hauschildt’s previous releases. These are instrumental, sometimes abstract pieces in which the human action that created each sound isn’t always obvious. Yet I often feel I’m getting a glimpse at the machinations of Hauschildt’s mind. His particular way of toying with ideas and sketching patterns is probing without sounding rushed. Ripples, squiggles, waves, beats, and rising chords all unfurl with the patience of a meditation. But I don’t picture Hauschildt reclined behind his instruments when I listen. Instead I imagine him leaned over his tools, pushing them to replicate the sounds in his head.
That image is most vivid on disc one, comprising 21 previously-unreleased tracks recorded between 2010 and 2012. Everything Hauschildt is good at gets covered here, especially his way of generating emotion and tension with ostensibly mellow tones. Sprinkled throughout are some more outward-bound pieces, like the field-recording-like “Flyswatter” and the sci-fi stunner “Flatbed Scanner”, that extend Hauschildt’s reach without diminishing his grasp. Disc two generally feels more settled. Drones and longer tones are more frequent in these pieces made between 2005 and 2009. There’s still some forward-moving stuff to dig into, and lots of ways to become transfixed by Hauschildt’s extended sounds. But anyone inclined toward his pulse-heavy side will likely set disc one on repeat before drifting into disc two.
It seems just as likely that any Emeralds followers underwhelmed by their 2012 swan song, Just to Feel Anything, will find reasons in S/H to renew their optimism about Hauschildt's musical future. I imagine he would welcome that response, since, as with McGuire’s solo work, S/H is music designed for positivity, even when it sounds solemn or melancholy. By the end of its two and a half hours, negativity is about the farthest thing from my mind.
