Review Summary: Growth.
At what point can a part of a series be divorced from the whole?
Nymphs III is Nicolas Jaar’s second EP in as many months, and with it comes all of
Nymphs II’s connotations.
II was a minimalist kaleidoscope of noise and dance, never static, never certain. From that alone, the series seemed to be looking for a subdued, refracted beauty. However,
III trades complexity for subtlety, volatility for constancy, distancing itself from
II’s wall of calculated engineering in favour of a leaner sound. It’s no less impressive for it:
III offers the same entrancement as its predecessor, but through different means.
‘Swim’, at thirteen minutes, dominates the EP, weaving a serpentine piece from a simple synth line and echoing hi-hat, each element slowly morphing amidst the intermittent electronic atmosphere. It opts for raw development, regularly cutting parts to destabilise the track before trying another iteration. However, these moments never feel forced - each interruption feels like part of an organic system, carried forward by a natural momentum. Crucially, Jaar postpones singing; the prolonged absence of his voice allows the visceral processing to shine, and when the vocals finally emerge, they do so steadily, a gorgeous, distant choir in delay that swells before falling under the renewed beat. In a track built on sharp percussion and guttural electronics, they’re an ethereal welcome.
Unlike
II, where ‘The Three Sides of Audrey’ was essentially an introduction to ‘No One is Looking at U’, ‘Mistress’ compliments ‘Swim’ while succeeding on its own merits. ‘Swim’s’ reverbed percussion and swirling textures give way to a watery, detuned piano riff, which resolves and then repeats, each time a variation on the theme, growing, reflecting, and steadily collapsing into a haunting, melancholic fervour. It’s a further demonstration of what makes
III compelling: the EP succeeds because it’s willing to tear apart what it builds. It prefers construction to composition, twisting simple musical ideas in increasingly intricate ways, taking each to their limit before allowing the whole to collapse. Fittingly, despite the greater focus on form, Jaar forgoes any clear conclusion: ‘Mistress’ hits a final, uncertain note before succumbing to tape hiss. The satisfaction is in the process. At the end, all that’s left is noise.
