Review Summary: The Songs of Life
Having cleaned off the foam from his last musical venture, Amon Tobin climbs up to the highest springboard and leaps headfirst into the swirling river of plunderphonics.
He emerges clutching inconceivable treasures from long forgotten shipwrecks of sound; ancient chests filled with priceless riches, obsidian tools, the waterlogged and indecipherable diaries of men long dead, slowly dissolving in the shadowy resonance of the perpetual currents. Bodies salvaged from the shattered ribcages of somnolent ruins, lost for eons in deathly sleep; horrific puppets that for all sakes and purposes should be as lifeless as their abandoned surroundings. For a moment, all is still.
All of a sudden, a heartbeat flutters faintly before fading again. On the sandy banks of the river, in the luscious shadows of concerned plants, minutes pass. The distant sound of tribal drums echoes through space, carried along by the vibrant breeze. Painstakingly resuscitated fragments are pieced together by this musical shaman; slowly and hesitantly former inanimate objects come to life under the dark green leaf canopy
is the sound of the rainforest; life-giving rain inundates the greenery which steams beneath the benevolent gaze of the sun, soundlessly absorbing the pattering footsteps of the invisible creatures scurrying through the undergrowth. Sinuous basslines wind their way like snakes through the foliage whilst plumed and vibrant birds croon in harmonious tongues above. The trees strain to be heard above the organic tremors, their hushed and rustling voices punctuated by the rhythmic crackling of the bark covering their soft underbellies.
Even in its darkest moments, when the fertile vegetation gives way to the silent encroachment of the concrete jungle, the music never feels cold. The sensations its radiates are those of shy smiles and shining eyes looming out of the darkness, gentle caresses tracing out sensual patterns, replacing the bitter sketches of stillness with crawling arabesques of life . Tremulous whispers resound amongst the monolithic tombstones, reducing their sharp outlines to delicate pastel tones that breathe the hazy air with joyous trepidation;
Simply put, I’ve never heard anything so alive