"Music is not art; it is simply a formula that is either executed correctly or incorrectly." I read this somewhere once. I'm not exactly sure where, but I do know that it stuck with me for quite a long time afterwards. It bothered me more than it should have, almost like corn shell caught in your gums that is impossible to ignore until you can somehow force it out. I really wanted to disagree with it, but it was impossible because it had this irresolvable logic that shouldn't make sense but does. It was not until I listened to Secede's Tryshasla with this nagging logic toiling around in my head that I finally understood its point, and why Tryshasla was the album to finally reveal to me exactly what it meant.
Music is math. It is governed by a set of rules that must be followed in order to make sense. You may bend and warp the rules but it is impossible to break them, because they are not parameters set out by man but a logical fabric that governs reality. Both mathematics and music have formulas, and these formulas are set out to give an understandable breakdown of the logic present in their reality. Just as there is a formula for the force of one object on another there is a formula for harmony and all the other elements of music. But both music and math cannot exist only as formulas. These formulas are merely representations of actualities and do not serve any other purpose than to demonstrate. Application is the soul of these machines. The equations that describe flight are not beautiful until you see a raptor bear down on its prey from its place far above the ground. Similarly, melody is not beautiful until you hear sound that has the ability to evoke emotion through the simple combination of vibrations.
Secede's Tryshasla is a sonic exercise in application. In its execution, it has taken these formulas and applied them in ways that are as nuanced as they are simple. For an album that is largely comprised of electronic and synthetic sounds, it manages to apply them in such a way that they sound as if they are a living, breathing organism. It is very rare that an album is able to sound as organic as Tryshasla, much less in an album that is a part of the section of music that was born from synthetic sounds.
Its secret lies in its synthesis of organic noise into the formulas that comprise the remaining elements of music. Ambient noises that are oftentimes disregarded are utilized as their own complete instruments alongside more traditional methods of musical expression. These sounds, which are no different than the sounds that come from instruments themselves, are applied in such a way as to blur the line between tradition and experimentation. It is an album born of nostalgia in the sense that it is firmly rooted in setting rather than emotion. It has the unique ability to force the listener to forget that they are not listening to a rhythmic pulse but rather something as mundane as the roar of a lawnmower. It is the application of the full spectrum of sound, regardless of its origin. In practice, Tryshasla is effectually an album that transforms formula from representation into application, an alteration of logic from pretension into art.
