Review Summary: An ambient masterpiece.
The oft-quoted Brian Eno once said that “Ambient Music must be able to accommodate many levels of listening attention without enforcing one in particular; it must be as ignorable as it is interesting,” and I mostly agree with this characterization. Ambient should reward focused attention, and like other music, convey ideas where language is not sufficient. It should create a headspace, setting the stage for your mind to wander or to do whatever it is you may do. But more than any other type of music, ambient is a visual genre, it should paint a picture in the mind of the listener. Enter, Tim Hecker. Enter,
Haunt Me. It’s a fairly straightforward record, showcasing beautiful washed out synth tones and fine, gritty static on top of a crystal clear palette; using these effects with unmatched subtlety and detail to transform them into something truly three dimensional. Now,
Radio Amor sees Tim straying from Haunt Me’s pure and straightforward approach and beginning to play with ideas of rhythm and melody, teasing them, but straying firmly from their lock-step. It’s present throughout the record, evident in tracks like
I’m Transmitting Tonight with its irregularly fluttering piano jabs or
Trade Winds, White Heat with its slowly-changing scale descent. This notion of taking musical motifs and “hiding” or “obscuring” them is something that Tim would continue to employ throughout his following records.
The effect of all this is that the music takes on an ephemeral and lifelike quality. Emerging through a wave of white noise, the twinkling, lullaby-like tones in
The Star Compass struggle through the obscuring layer of static on top of it. The scene is almost too beautiful to touch, and the slightest perturbation may cause it collapse on itself. It’s like seeing the auroras, or a butterfly, or a starry sky. The lifelike quality of the music is so masterful that one can forget that the sounds were made deliberately. The record can feel like a boat adrift with no captain, yet the genius is that it never strays off course. Sounds emerge effortlessly from the undercurrent of radio static and progress seemingly of their own accord, particularly in the more subdued tracks like
Spectral and
Careless Whispers. One wonders how something as simple as the twisting of a pitch bend knob on
Spectral can work to such an amazing extent, or how the clipped bass tones of
Careless Whispers can feel like wind blowing in and out of your ear, but they do. These tracks start in one place and end in another, but never does their journey feel anything but fluid.
Like other Hecker records,
Radio Amor is a masterwork in building atmosphere and using a thematically consistent sound palette, whether it be obscured piano, distorted guitar, radio static, or samples, all the while being incredibly detailed and dynamic. The music hints at themes of isolation, but it never quite descends into loneliness or despair.
7000 Miles is transportational, with its Simon Says-sounding arpeggios blanketed in a thick coat of static fog. It evokes things like an empty street corner at 3 in the morning, the traffic light changing with nobody on the road, or a ship returning to port through fog and the dead of night. Part of what makes tracks like
7000 Miles or
Azure Azure so isolating is how the static seems to echo endlessly into the distance, reflecting off nothing, only to be lost over the horizon. Other tracks, such as
Song of the Highwire Shrimper and
I’m Transmitting Tonight opt for a more introspective atmosphere. The only moment in which the record’s atmosphere falters is
Shipyards of La Ceiba, which serves as a good segue into
Careless Whispers but can be a bit jarring following the end of
7000 Miles.
One may criticize the record for the lack of a true standout track, and it’s true. Rather than opting for buildups, climaxes, and inevitable come-downs, it opts for a more hands-off approach. It isn’t building towards anything, and is more of a guide than a captain. It never demands and it never imposes. In fact, it is so utterly lacking in pretension that it seems to make no statement at all. Perhaps this is the double-edged sword of this hands-off approach and perhaps what keeps this record from being compared with the likes of
Ravedeath, 1972 and
Harmony in Ultraviolet. It lacks teeth. It won't blow you away. It stands as purely a
work of art. One that might not make a splash outside of its niche, and one that may be a bit inscrutable for non-fans of the genre. However, it is one that explores the subtleties of ambient music and fully succeeds in conveying a concept deeper than words or images. And to me, that’s the true power of music.
