Boston- based multi Instrumentalist Keith Kenniff is a busy man. He has appeared as Helios on a number of acclaimed releases, including Type Records' very own Deaf Center Neon City EP, and released a debut album Unomia on Merck records which has appeared on many best of 2004 lists. All this while studying at the prestigious Berklee College of Music, and playing drums, guitar or contributing production to a host of amazing musicicans. Kenniff lives and breathes music, something that is very obvious when hearing tracks under any of his pseudonyms.
As Goldmund, Kenniff has disregarded the electronic elements of his music almost entirely in favour of just a piano, a microphone and occasionally a guitar. Corduroy Road is thirteen tracks of pure recording, the sound of the piano being opened and the feet on the pedals, the sound of fingers pressing lovingly onto the keys. This is a record of rare and unusual beauty, so shocking and yet unpretentious in its simplicity. When the guitar does emerge from beside the delicately touched piano, it serves as a balancing point for the record. Weaving in and out of the melodies, it adds another layer to what is already incredibly moving music.
Corduroy Road is rooted in Kenniff's love of folk music from the American Civil War. We can hear this directly from his rendition of Civil War era classic Marching Through Georgia, but the influence carries throughout the record. There is an unheard voice which propels each track through history, maybe the ghosts of dying soldiers whispering in a long forgotten bar. Every haunting note drifts deep into the psyche and is lost in the ether of nostalgia. In this way it is a concept recording of sorts, it certainly has a narrative and has to be listened to in sequence. The story has clear themes; loss, history, friendship, camaraderie, forgiveness and hope, all clearly marked out by musical segments. It is no surprise that Kenniff's passion for cinema shines through so strongly.
It would be hard to draw comparisons to music so rooted in folk traditions, but the music evokes traces of Ryuichi Sakamoto, Mark Hollis, Keith Jarret or even Eno's more piano based compositions. Yet influence seems unimportant when listening to this deeply personal work. Just let it sink in and drift into the psyche.Type Records
When I was younger, I took the obligatory piano lessons. Maybe my parents thought I’d become a great pianist or something, or that I’d carry on a family tradition. Needless to say, that didn’t really come to fruition. The only thing I remember from those lessons is how to play “Here We Go” and the opening notes to “The Volga Boatmen.” And looking back, I can’t help but wonder what my old piano instructors would thing of this album. And back then, I probably never would’ve dreamed of the music contained on this album.
On Godbear, Charlemagne Palestine creates huge waves of sound by simply banging on the piano’s keys and holding down the sustain pedal. Well, that’s the crass way of saying it. But then you hear the end result. As Palestine himself says in the liner notes: “I heard Debussy, Ravel, gamelans, carillons, ragas, oscillators, and orchestras…in the overtones… like a shimmering fountain.” Overtones collide and crash into eachother, until all that’s left is a pulsing wall, a sea of sound.
Then he introduces new melodies and new notes using the same technique, moving over the keys, hammering in sound after sound. Somehow, that humble piano has transformed itself into the roar of a jet engine as on “The Lower Depths.” On “Timbral Assault,” you’re standing inside a tower as the bells above chime out their song, each one fighting to be heard, but everything coming together in a sound My Bloody Valentine might dream of. The sounds begin to sway and careen and the walls begin to pulse and shift as Palestine dives deeper and deeper into the mass he creates.
“Strumming Music” opens fairly lightly, with a light sprinkling of notes played. A single note being hit rapidly can be heard, providing a beacon of sorts among the eventual waves of sound. But on this one, the waves are lighter and brighter. But the result is the same. That humble instrument, the one that never receives any glory in light of the all-important electric guitar, releases forth a glorious sound that is at once reminiscent of Seefeel or Windy & Carl’s “Antartica” and yet much more elegant and refined.
All in all, a very interesting album, and one that is guaranteed to make you think twice about the piano. It is, as Palestine said, “a shimmering fountain.” It requires patience on a track like “The Lower Depths,” but when you hear the end result, it’s the sun breaking over the horizon, the seas crashing on the breakers, and a bunch of other poetic similes and metaphors for a revelation.
Opuszine
sold out
Clairement l'un des plus beaux disques de "musique française" -terme employé par Sylvain Chauveau lui-même- à être paru récemment, Nocturne Impalpable raconte le silence de la nuit, en ville.
Volontiers contemplative, simple et répétitive, la musique de Sylvain Chauveau déroule ses volutes mélancoliques et son piano minimal au gré de 19 compositions, reliées entre elle par le fil ténu d’une ville endormie et d’une nuit régnante. Nocturne urbain, mouvement qui clôt le disque, en est la focale. Le caractère légèrement narratif de l’ensemble est volontiers brisé par quelques écueils et bribes d’expérimentations sonores Cette succession de mouvements est hautement poétique, en raison notamment de la beauté de ses titres (Doucement le grain de sa peau, Arachnéenne encore, Je me suis bâti sur une colonne…). Elle possède également une cohérence toute cinématographique, comme une bande son oubliée d’un film de Bresson, rejouée à l’époque actuelle, comme le laissent entendre les scories électroniques de Ocre.
Le morceau suivant, avec son orgue hypnotique, nous plonge au delà de terres déjà reconnues par Labradford circa Mi Media Naranja. Ce morceau insuffle une profonde émotion humaine et organique à l’ensemble. Les samples que l’on retrouvait sur le premier album solo de Sylvain Chauveau, par ailleurs membre de Micro : Mega et d‘Arca, se sont quasiment tus, remplacés par un silence musical et une mélancolie encore plus vastes. Le Monde intérieur donne le ton de cet album, croisement de Satie et des Rachels dans une salle obscure. "Adieu vive clarté de nos étés trop courts/Demain nous plongerons dans les vastes ténèbres" écrivait Baudelaire. Ce disque constitue à coup sûr la musique de cette descente magnifique, avant de revoir cette vive clarté estivale.
Chronic'Art
It has become somewhat of a cliché to unearth the skeletons of Claude Debussy and Erik Satie when writing about any French composer who takes the path of quiet melancholia. Nevertheless, Sylvain Chauveau's Nocturne Impalpable does borrow a lot from La Mer and the composer of the Gnossiennes and Gymnopédies. The former's delicate touch permeates through the long chords of the string trio (two cellos and a viola) in "Radiophonie No. 1." The latter's sedated piano style is found everywhere on the album, and particularly in "Nocturne Urbain." The running order manages room to breathe in the form of six untitled tracks of field recordings and electronics -- promenades between stations of this night walk. Nocturne Impalpable may be pretty, even touching at times, but that doesn't make it striking.
