This month’s top staff choices reflect a continuing interest in the genre that is alternately known as “modern classical,” “modern composition,” and “other.” The represented artists know the difference between adding a violin to a band and composing intelligent, blended releases. 

Complexity is the key; such albums are difficult to comprehend in a single spin, and challenge us to engage in the art of deep listening. Happily, the potential for this market remains untapped, while the variety of possibilities appears endless. This means that we can look forward to many more months of creativity in the field, with no glut or burnout on the horizon.

 

 

 

Alexander Turnquist may not have stolen my puppy, but his delicate music has been charming its way into my heart this past month. Turnquist is undoubtedly a pretty bright guy, who has a firm grasp on the type of music he likes to create, and a talented musician, who understands his twelve-string guitar like a childhood friend. Smart, gifted people don’t always create interesting music, but Turnquist is lucky on this front, as he also appears to be a humble and empathetic person.  And so, his music is not only technically tight, but also very easily pulls the audience in with its comforting, engaging qualities. Listening to As the Twilight Crane Dreams in Color is akin to curling up next to the fireplace on a cold winter night with a good book and a loved one — in an perfect world, these moments would last forever. (Jordan Volz)

A film soundtrack is successful when it complements the narrative, as well as adding dimension. Clint Mansell has finally started to get widespread recognition for his ability to write killer themes and to integrate them into cohesive scores. Following in the footsteps of Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain, Moon holds its own, even without the visuals. The score is a solid example of minimalist dynamism: it permeates a room, integrating itself into its surroundings, until an unsettling piano or echoed lunar bleep commands the listener’s attention. The main theme’s simplicity is a focal point for all that surrounds it, and sticks in the head long after the music has stopped playing. (Nayt Keane)

Guitar, trombone, cello and electronics seem a strange setup for a group, as random as a card shuffle or a toss of the I Ching. And yet this Portland trio (and occasional quartet) has stumbled upon a formula for success. What makes their debut effort work is a sense of ebullience, most keenly felt on the key track, “Monster.” Without the beats (and on this track, the screams), the seven selections might sound mournful; but these augmentations transform the proceedings into something celebratory. The band’s exuberance is contagious, a ground zero of good will, soon to be the source of an ever-widening circle of smiles. (Richard Allen)

Who took the fun out of electronica? It’s disappointing that so many recent efforts have been too austere and serious for their own good. Luckily we have Clark. The young artist is undeniably focused, yet his newest compositions contain an element of playfulness capable of saving the genre from the pitfalls of overt pensivity. Totem’s Flare is a welcome entry in Clark’s canon, a cool breeze rather than a bunch of hot air. (Duane Ferrell)

Past Dysrhythmia releases were often so complex and frenzied that untrained listeners found it difficult to sit through an entire album. With Psychic Maps, the band seems to be aiming at a wider audience, offering drum patterns and rhythmic guitars of the head-nodding, rather than the neck-snapping variety. As referenced by the title, the music is psychedelic, as chic in execution and craftsmanship as we’ve ever heard from this threesome. Solid tracks of comprehensible length make it arguably the most accessible album of their career, with no apparent drop in quality. (Jurgen Verhasselt)

True illumination is often more violent than we envision. We are in a state of constant sensory assault: empirical events met by our skins and then processed by our minds, transforming our perception of circumstance, body and thought. Leave it to the masters of the empirical to shatter our corporeality straight into Zen mode, using aggressive industrial beats, shrieks, silence and noise to destroy and reconstruct our spirits, leaving us reborn. This isn’t music – it’s more akin to a religious experience, like waking up from an initiation ceremony and finding one’s self connected to the deep truths of ancient, ancestral dreams. The here and now may fade – the growl of Haino’s entranced, enthusiastic voice, the electronic beats – but the eternal will remain. To answer the question posed in the title: yes, please. (David Murrieta)