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Score: 7/10

Not being familiar with the prolific William Basinski‘s previous work, this is a somewhat difficult review for me to write. I gather that he’s quite well respected in ambient circles. His latest album, El Camino Real, is a 50 minute album/song constructed out of tape loops. Ambient music in general is difficult to describe and review–sometimes all that repetition is a good thing, other times it’s pejorative–but this album presented me with unique difficulties. It’s not merely that I’m not sure how to describe it or what to say about it: for a long time, I wasn’t even sure if I enjoyed this or not.

Part of the reason for my discomfiture stems from what Basinski’s done here. El Camino Real is an album with essentially one trick; it’s a gorgeous trick, for sure, but it’s also the same trick for 50 minutes. To say there’s not much variation here would go well beyond understatement. There’s hardly anything resembling variation to be found throughout the entire running time. I get the feeling that this is the point–movement is the opposite of what Basinski was going for, so he created an album that resolutely sits in one place and does not budge. It doesn’t even fidget. It’s a single moment stretched out to the better part of an hour. This music makes SunnO))) sound like Mr. Bungle. Those with short attention spans should stay away. I don’t think it’s necessary to be a bodhisattva to appreciate this, but it would probably help.

The first time I listened to this, I thought “wow, this is amazing.” Ten minutes later I checked the running time. Thirty minutes in, I had my head in my hands, wondering if the song was ever going to go anywhere. When it was done I immediately set about writing a review for something else, because what could I say about an album that does nothing, quite prettily, for almost an hour?

My reaction has changed in the ensuing weeks. Deprived of the expectation that the piece might evolve, I returned to El Camino Real with fresh ears. It’s an evocative, forlorn song, for what it is. Isolate any five-minute stretch of it, and you have one of the most beautiful ambient songs of the year. It’s melancholy, it’s warm, it’s far-away, and it’s unconscious in all the ways that remind me of Music For Airports, and there’s worse company it could be keeping. And after listening to it a few times, the virtue of its length (and lack of variation) becomes apparent: the listener becomes wholly absorbed in the tones and harmonies and subtle background sounds. The sheer amount of repetition invites one to really focus on the details, and to find new intricacies and details with each cycle. It’s music made for journeying inward, but it’s not background music–it encourages active listening. Whether not it rewards this is not for me to say, and I suspect Basinski would insist that it’s not the point. Sit down with a cup of something strong and remember that music, like all art, is a participatory process–you get out of it what you put into it.

The complaint could be made that all that happens here is one cycle, repeated ad nauseum, and that anybody could do this. I can’t argue with that, as I suspect that it’s at least partly true. I can’t think of a good reason that this should be 50 minutes, as opposed to 40 or 20, apart from the fact that I tend to let it play itself out. And I’m not sure that just anyone could essentially repeat the same pattern and make it compelling the entire time. If you get bored, turn it off. In theory, anyway, you’re not missing much, but I’d encourage a second listen. Like a good postmodernist, Basinski’s music, despite its inviting beauty and warm tones, resists easy enjoyment and demands that its audience participates in the act of creating sense and meaning. If you expect your music to gratify from without, El Camino Real will seem stubborn, cold, and remote.

-Lucas Kane

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