I had wanted a quiet testament
and I had wanted, among other things,
That was to be
of a like monotony.
Simply. Very very quiet.
A murmur of some lost
thrush, though I have never seen one.
Which was you then. Sitting
and so, at peace, so very much now this same quiet.
And of you the sign now, surely, of a gross
(which is not reluctant, or if it is,
it is no longer important.
Which one sings, if he sings it,
~ Robert Creeley
Cinchel's latest album "Reign Water" traces a liquid journey: water falling from heaven. Growth, life pushing through the soil. Faces uplifted toward the sky.
The record is a densely-layered blend of drones and dark, throbbing cadences, atonal moans, and slowly shifting tones. At times, the lowest oscillating notes are more felt than heard, as high-frequency strings flutter into the foreground. Despite its constant humming, busy, almost machine-like activity, "Reign Water" is surprisingly minimal. Just a few scratchy, wavering textures are presented at any one time; little growls and warbling brass gently rise to the top.
Trickles of running water become a torrent, breaking up and carrying away collected dust. Flora and fauna greet the storm with unease, disquiet, and ultimately renewal. As the rainfall sinks deep into the earth, seeds change shape; put forth roots, sprout, blossom. Wildlife gathers, drinks deeply. The new season is here.
released 14 February 2014
Artwork by Cinchel
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