Written by: Dave Cantrell
As a writer, a listener, as an anything attached to/obsessed by that boundless muse music, sometimes, when faced by a sound that, however gently at times, undoes the bounds of the familiar, you – or in any case that part of you that clings to the relative comfort of solid markers – might need a new genre name, a fresh handle to help you get a handle on what’s entering your listener bloodstream and such it was mere moments into this quiet colossus that is the collaborative triumph from the seemingly inevitable if long-time-coming pairing of Bonner Kramer with Sonic Youth founder Thurston Moore and hence we give you: rock avantstrumental.
That said, however, no matter how offhand accurate that portmanteau may in some ways be (and there is in fact a vocal track here, so…), it and any competitors that may come to mind will inevitably have one thing in common: they’re inadequate. Instead, what one confronts while listening to They Came Like Swallows – Seven Requiems for the Children of Gaza are soundscapes that, while grounded for the most part in recognizable Western musical constructs, nonetheless draw one toward the porous, often delicate boundaries between not just the recognizable and the less-so but as well toward the shimmering blur that has always maintained a certain uneasy tautness along the outer edges of the recognizable, the relative aesthetic blur of which inevitably combines the somewhat chaotic prospect of simply being conscious in this scurrying world to the often jarring but nonetheless lurking beauty – and, one hopes, hope – hidden within. It’s from that perspective that this startling work from arguably our two most fearless composers emerges.
Prior to exploring in any detail do know that, yes, as expected, the work here is, as mentioned and with one transcendent exception, lyricless but as equally expected the dialog between the two is so vividly rich with the unspoken as to, well, leave one speechless. But, y’know, no surprise there really so let’s plumb the gist, shall we?
Beginning with an intro that one might rightly describe as mellow with a metallic edge, “Urn Burial,” where every measure finds another furl unfurling, introduces along its way the concept of delicacy to that of what might be termed a trippingly chaotic density, resulting in not just a six-minute tour de force, its level of engagement somwhere up there in the stratosphere, but as well an offhandedly compressed mission statement that mesmerizes as much as challenges and, indeed, as you might well guess, serves as a none-more-compelling introduction to all that follows. Consider…
“The Redness of the West,” so compelling vis-a-vis its Cormac McCarthy feel it could serve as the soundtrack to Blood Meridien, Outer Dark, you name it; the way “The Third Migration” maps its evolution from the gently atmospheric to the full-on, tension-hung to the (almost) back again with an unsettlingly odd mix of restraint and catharsis and, no, we can’t fully figure out how they manage that either but, seeing as they do so pretty much throughout, we’re more than happy as it keeps us on the edge of our listener’s seat in a way we too seldom find ourselves given the rarely vivid far too timid tendencies of the ‘rock’ music world at large; the hypnotic glide of the title track (and I almost inadvertantly typed ‘tidal’ which would not have been entirely errant) that shimmers with an edgy glasslike grace as it builds toward a feverish crescendo that’s as uniquely captivating as it is – ultimately – a bit unnerving before smoothing back down to its core progression and I’ve no idea if I’ve captured the gist here but I can say with no uncertainty that its mix of tension and grace is damn near imcomparable.
And, really, that’s the plain truth throughout this record, it never strays a note from the apparent joy of its creation and as a listener one senses the unspoken drive that, in an unforced but forceful manner, prods the innate reflexes of both artists toward a parallel that has finally, in the form of this album, merged into a single line that draws one further, and further still, in to its subtle clutches, an impression only furthered by the album’s closing triad of tracks.
First comes “The Living Theater” that, not unlike “The Oceans Are Crying” that follows it – if in a distinctly different fashion – spends its seven-and-change minutes enveloping the listener in so delicately absorbing a way that not only is the word ‘cinematic’ virtually inescapable even as Moore unleashes a bit of scorch toward the end but in both instances the relative lengthiness of the tracks falls away amidst the unique dreamstates in which one finds oneself immersed. And the glorious thing? With a touch of impeccable finesse the record ends with Joy Division’s “Insight,” offered like a valedictory prayer spoken into – and against – the silence that encompasses us all, the vocal harmony between the two so meticulously conjoined as to be one while the trail-off of the the song’s primary refrain – “I’m not afraid anymore” – set as it ultimately is amongst a delicately unleashed scree of cathartic guitar work that doesn’t just capture the absolute stirring essence of the thing but, with all that’s preceded it, results in the track being among the most emotionally effective – not to mention just plain stunning – covers we’ve ever heard and almost rather certainly ever will hear and oh that that were an exaggeration. It is not.
Assuredly timeless and current in equal measure, as unsettling as it is in many ways a kind of trance-like calming, what’s perhaps most rewarding to this listener is how undyingly intuitive the work here is, its sound unstintingly – and instinctually – the product of two inimitable, sui generis talents ceding the relative vastness of their individual restlessness to the always challenging prospect of collaboration and in that process delivering a result that is as grounding as it is groundbreaking.
Lastly, a prayer of sorts. If there’s any grace in this world the spirit of these recordings will emanate into the ether and settle like a veil of peace upon the Gazan children to whom this record is dedicated. Art is never isolated no matter, and so often, as is the case here, it can heal. May it…
