![]() ![]() In the end, he relays the fable of Kisa, calming his nerves not with the company of others’ misery but with the wisdom that our sadness is but a point on an ancient timeline. And “Hollywood” begins with seething rage, Cave looking to lash out at anything within reach, to hold even nature itself responsible for his loss while he waits for his own death. During “Ghosteen,” Cave counterbalances the wonder of being alive at all-broadcast over a sudden surge of strings and the record’s only cavalcade of drums-with the pedestrian cruelty of washing his dead child’s clothes or realizing almost absentmindedly that his family is now smaller. Those final three pieces are discursive and raw, pulling the broad emotional sweep of grief into a series of overstuffed settings. Cave has cryptically said that the songs on Ghosteen’s first half are the children, while the interwoven triptych that follows are their parents. That’s where we find him on Ghosteen, sorting through sensations of despair and persistence. Later on, it’s Black’s infallible dynamics that come to prominence without ever sounding off the marks. This occurs during the tune’s last section, which comes in the sequence of a quieter passage patterned by marvelous sax melodies and lush guitar chords wrapped in relaxing synth effects. Also, “GD” falls into a stationary darkwave with the reedists blowing ostinatos in counterpoint. Other hard-hitting rock ambushes are made on D’Angelo’s danceable, post-punk-influenced “Eon Hit” and Black’s “Stina Blues”, which sounds more American garage than dirty grunge. This is one of the many pieces influenced by the alternative rock genre, having the particularity of carrying shades of erudite dark metal. “Imaginary Friend” was conceived by Speed with vigorous, eerie vibes and assertive instrumental attacks such as the machine gun-like bratatat of the guitar, intense saxophone interplay, and magnetic prog-rock-derived pulses. Human Feel, Andrew D’Angelo, Chris Speed, Kurt Rosenwinkel, Jim Black, Gold It sounds like a new kind of human vocalizing, augmented by machine, not reduced by it. The natural glissando of human singing dissipates there is one note and then there is another, with no passageway between them, yet the music does not sound inhuman. Ninety seconds into the song, vocal notes shudder into a riff. There is no artificial layer to peel back, no true voice underneath plastic coating. But the seam between the two is not clear. The sound undoubtedly stems from human throats and yet it is serrated and compressed in a way that could only have come from digital processing. A single unadorned voice runs through a scale, as if leading a vocal warm-up on the last note, a chorus of human and machine voices joins in. One of its most stunning and revealing moments comes on “Frontier,” a work inspired by Appalachian Sacred Harp singing, an a cappella tradition originating in American Christian communities. PROTO is Herndon’s most technologically adventurous work to date, but it is also by far her most ecstatically humanistic. ![]()
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