“Generally, impatient people must have a very difficult time getting ambient music; this much I know because I happen to be a very impatient person. The best ambient artists are capable of grabbing their listeners powerfully, wielding stunning climaxes and quietly moving melodies, often stuck at odds against each other. Too often, though, I slowly ease myself into position, preparing for a revelation, only to wake up from a deep slumber forty minutes later, everything having passed me by while I’m still stuck on the outside wondering what’s behind those impenetrable walls.

There are some walls I will never scale, but maybe Markus Mehr’s latest work, In, might be a good place to begin. It’s an undeniable beast of an album, and it’s not exactly easily digestible, yet there’s a wonderfully lucid quality to the ambience here that makes the experience compelling—and even a little enlightening.

The first half is “Komo”, a twenty-six minute behemoth that doesn’t show many signs of life until around halfway through. The first character we’re introduced to is an ominous rumble, starting off distant before closing in on us. Soon enough, a mournful string motif seeps in slowly before slowly swelling up. It’s a solemn beginning, majestic in an almost frigid way. Mehr has a steady hand as he defrosts the ice around the core of the track as it melts into warmer shades, other voices waking from their hibernation and calling out to each other. The progression never feels as tightly constructed as it really is, though; the way the layers of the track burrow in and out of each other feels so organic that even when it shifts into a more malevolent gear and machinery takes over, the development isn’t at all jarring but eye-opening.

“Ostinato” is just as gigantic as its other half, at twenty-three minutes, but it’s a completely different piece of work altogether. In contrast to the thawing glacial beauty of “Komo”, this piece is layered with ominous synths and buzzing static. A lone guitar and a gloomy, dissonant trumpet fanfare can be heard faintly from behind the layers of smoke and ash they’re wrapped in. There’s a distinct vibe that we may be witnessing the aftermath of the ruins explored at the end of the first movement, as if these few instruments are all that remain of the fallout. As the track nears its finish, the war signals begin cutting in desperately, calling out to empty streets, looking for any fellow refugees it can find. The trumpet wails back in equal proportions of sorrow. We’re never told if anybody ever made it out of the destruction alive.

In isn’t quite beautiful, and it isn’t exactly pure. What it is, however, is refreshingly, unflinchingly honest about what it’s trying to say. And for that reason alone, I’d have to say it may be worth hearing Mehr out.”

AbsolutePunk

Markus Mehr’s latest opus In has been written up over at AbsolutePunk,

“Mehr has a steady hand as he defrosts the ice around the core of the track as it melts into warmer shades, other voices waking from their hibernation and calling out to each other. The progression never feels as tightly constructed as it really is, though; the way the layers of the track burrow in and out of each other feels so organic that even when it shifts into a more malevolent gear and machinery takes over, the development isn’t at all jarring but eye-opening.” – AbsolutePunk

Check out the rest of the review here and stream and buy the album on CD and Digital here.

“Getting into the zone for The License To Interpret Dreams is difficult at first. Opener A Fragile Acceptance sets the rulebook right away; there are no hooks or choruses to speak of. Just a lone piano, striking as if it were a clock at noon, fading in and out of the patchwork before waves of mournful strings come in and draw you fully into the ocean. The Siren, Hopelessly Lost is just as glacially morose, content to take its sweet time incepting you into this cloudy, mystical world Antonymes has built. But those who are willing to take the plunge with him will be rewarded handsomely with one of the most quietly powerful albums of the year.

For those unfamiliar with this ambient artist’s mantra, here’s a snippet from his Bandcamp:
‘Antonymes’ music emerges from the adjustments and erasures where music expresses nothing but itself, from the relationship between continuity and repetition rather than of contract and interplay, from secrecy, from quietness, from pause, from thought, from emptiness, from time, from far off, from itself, from where it is set and where it is setting off to..’

The Licence To Interpret Dreams largely reflects this emphasis on empty spaces. Save a few lively moments, Antonymes isn’t so much a party rocker as he is a philosopher—all twelve of these tracks are sparse compositions, deeply detached and yet completely personal. You, the listener, have been plucked from your spot in the bustling chaos of modern life, and all this dude wants is to take a walk with him into the forest of his—and your—mind.

Generally, the moments where Antonymes tries to step outside this backdrop are where the album suffers. Oradour-Sur-Glane is inches from submerging you completely with its bits of music box melodies floating in a bubbling lake of synths, yet the voice sample utilized here is a rare step into indulgence for Antonymes. As a result, instead of falling completely under his spell, you’re shocked awake at jilted, startling intervals. Doubt commits a bit more fully to the gimmick, thus coming closer to fooling you into assimilating it with the rest of the landscapes back here, but the voice sample just doesn’t fit in with the isolation at display here; it’s a slab of concrete amidst a forest of trees. The end of the track works the best, when the philosophical snippets aren’t spelled out for you but fade into the background, leaving you to find the stories behind them yourself.

When Antonymes lets the music speak for itself, though, this is an absolutely captivating dream. Womb Of The Great Mother begins slowly before gradually building, then whittling itself down until you can almost taste the melancholy. Even the shorter tracks are moving in their own little ways: A Light From The Heavens layers repetitions upon repetitions, the tension cresting until it hits a brutal peak.

Towards the end of your sojourn, you’re offered a few rays of sun: Endlessly is just as minimalistic as what came before it, but it’s a rare moment of peace in an environment full of angst. The Door Towards The Dream, too, is solemnly uplifting, replete with horns, strings, and a choir section. The sentiment isn’t awash in gaudy Hallmark-card sap, though, and after an album’s worth of deliberation, reaching the end of the tunnel is a worthy reward.

More and more, it seems like there simply isn’t any way for one to escape the spectacles of daily life. The value of silence—taking a few minutes to think about things, about the world, about yourself, even—has all but been forgotten. Sometimes, you have to tune everything out and find yourself again, though, and when you do so, Antonymes is the guy that’ll lead the way.”

AbsolutePunk

“Kramies is a Colorado-based artist who has been releasing music under the supervision of Todd Tobias, the famed producer and collaborator of Guided By Voices and other Robert Pollard endeavors. The music of Kramies is quite a far cry from anything in the Pollard universe though. For one thing, he stays away from any lo-fi style recording techniques. He is a couple albums deep with Tobias, and just recently, his latest EP was dropped. It goes by the title of The European, (possibly in reference to his apparent Dutch roots), and for the first time listener, it should be known that his sound is pretty expansive for a solo artist. Apart from the acoustic guitar he plays, accompaniment ranges from all sorts of different instruments, so the product on hard copy is much more full than you would expect.

For such a measly, five song extended play, it feels like you’re strapped in on a long, emotional journey led by Kramies. His music is powerfully melancholy at times. Judging from three fifths of this record, you would take the man for a very musically inclined sad sack. Painting a picture of his sound is quite easy. Halfway through the title track, there’s strong echoes of Mercury Rev‘s Deserter’s Songs; particularly a blend of the blissful nature of “Holes” and the decaying harmony of “The Funny Bird.” This combination best describes Kramies’ EP; not to mention that his slightly raspy vocals mirror that of Jonathan Donahue.

Kramies doesn’t use standard tuning on his guitar, or at least it does not appear that way to the trained ear. What can safely be said about his guitar work is that his chord structures are rather unconventional, but in a good way. It isn’t something out of left field, but it’s enough to catch your attention, especially when backed by all the majestic production value that surrounds it. All the stops are pulled out, from shimmering and just-the-right-amount-of-atonal keyboards to well-executed, complimentary supporting vocals.

Extended plays are wonderful things. They are small offerings from artists that often end up showcasing the scope of their palette. The most important aspect of The European is its fulfilling of this task. Over five tracks, the listener gets an indelible familiarity with Kramies and where his talents can take him. His record begins humbly with “Intro,” a pacifist’s bleak, acoustic guitar piece, and later builds up to the vastly different “Coal Miners Executive Club;” a song that relies largely on synths. No matter where Kramies ventures, the result is always heartfelt and hard-hitting.

Because The European is such an immersing experience, there isn’t much that will get stuck in your head or keep you humming on your way to work. This EP is best enjoyed and bears the punchiest impact when listened to as a whole, given its epic and commanding pretension. However, there is nothing outwardly pretentious about this release, it just so happens that Kramies packs a lot of songwriting and grandiose crescendos all into a little extended play. In short, what lies inside this release ends up being a lot more intimidating that you would assume.

The European isn’t your typical sampler of an EP, but Kramies isn’t necessarily your run-of-the-mill solo artist either. His music is one to be tackled with a mind that is willing to be taken on a trip; one that is as instrumentally engaging as it is deeply pensive in regards to its lyrical content. It is also no question that Todd Tobias and Kramies make a great recording team. Tobias does every justice to the ethereal and occasionally gloomy soundscape created by Kramies, producing a truly beautiful and diversified release. This kicks other solo artists like James Blunt and Edwin McCain to the curb. In fact, it doesn’t even belong in the same league of the likes of those two. He delivers at such a high caliber that exceeds the title of “solo artist,” and leaves it in the dust as nothing more than a misnomer.”

402 Productions