“When done right, a build up that starts from next to nothing and turns into an all encompassing monolith of sound and texture is one of the best musical experiences one can go through. Gladly, the music we cover here on The Silent Ballet is brimming with all sorts of build ups using all different kinds of instrumentation from guitars and drums to synths and electronics or just layers of ambience and drones, with all yielding brilliant results. They suck the audience in and make them feel like they’re part of what’s happening – a living, breathing component witnessing the development of a whole new ecosystem around them. With time they become smaller, their existence loses importance, and they become bystanders in a fully fledged world of sound. When done right, it’s highly unlikely that any complaints will surface; most will sit back and take this as an opportunity to feel true awe and wonder, then replay it and feel it all over again. It’s a process of life, one that would take eons to develop in the real world, but in music (or art in general) it’s only a matter of minutes.

If anything, ‘Komo,’ the first half of Markus Mehr’s In is exactly that. It is a process of constant repetition and tension building with each tiny fragment or loop coming in to focus, one by one, little by little, to end up as an emphatically crushing work of art. The intricacy of the sounds and the amount of attention Mehr puts into this track shows on every listen; it never gets boring or old, even though the sum of its components wouldn’t exceed ten or twelve layers. It is minimalism that gives birth to the epic, intelligent music that takes over its listeners and engages them to its very dying moments. The sliced waves of reverb, the aggravated yet despairing speech sample that scorns the banality of present day human beings, and the gigantic noise chords (which I assume are guitar chords processed through an infinite loop of filters and bit crushers) come in to seal the deal and give the track its shock value, something that would pin the listener down under its mighty weight. The little dips in volume in the looping strings add anxiety and translate this uncertainty. “Komo” might as well be the first truly epic track of 2012 so far.

Alas, this doesn’t apply to the second half of the album. ‘Ostinato,’ which also clocks in at approximately twenty-five minutes, picks up on its predecessor’s intensity and starts promisingly, but it ends up being too static for its own good. Repetition and experimental music go hand in hand, especially when the music is on the more minimalistic side of the experimental spectrum. It works like a double edged sword; the results are either sheer elation with an almost unbreakable bond created between the music and its receiver that makes one want to listen to the same thing over and over again, or absolute boredom. ‘Ostinato’ lies in the grey area between both experiences. One is taken back by its strong, emotionally heavy beginnings, but with time the effect wanes and the track just becomes too long for its own good. It does have its moments of brilliance, though. The introduction of brass instruments at points and the buried clean guitar fiddling in the background would be the clear highlights. The element that doesn’t work, however, is in fact what made ‘Komo’ as brilliant as it is: timing. Whereas in the first track one can feel that each and every second of the song is meticulously crafted, the second seems hurried. Leaving the track to loop for ages unattended, even with brief stretches of modification, brings it, and thus the album, down.

In, which is supposedly the first of three themed releases, with the next two to follow in June (On) and January (Off), shows the facet of Mehr’s music that we had witnessed in his debut, Lava: the emphasis on thick layers of sound and repetition, the ability to take the audience’s attention hostage for a period of time only to let go when he feels like it. We see it here at its best thus far, but it still needs work. The upcoming two releases should be even more exciting as they promise to showcase even more experimental sides to his music, and that’s definitely worth waiting for.”

The Silent Ballet

“Markus Mehr is certainly leading with his chin by announcing a full-blown trilogy with only one full-length release under his belt. In is the first part, to be followed by On and Off within the year. The German experimental ambient artist marshals the same array of computer, synthesizers, guitars and distortion pedals used on his 2010 debut, Lava, and opens with a muffled grumble that might well be churning magma deep in the volcano.

As ‘Komo’ slowly clarifies in the air, a ravishing string-ensemble loop whirls and dips majestically. It is as romantic and seductive as swaying palms against the blue sky and blue sea of a south Pacific island. The dream idyll is however punctured with a quick, nasty blast of electric guitar, out of which somewhat incongruously emerges the voice of late American counterculture philosopher Terence McKenna. These lumpen guitar blasts proceed to engulf all the scenery. An unnecessarily brutal contrast, it’s not a good choice. In fact, it is a baffling one.

Savage distortion carries over onto ‘Ostinato’ before Mehr’s swaying orchestra shakes off all but a few grains of static caught in its strings and keys. Once again lofty, exalted loops are woven, but the space is now palpably indoors. A piano trill is delicately detourned and a trumpet player practicing over there in the corner provides an idea of the size and acoustics of the “in” Mehr is describing. As the piece wends its way a further twenty minutes, it exercises an increasingly hypnotic pull.

Mehr’s orchestral looping is not new, but it is executed with great dexterity. His treatment of it, though bold, is not necessarily always pleasing. The deep vinyl rumble crumbling to the repetitive toy-piano coda is a much more judicious use of distortion. As the rest of the trilogy unfolds, his big idea may become more apparent. On its own, In is a partial success.”

Igloo magazine

“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

“In is the first of a so-called ‘triptych release’ including the forthcoming albums On and Off, scheduled over the next 12 months, by German experimental ambient artist/composer/musician Markus Mehr. Mehr’s elegance have been presented before, on Lava (2010), an album which made No Ripcord magazine to write: “…sounds like the ebb and flow of space itself.. ..individual snippets of a grand, repeating, organic process that keeps the universe in balance.”. Nothing less.

In holds two tracks, or movements, “Komo” and “Ostinato”, each of them clocks in at about 25 minutes (give or take a minute). This is earphones music. Lay down. Listen in. Drift off. “Komo” circles and circles, slowly, slowly. It’s hard to decide if you’re doing a downward slope and are about to make a slow-motion landing. Or, you’re in the process of rising, soon to reach the surface from a submerged position. Which is quite cool. This is exploration with a blindfold, where Mehr’s soundscapes lead you around and about. There’s also a spoken word fragment, or speech/lecture (of philosophy, about the subconscious) coming in some 17 minutes into “Komo”, where a man is actually saying ‘You are an explorer’: “… You are an explorer. And you represent our species. And the greatest good you can do, is to bring back a new idea. Because our world is endangered by the absence of good ideas. Our world is in crisis because of the absence of consciousness…”. I then managed to trace the name of the man, the psychonaut philosopher from the sample. It’s no doubt Mehr travels the outskirts of the universe – and he dares you to follow. When “Komo”‘s starting to explode at 18.35 and outwards, it’s quite clear Mehr’s on a maybe-no-return mission. He’s out there for the truth. Or he’ll bring back good ideas.

Then it’s “Ostinato”. “In music, an ostinato (derived from Italian: “stubborn”, compare English: obstinate) is a motif or phrase, which is persistently repeated in the same musical voice. An ostinato is always a succession of equal sounds, wherein each note always has the same weight or stress. The repeating idea may be a rhythmic pattern, part of a tune, or a complete melody in itself.” (wikipedia.org) “Ostinato” is also a slow starter, with static noise gradually sidelined by melodic patterns. It’s the sound of a wave washing ashore repeatedly. You can just lay back and float back and forth. Imagine yourself in a big, big cradle filled with the softest cloths. This is indeed comfortable for a long time, but all of sudden I feel I’ve drifted off, giving me this feeling that I’ve lost control. That the music has taken me too far away. Way, way off, to mid sea. Or mid space? I’m feeling the nausea rising, as the angst of being left alone in the midst of the big, black, blue flake. Yet, it feels like Mehr’s guiding you and safeguarding you so that there’s nothing to worry about. Like a guardian angel.

Markus Mehr’s earlier works has been linked (as in related) to the 1970s Kosmische music of Klaus Schulze and Tangerine Dream. Parts of “Ostinato” is sort of cosmic Morricone soundtrack stuff. This is the sound of when grandiose sounds are done within a minimal framework. The result is an expression almost not of this earth.”

Luna Kafe