CORIN - Lux Aeterna

A Closer Listen

Lux Aeterna is an audio-visual sci-fi excursion.  We’ve only seen a taste of Tristan Jalleh’s visuals, but the teaser helps us to imagine an immersive, in-person experience.  We do, however, have access to the audio, which honors both the gradual awakening of 2001: A Space Odyssey and the battle scenes of The Expanse.

CORIN (Corin Ileto) has taken a huge step forward on her second album, creating a “celestial opera … (that) explores the idea of sound as a sentient being.”  The title – eternal light – is borrowed from György Ligeti, as is the cloud-like composition of the more gossamer tracks, where elements coalesce and disperse.  When Gregorian chant and A.I. melodies are pulled apart like taffy, one is hard-pressed to tell the difference.

In opener “lumen naturae,” synthetic tones swarm like insectoid mechanisms, preparing to attack.  While one has reason to be fearful, CORIN also provides respite, in the manner of scripted space operas.  One cannot be at battle the entire time.  “miserēre” sounds like an alien species attempting to communicate, mirrored by a staff of humans and androids working together to decipher their language.  As the piece topples into drone and stagnant beat, one wonders if this is a breakthrough or a misunderstanding.  The piano is a tonal surprise, offering a grounding influence.  The ivories hold court again on “illumina,” a further extension of the album’s theme, while the filtered choirs return in the title track, singing with greater harmony, as if a fragile peace has been achieved.

Mood and texture aside, CORIN shines in the action scenes.  Half of the album – approximately every other track – is an intense war.  One can imagine the shimmer of metallic ships and armor, the piercing brightness of laser cannons and guns.  When played in a row, the four finest tracks form a mini-symphony of industrial proportions.  “sunta,” “vīsiōnem,” “extasis” and “trānsīre” are percussion-heavy and clubworthy, with incredible transitions between segments.  The patterns are continually morphing, despite their harder sheen; the title of the fourth, which closes the album, is roughly translated, “to cross over or pass,” with intimations of a new phase.  Is the future man or machine, amorphous or solid, binary or non?  CORIN leaves the question open, intimating that whatever may pass, humans in their current form may have a much smaller say than they imagine.  (Richard Allen)