A Closer Listen
The fixed point: the train lines of Kansas City East Bottoms, Missouri. The unfixed point: the train lines of the mind. Christopher McFall humbly suggests that “everyone will experience (the new album) in different ways.” In the liner notes, Lucas Schleicher thinks of Zeno’s Paradox, his own grandfather and the motion of time. These five untitled soundscapes will likely lead listeners in different directions, like the trains of memory and the tunnels of impression.
The album starts quietly, with a sound like steam and a hint of soft metal brakes. It’s not yet apparent what kind of journey is about to begin. Subdued sounds nudge at the memory, searching for correlations. A pleasant drone begins to develop, and then a rush, like a whoosh through an open window. The second track contains more concrete sounds: the clear, reassuring tempo of a train slowly passing, the repeated crinkle of unidentified objects, the back-up signal of a courteous vehicle. Should each source find an electronic substitute, one might even discover a techno track. The center is awash in industrial noises, like the internal workings of an engine. When the first train passes, it leaves in its wake a low, steady thrum and the sound of the station.
Those who have ever slept on a train will appreciate the opening sounds of the third offering, although in this case, it’s the train who’s breathing. This metallic breath is cold yet friendly, the personification of the children’s book Steam Train, Dream Train. “untitled 4” incorporates the sounds of birds, soft footsteps and passing traffic, connecting the train to its surroundings. In a stunning center stretch, everything is hushed, as if even the trains are asleep, waiting for their conductors. Reverberating in the distance, a slow crossing of rails, like parents who cautiously tiptoe around the living room while their children sleep upstairs.
The fourteen-minute finale contains embedded sounds that are nearly musical, sparking a pleasant apophenia. Those who travel without headphones, who sink into the sounds of the station and the train, are familiar with the songs they sing. The era of device-free travel is long gone, to the extent that it takes an artist like McFall to remind us of what lies beneath: unique clusters of sounds, each with their own histories and associations, that can suggest stories if we only allow them. At first, one assumes the midnight snake is the train; only later does one realize that it is the imagination. (Richard Allen)
Tue Jul 30 00:01:29 GMT 2024