If you are the kind of person who is excited by the idea of a guy sitting at a snare drum and running objects around the perimeter to produce a whirring tone, you are about to lose your collective shit. If not, keep reading anyway - yes, it sounds zany, but rest assured, this is not a release you are going to want to sleep on in 2024.
Etienne Nillesen carefully runs percussive mallets that resemble elongated Chupa-Chups and other different objects along and around the snare head, the vibrations of which result in a tone which drones continuously. Deeply concentrated, he achieves a zen-like state to produce a pure sound, metallic, and soothing. There is something about the reverberations of the constant kinetic movement which is both intimate and addictive: we are invested, sharing this journey of focus with him and we need to hear what happens next.
It’s an endurance piece with occasional silent breaks for effect, but also presumably, to switch sticks/mallets/whatever. These moments are like resting phases between performing an exercise routine. A chance to sit and just allow the heart to relax before the next phase of activity.
So often projects like these suffer from pretentiousness, especially in the liner notes. Thankfully for en this is not the case. Nate Wooley's thought-provoking written additions are an invitation to join the universal “quest for silence," claiming that Nillesen has found it. “But will we make the effort? Are we strong enough? And are we wild enough to be unafraid of what we may unlock?” It’s not so much about the literal moments of silence, moreso the respect for the silence required to really open one’s ears; to take the time to sit and simply absorb what we hear.
There is really no better way to consume the en experience than by sinking into your favourite chair, putting on a great pair of headphones, cranking the volume up to 11 and closing your eyes. The act of listening is as meditative and as concentrated as the method required to produce it. One feels a connection - a knowing, trusting bond amidst the tension. In keeping with the minimalist aesthetic, the record contains only one track, commanding the listener to consume it the whole way through. Runtime is around half an hour. Even the very name of the record is minimised: the two uncapitalised initials of the artist.
Cover artist Eva Jeske collaborated with Nillesen in 2022 on a work entitled “i will keep drawing circles until it becomes a picture." From her website: “an installative composition and performance for an electronically augmented snare drum and spatially distributed quadraphonic snare drum speakers.” The piece is a painted circle which appears to have been painted to mimic the motions of Nillesen’s technique, layering circles on top of circles “until it becomes a picture." But this work is not the one depicted on the cover - this is “Membrane;" an imprint of one of Nillesen’s own drum heads, picking up on fine details in physical texture, crackling pathways in stoney grey, like a drop of water on hot cement. Apt? You betcha.
The subtle nuances in sonic texture, overtones, and kinetic “whistling” are earthy, rich, and as varied as wind through the trees. It is primal, grounding, and without getting too esoteric, some might even go as far as to call this “spiritual.” Certainly ritualistic, and vaguely metallic. Mechanical in execution, but performed by a human (or is he?) Intimate. Public. Private. Introspective. Outrospective. There is a lot of dichotomy at play for an LP with such a basic premise. It’s the whole package deal: A simple idea, well rounded from top to bottom, and perfectly executed. But where to from here? It’s hard to imagine how Nilleson could develop this skill any further - the 30-minute runtime of en feels just sufficient. Should one feel the desire to reconnect with his technique then there’s always the opportunity to replay it… but why get ahead of ourselves? For right now, we have this, and for right now there is nothing quite like it… and to top it all off, the cover is lilac.
Simply remarkable.
en by Etienne Nillesen