A Closer Listen
Andrew Ostler is a sonic chameleon, but it’s hard to understand how much of a chameleon he is without going through his back catalogue. After Electronic Sound magazine named Ostler one of their “50 Key Modular Artists,” he released a saxophone heavy, synthesizer free set, only to return to electronics on last year’s Dots on a Disk of Snow; which makes this year’s The Blind Sublime, a sacred set of choir and drone, another (welcome) left turn.
Not that the two latest works are entirely disparate; “Tunes Blown Tremulous in Glass,” the opening track of Dots, offers sweet strings and a feeling of blanketed security before the electronics begin to bubble, slow and serene. The tone is more oceanic than wintry, the calm before the cold. Electronic wind introduces the subsequent piece, which flips the script on the opener. This time the saxophone and strings are the mitigating instruments, while “Rowing in Eden” adds children and drums. As fans of winter music, we’re partial to “(Soundless As) Dots on a Disk of Snow,” a gorgeously elongated piece that evokes vast fields of white; the album was released last December, a preface to the season’s first snowfall. This time, the modular synth waits until nearly halfway to enter, making the saxophone like the cold that precedes the precipitation, which falls in the bookends of the final piece.
Then as he did on Inns of Molten Blue, Ostler flips the script. The opening “Hosanna” of 2024’s The Blind Sublime pounces within a pocket of strings, an almost startling start; then, a momentary silence. When the music returns, the choir is gentler, the strings subtler, resting on a bed of drone. “Affirmation,” in fact the entire album, is a gossamer entry into the world of modern sacred music, which often approaches from unusual angles. In “Confession,” the drones coalesce around the choir like the opposing forces of sin and salvation, the yearning track tilting ever more firmly toward the light. In “Adoration,” the forces seem to have made peace. One thinks of a Latin mass, with an orchestra; late in the movement, the eight-note string motif pauses to highlight an amen.
The patient, 19-minute “Meditation” takes up the entire second side of the vinyl, which is as blue as the richly hued cover. In this piece, Ostler dives even deeper into drone, evoking the work of Sarah Davachi. The choir holds back at first, seeping around the edges until they permeate the speakers. The orchestra recedes to the point that one suspects they have disappeared, until a final glorious finish. The Blind Sublime is easily Ostler’s most cohesive work to date; the only question is, where will the composer head next? Whatever path he chooses, we’re sure to follow. (Richard Allen)
Sat Oct 26 00:01:17 GMT 2024