Jilk - Soft in Shape and Meaning

A Closer Listen

The Jilk collective is nearly impossible to define, save for their electronic base.  Their last album was lyric-centered, while their new double-album is primarily instrumental; and they shift sub-genres with aplomb, touching upon ambience, modern composition and post-rock with an experimental flair.  Soft in Shape and Meaning finds them loose and semi-improvisational.  Although immaculately designed, the music has a spontaneous feel.  Tracks flow into each other, shift within themselves, stretch and cocoon.  “Mistakes embraced!”, Jilk proclaims; but when mistakes are part of the process, they no longer seem like mistakes.  The blurred feeling is physical as well as aural; Jake Greenwood’s photography imitates the music, or the other way around.

Side A opens with a brilliant 18-minute track in three parts: a declarative statement, an omnibus of music.  Given the season, it’s tempting to read the title as “Fall Starts” instead of “A Fall Starts,” but the determinator changes the meaning.  The early minutes resound like an overture, with a sense of largesse: slow, swelling chords and even slower drums, with tiny chimes decorating the cake.  Then the drummer gets wicked and the plunge – or fall – is on.  By the time the saxophone enters, we’re sold.  And then – we’re still in the first part – everything slows to a crawl, opening a window for a brief jazz solo and a crushing wave of drone.  Solo guitar bridges the gap to the second part, its pensive properties reminiscent of Do Make Say Think; but part three begins with stutter and wobble before what one might call the definitive Jilk sound – crisp percussion melded to melodic sample – stops by to say hello.  A static rush imitates a fall, but there is no fall; it’s more a descent.  A melange of strings and lyric-free vocals wraps the piece in a bow, leaving us to think that this jam session might have once been an EP of its own, as hinted in the press release. And while the title suggests an ending, the piece segues without interruption into “Cocoons.”

Jilk is obviously having fun, but it’s not haphazard; internal mechanisms are at work, allowing the transitions to come across as natural.  “Shapes You Can’t Give Meaning” is an apt title – similar to that of the album – although even the band engages in pareidolia, tagging the above photo as “ice cream.”  The glitch comes out to play on “Sad and Excite,” sounding more like the latter, but later tracks are splayed with jungle sample packs. Is it live or it is Memorex? Composed or improvised?  Human or ice cream? Jilk is making the music they want to make, a stew of multiple ingredients and influences, but they always come back to Home.

“Hiss Release” is the perfect length for a single, starting with static and glockenspiel, unfolding its electronic wings as it progresses.  Snippets of words try to break through, but remain in the folds like vinyl scratches.  This being said, the album is best enjoyed as a 78-minute jam session.  There are so many nooks and crannies to investigate that the interest never wanes, a minor miracle in an age of short attention spans.  Sometimes a new branch develops out of nowhere: the violin solo of “Slow Motion,” another track inseparable from the one after; or the beatless breakdown of “Ssilk,” which turns out to be a long finale.

There’s almost too much here, but not quite. Jilk seems inspired, and there’s nothing we’d want to cut.  The album’s highest appeal turns out to be its replay value.  At first spin, one is overwhelmed; at second, one is intrigued; at third, one is fascinated; at fourth, one is appreciative; at fifth, one is having as much fun as the band; and isn’t that what great music is all about?  (Richard Allen)