SABIWA, Queimada, Nathan L. - Sons of _

A Closer Listen

Sons of _ is an album about impermanence, as evidenced by titles such as “There is no end and no beginning”, “What is true is not true” and “There is nothing and there is no name.”  The photo is foggy, and even the print on the Bandcamp page is faint.  The timbres shift beneath the ears and slip between the fingers like loosely held sand.  SABIWA‘s words tumble and turn and disincorporate, while the sonic experiments of Italian brothers Marco and Lorenzo Colocci (Queimada and Nathan L.) crash like breaking waves and recede like spent surf.

If this is the nature of existence – that nothing lasts, that everything is always in motion, coalescing and falling apart – one’s reaction may range from deep acceptance to abject terror.  Sons of _ allows room for each, with edges jagged and smooth and sounds gentle and harsh.  The album begins with a field recording, an exhalation of breath, and SABIWA’s clenched voice, which grabs the attention while drones bubble below and eventually burst to the surface.  A surprisingly melodic violin passage is followed by crinkles, crackles and crumbles, paving the way for the first single, “Nothing Blue.”

Is SABIWA singing, “I love sunshine” in the midst of sonic thunderclouds?  The strings imitate the movement of clouds, the electronics the static charge.  In a set of shifting forms, it’s helpful to have one track that seems like base camp.  After this, the trio takes unexplored paths, only occasionally returning to accessibility (a repeated chant astride tribal drums on “What is true is not true”), but accessible does not mean mainstream, and every nod in that direction is swiftly foiled.

One suspects the abraded melody of “The Root of Unwilled Existence” is a traditional folk song, taking on new form.  Even history is in a constant state of assessment and reassessment.  But if all things are impermanent, doesn’t this mean that the impermanent is also impermanent?  Logic is tied up in knots.  The trio provides footholds like glimpses of truth, then snatches them away.  But then “Birth of everything from nothing” suggests solid ground; drones and drums cede space to a small portion of strings, an island appearing as the flood recedes.  By the end of the album, one realizes that it’s okay not to have all the answers, or definitions, or even categorizations; one may simply rely on mood and texture, and enjoy the experience of being dislodged.  (Richard Allen)

Mon Nov 04 00:01:21 GMT 2024