A Closer Listen
Seeing the title, slips back in time to John Lennon intoning, “#9, #9, #9” on “Revolution 9,” the most unusual track on The Beatles’ White Album. Packed with tape loops, samples and spoken word, the track divided critics and flummoxed fans. In light of all that has unfolded in experimental music since then, the track has aged surprisingly well, even losing its original shock value.
Similar words may one day be written about the compositions of Andrzej Pietrewicz, who continues to expand the boundaries of religious music. Across his nine releases, he has grown progressively more experimental, with a concurrent rise in confidence. His use of spoken word and sigh, texture and field recording may be atypical, but underline the mystery inherent in descriptions of the ineffable. A traditional older worshipper might even consider such music strange, but at previous junctures in Christian music, various approaches and instruments were considered inappropriate or even unholy, including harmony, the use of organs in church, guitars and praise bands – only to become mainstream, their prior affronts forgotten.
Appropriate for the release, #9 contains nine compositions, arranged in a narrative arc. The first four denote doubt and confusion: “Unknowing”, “Without a way”, “In the dark”, “Separated.” In the center stands a pivot point: “Be still.” After this, the tone changes: “New creation”, “Heart of flesh”, “Watered garden”, “World without end”. Those steeped in Scripture will recognize most of the references, but this time a handy guide is included, shedding light on the additional sources, which include the poems of St. John of the Cross and the Chandogya Upanishad.
Flowing water introduces the album, redolent of both creation and baptism. Voices and chimes filter into the sonic field. The title reflects the 15th century manuscript The Cloud of Unknowing, which proposes contemplation and surrender as spiritual practices, as opposed to intellectual pursuits. The piece does sound like a cloud: sighs sprinkled amid bells, intakes of breath, and finally the water, still flowing.
In contrast, “Without a way” begins, “in a desert land, without water, dry without a way.” Layers and waves imply that such spiritual aridity may be a virtue, producing helplessness and a sense of humility, producing an empty bowl. Multiple Psalms come into play. A low drone emerges in the distance like a dust storm, growing closer in the subsequent, terrifying piece. King David wrestles with abandonment; to hear his words repeated by multiple female narrators is to reposition the struggle as more than spiritual, but societal and universal. The blaming of God in the Scripture is evidence that doubt need not mean blasphemy. There are also greater forces at play: to be “cast out into the sea” is to be sent to the primordial chaos from which new life emerges.
From the void, from the chaos, from the river come the words, be still, and know that I am God. The soul pivots on its edge. Wave after wave – the same waves that once overwhelmed – now seem benign. The old things have passed away; the new things have come. The words connect to Pietrewicz’ #7 and “all things new.” Whisper accumulates atop whisper like foam atop foam.
“Heart of flesh” is to the Catholic hymn “Here I Am, Lord” as “Revolution 9” is to “Revolution” ~ a brave reimagining. After one has heard or sung the hymn hundreds of times, the words begin to lose their power. By drastically rearranging the settings, Pietrewicz seeks to restore their original impact. The same holds true for “World without end,” a rearrangement of the “Gloria Patri,” sung daily around the world. As the drone returns, it does so not as a tsunami of sadness, but one of reconciliation: a majestic crescendo that never quite breaks, honoring its title. The waves of the end wash into the waves of the beginning. The temporal folds into the eternal. (Richard Allen)
Sun Feb 23 00:01:57 GMT 2025