Max Cooper - On Being

A Closer Listen

Every Max Cooper album is an event, and On Being is no exception.  The album is a generous triple gatefold LP (available in clear or black), and fans can order an acrylic wool scarf.  A handful of videos have already been released, with more to come, the cornerstone of the upcoming live show.  The entire project is about to debut as an installation.  But the unique nature of this release is its inspiration.

Frank Warren’s PostSecret, founded back in 2004, invited participants to submit their greatest secrets anonymously to be posted in books and exhibitions.  In like manner, Cooper asked for anonymous quotes to be sent to his website, which have become the core of On Being.  Those contributing were asked “to share anonymously what they dare not ever say publicly.”  A collection of these quotes are now track titles, exploring a plethora of emotions.  Each track is now a love letter – or a letter of encouragement – to the person who expressed the initial thought.

While listening, one cannot help but think about the person behind the quote, the response of the composer, and what one might also say in response.  As far as track titles go, it will be very hard to top “I Am In A Church In Gravesend Listening To Old Vinyl And Drinking Coffee.”  From this we imagine a very cool, yet disaffected young person, intelligent and perhaps a bit bored.  Possibly thinking of the person’s attention span, Cooper writes the album’s shortest piece, which begins in bubbly, “Baba O’Reilly” fashion, but never bursts like The Who.  Hints of vinyl crackle permeate the recording.  Listen carefully, and one might hear a cassette as well.  The track possesses a nostalgic, music box feel, its acoustic and electronic elements intermingling.  We would guess that someone listening to vinyl in a church would love this on a 45, and it would make their day, although they wouldn’t admit to to their peers – perhaps only to their blog.

Jumping down to “When I Am Alone With My Thoughts I Am Crushed,” one starts to feel for the anonymous author, while sympathizing with her or his plight.  Using a heartfelt approach, Cooper collaborates with Aho Ssan, suggesting the camaraderie of company and a common cause.  Wave upon wave of drone crash against an impassive shore, building and breaking and building again, like the weight of regret or shame.  At 2:45, a dark note enters, a black dog of depression.  In this piece, it seems Cooper and Ssan are less interested in providing fake cheer than empathy; and it works.  Toward the end, voices break through the stew; you are not alone in this morass.

The next piece yields a similar sense of ennui.  “You Couldn’t Love Me Enough And I’ve Spent My Whole Life Making Up For It” is an honest passive-aggressive admittance, which Cooper responds to with distorted chords, like words taken out of context and feelings misunderstood.  When the beats arrive, they suggest conflict, whether internal or external.  Briefly, the entire piece stops, only to launch into a form of industrial grime, then glissandos like falling fireworks.  These three pieces alone demonstrate a remarkable breadth of timbre; Cooper has let the anonymous writers lead.

Many of the writers feel lost, anonymous or invisible.  Collaborating with Aneek Thapar, Cooper creates “I Exist Inside This Machine,” with a video directed by Henning M. Lederer.  Hard beats are met with computerized graphics, secrets shared in scrolling text, a window into the entire project and a sample of titles unused.  Suddenly, the camera swivels toward the viewer, a disconcerting moment.  Could the person writing the declaration be an A.I.?  If so, the project just grew a whole lot deeper.  Words and emojis form a whirlpool as a person swiftly sinks.  Even the words “I EXIST” begin to dissolve.  As the depersonalization escalates, The TV show “Severance” comes to mind.  There is so much social commentary in this video that it requires repeat viewings.  Favorite segment: a person is hit by a car, and immediately a BUY! sign is placed on the side door.

“My Choices Are Not My Own” builds upon this framework with layers of spoken word and choir.  “What is it that connects us?” asks the narrator, giving way to an explosion of drum ‘n’ bass.  In this rare moment, the words are audible, the theme apparent.  When the drums exit to showcase wind chimes and near-silence, a delicious contrast is created; then the machine re-enters.  Echoes ofof Underworld surface in “True Under Certain Conditions,” with a frantic pace set by electronic bass and whispered words just beyond the edge of comprehensibility.

Time and time again, Cooper provides a score, not to a film, but to the human mind in a time of crisis, seeking resolution.  More encouraging electronic pieces, such as “Peace Exists Here” and “A Sense of Getting Closer,” are sprinkled throughout the project.  Yet when the album was almost complete, Cooper felt that there was still something missing, inspired by the quote “I have the feeling that something is missing, but I don’t know what it is.”  “The Missing Piece” injects an essential positivity, expressed in the stop-motion visuals of Justin M. Zielke.  To some, the missing piece is empathy, to others hope; Cooper provides a healthy helping of each.  (Richard Allen)