Canadian-based electronic musician Tim Hecker recorded his sixth album, Ravedeath, 1972, live in a Reykjavík church primarily using a pipe organ. Of course, you wouldn't know that listening to the album, as the recorded output has been processed and manipulated into a striking piece of music. Hints of that organ pulse throughout, but mostly we hear the sound of disintegration on aptly named pieces such as “Hatred of Music” (parts I through III) and "Analog Paralysis, 1978."
Hecker is intrigued by what he calls "music's denigration as an object," which explains how his notes seemingly blow up or decay on arrival; but there is a cold and distant beauty in the patterns and textures he weaves throughout the record. Hecker saves the best for last with the suite "In the Air (I-III)," a plaintive and melancholic wonder of drone and languidly paced piano.
Comparisons to Eno or William Basinski are on the mark, but Hecker has created something full and dynamic. Ravedeath is his most captivating work to date.
Canadian-based electronic musician Tim Hecker recorded his sixth album, Ravedeath, 1972, live in a Reykjavík church primarily using a pipe organ. Of course, you wouldn't know that listening to the album, as the recorded output has been processed and manipulated into a striking piece of music. Hints of that organ pulse throughout, but mostly we hear the sound of disintegration on aptly named pieces such as “Hatred of Music” (parts I through III) and "Analog Paralysis, 1978."
Hecker is intrigued by what he calls "music's denigration as an object," which explains how his notes seemingly blow up or decay on arrival; but there is a cold and distant beauty in the patterns and textures he weaves throughout the record. Hecker saves the best for last with the suite "In the Air (I-III)," a plaintive and melancholic wonder of drone and languidly paced piano.
Comparisons to Eno or William Basinski are on the mark, but Hecker has created something full and dynamic. Ravedeath is his most captivating work to date.