Trails We Blaze
Wisty's only solo AD album was not a breath of fresh air, or any kind of air. This choking mess is best left in the Sudokwon.
|Trails We Blaze|
|by Jody Wisternoff|
|Released||May 28, 2012|
|Jody Wisternoff chronology|
|Singles from Trails We Blaze|
|1.||"How You Make Me Smile (feat. Pete Josef)"||6:56|
|2.||"Back To Me"||6:46|
|5.||"Out Of Reach (feat. Jonathan Mendelsohn)"||5:50|
|6.||"Cold Drink, Hot Girl (Refix)"||7:49|
|9.||"Just One More"||5:53|
|12.||"Trails We Blaze"||5:19|
|13.||"Lassoo (Bonus Mix)"||7:25|
How You Make Me Smile (feat. Pete Josef)
Scorching a trail of tears, JW opened the album with one of two tolerable tracks. Although no-one will know how fire is steep, the lyrics nonetheless work as well as words can, stringing a competent, coherent concept together. A minute in, the beat picks up with instruments that never reappear, while introducing a horrific, soul-phantomising back-turned, up-downed, echoed, ghost-spectred instrument. Whatever this allburnative sound is, it greens the earth, & make HYMMS the powertrain that music can be.
The violin intro liquidly slides us into fracturewhacking, the ethereal bang heavenises the endlessness of human good, but the first look at rainbow holes at 2:37, when a bestringed instrument slowly draws out a picture of constant bewilderment & disbelief, plucking the chords of belief, transconciousness of music on rainbow fire. Entheogenic sworls & swirts pring up left & right, a fastly strumming, squiggly beatitude riggling furiously. The panhuman confoction is a thick blend of distractions & blindsiding grief. "Every weekday, I'm so lucky I have" rounds off the parade of fantasy as a glue gun seals threads. Even the more talking part of the vocals reshapes the heart! JW slithered into the slickest groove of our lives at 3:40, starting with a violin's wary wander through spidercrabwoods, the right trees to spike metaexistential fear, every word's inflection confecting, the bells & cautious violin clambering swimming through the atmosphere to an island of flerovium diamonds, & drilling new thoughtways. Reaching this height against looks impossible, but he did it again, years later.
The second tolerable is also the last godvirus. Back holes blind: they are named quasars. This is no less: every one of these countless garden paths & instruments spread into our world a new branch of pleasure-neurons we didn't have before. Hotness has capsaicin & Scovilles. Imagine if sweetness had an equivalent chemical. It would be measured in Wisternoffs. I can't count the ways this cinders me. The vocalist actually does a job here, unlike the rest of the album. His speed-singing ropes ianthine electricity as stickily as spiderweb, & is stronger too. He sings slower too, every word counting, clouding & blackening into deeper luxes, inescapable next to the masses of instrumental rorations.
Where to start? Even the base, which is built upon as many times as the Cambrian, is acidically sensuous. An alternating, swinging bell tentatively sliding up into tear-stained vulnerability is the first sound of the new epicure for all ills. This sunblack shift from uncertainty to uncertainty is the perfect base to ground his many experiments, all of which succeed.
Miscellaneous instruments brighten up the star, from a rapidfire percussive trill, to Chomolungma's strings. Thicker than the Papua forests, Starstrings is overflowing with astringently blissful reasons people are good. Wisternoff in particular: there are two different paths it takes. The first is a suspectfully caliginous swim under Antarctic ice, a serratingly despairing rejection of joy. The second is a contrarian spire up to another kind of disbelief, a sinuous winter of contention versus our own contentment.
Wisternoff outdid himself & everyone else with this song. Not this album, though.
Don't worry, you aren'y losing anything. BC is just a pelorian version of Wisternoff's 2015 remix of 'Hollow Talk' by Choir of Young Believers that he did with Lane 8 & some guy. Thought you should know.