|by Andrew Bayer|
|Released||25 July 2011|
|Andrew Bayer chronology|
"not really have any filler tracks or DJ intros or outros" he said.
|2.||"Dedicated To Boston's Waste Management System"||4:05|
|3.||"Counting The Points"||8:22|
|5.||"A Drink For Calamity Jane"||6:54|
|7.||"From The Earth"||5:33|
|8.||"We Will Return"||4:08|
|9.||"A Faded Memory (Bonus Track)"||4:05|
|10.||"Dedicated To Boston's Waste Management System (Keyworth Remix) (Bonus Track of If It Were You, We'd Never Leave)"||5:09|
It's not good unless it's risky, & both his albums have more risk than not washing your hands in a cracked submersible in Lake Karachay. For instance, this winds up very slowly from abject silence, to watery innocence, only suggestive & insubstantial, then exosphering into the most twisted wreckage in music. The transvolution rolls into a tune, the whole perplexperience deftly detailing his jazz influence. N6 opens IA rightly, with his desponding intrepidity improving as the song progresses. I don't know what makes this not an intro track, but it's pathetically luxurious anyway.
Dedicated To Boston's Waste Management System
DTBWMS is as incongruous as its name. The unthinkable bells reign here, & with the superb violin syrup, climax smoothly after some dried patches, though at least it's daring. The final punch is such a hitting clearing, that it makes up for the journey: it's usualler & gloomier, working in the bells to more than mere tolerance. Despite all this, it was remixed.
Dedicated To Boston's Waste Management System (Keyworth Remix) (Bonus Track)
Lowering the key of a song is one of the best things a person can do. It's so easy, difficult to screw up, & rewarding, that I'm amazed more people don't do it. Casey betrenched it here, & made an ink Mirovia. After fifty-fix seconds of pent-up nothing, we're voyaged to the moon & into Holmberg 15A. Even the first bar is the fiercest revolution of all Anjunabeats. Like an addict becoming a surgeon, or Valjean from homeless criminal to mayor, or Isma-Ae becoming Bayer, this remix is the starkest, most surprising antithesis in music, instantly steeped in vantablack & rejuevnating quantum neanics. After the funk hits, it explodes.
Keyworth made a new kick to the amygdala, thunderwracks without mercy. This remix outshines the OM by a magnitude in the negative quinvigintillions.
Bayer's first solo Anjunabeats release soloed this intrepitude from his first album. Not only did A & B allow him to go wild, but he went wild. True to his final form, AB dripped upwards from quiet beeps to a louder circumvolution, winding & twisting into dekeract knots, the funebral electronica rising to the top of Anjunabeats, the cream of music about to get creamier. As it fades into the distance, another empire rises: the thundercrack of Anjunabeats, apotheosis cubed: this second tune is moer than another continent on a gold planet. The endless thrilling fields don't stop! thalassic & classic, his electrofuture relents nothing in the path to Elysium. The tantalising waves hit less & less softly as they tsunamise against all, a vigintillion-wide black hole, with a slight uptick at the end of the ride, always assaulted & caressed by a piano dissociated from the song & reality, yet rooted in humanity. Sparkling effortlessly, heavier-than-uranium flight is beyond done with the piano's forte against the forte's piano. The keys shatter titanium with their lightest touch, making this the most transcendental point in all of Anjuna history.
2:29 is the most psychostimulant neurocution of all time: the feeling of breaking into a new multiverse, from the paleo to the deo, is the most futurist wall-dissolution of the mind, cognitive distance & anticonsonance. Back to the rest. The iterating slope rains up & higher, the first tune snaking its way back & around, where their conthesis powers higher & up & bigger, bowing out for another quirk, this one the aberrantest, starting with maniacal, jutting chords, then flipping out into an electronik funkfest.
Monolithism should be extirpated universally, & Monolith is a shining example of its dull corruption. This is the thrid & last single from It's Artificial, & it came out nearly a year after From The Earth, & after two more songs. It was not worth singling out, let alone the massive wait.
The OM is an obnoxious waste of nine minutes. The length alone is not pretentious: it is used to bore, but at least mosquitoes have malaria. Bayer has his own crepitude to display. It is exheartening to go from aurum to santorum. The wiggling basslet only whines without accomplishing a new way, the worst attempt at an earworm of 2012. Wiggling like a worm trying to get into a liver, Monolith eventually drops the Polylith'-like electrowire for an empty facade of sombre, contemplative spacepiano. As in spaced out. The whole planarian is given space. Don't give it any.
A Drink For Calamity Jane
I hope that drink is thallic. After the one minute wasteland, he started the tune without any lead-in or problem. Most of ADFCJ is pianos so levitous when they try to be deep, that the only tolerable part of it is the randomised bass appearances. They give a threatening layer to outbalance the pianist (lack of) misery. The whole retriment is so prosaical that when a listenable tune arrives at 4:16, it seems waterfallacious, golden & precious. But even the best part is a miry death of fresh air, & he doesn't even leave on it, choosing feeble piano instead, as if sound = music. In any case, Maor Levi's remix was better.
His papercraft would continue in IIWYWNL. This time, he had a better grip on the keyboard, since the notes brazenly journ to someplace, instead of wilting down to the floor. But these notes are too bloodless for sleepy, never defying itself, twisting, originating, or surprising, never delving into heights or firedazzling, always keeping within the boundaries, staying on the rails, colouring so within the lines, that the paper's untouched. It's not helped by a Beckwithian bump that is no joy per se, nor with the piano.
From Paper Pains to this incruence: it's not mindripping enough to stay with you, but are accomplishments enough that since these mildly interesting tunes have been written out, humankind never needs to hear them again. Even the title is fittingly final & definitive: 'It's what we do', it says to us. 'This is humanity', it pontificates, explaining exegetically. 'This isn't great, but tolerable'. This is also another of his rippling, soft water lightcracks into heavier elektronika, as you saw in Nexus 6. This time, there's a new tinnitus to hurry away from, but at least the main bells peal with some pinch of a new direction. Best praise they'll get. The afterwash is best, simplifying to its extramundane roots. There is something good after all, so get free software to cut it.
We Will Return
Threats should be taken seriously from people like him. Although IIWYWNL did not copy IA's style, this is a great peak of this waste/wonderland that reaches for the supremity of the sequel. & suprematism is what it feels like: again, the base of this song is a directionless Pollock of sounds, so the real appeal is his bells, clinking out a reason for him to return. WWR is not the retrogression that most of the rest of IA is: the bells are so surrendering & hopeless, that 'bellyful' only pũts us in the right direction to describe it. Steaming ahead to capitulate, a white flag black with dried blood. He was right to end on this plutonic jewel.
A Faded Memory (Bonus Track)
Monolith, ADFCJ, & PC are on the album, & yet this is not. The Bavarian made many mistakes in this nine-track brief, & this was his biggest. Those three are disc-wrecking redactables, even without the exorbitant length the same sounds take up. AFM, per contra, was his first step into remembrance, & for good reason. His inspiration is Blade Runner, & that constantly comes up in his work. So memory should be his focus as well as sheep. Just as Electric Sheep is a notch off the top, AFM dries CTP's cement of Bayer's natural place as the Planck of pataphysics, a wizard of enrichcraft, a lord of mindwork. & he does it with a sole piano, though it was typically paired with a smudge of a violin. But nothing can prepare for thě serrated cut of the acerbic bloodshock of this small loop. Yet, every time is a new time, just as rude & agonisingly sweet as a first listen. Even an elementary basicness can redeem a life. & although Mono will never be improved, AFM stands as what could be, a inner anthem of futureness, & the rise of the world.
- sense 1
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Trip_to_the_Moon Here, I mean cannoned out into space