Alejandro Bento is a tremendous pianist. Each track on the album shows him demonstrating a wide range of skills, but “Mar” is the track that most impresses me. Bento plays through a ten minute track that feels more like a brief suite than it does a single track, with a simple theme that Bento pushes beyond its limitations and into new and exciting places.

Bento’s also an incredibly dynamic pianist. His music stays interesting because of the masterful control that he has over the power of his fingers, allowing the volume to ebb and flow with seemingly little effort. He plays with so much grace that it’s easy to listen to the album on repeat, picking up minor things you hadn’t noticed on each new listen.

In many ways, Bento reminds me of some of Nils Frahm’s older work. But where Nils Frahm dove deep into electronic, Bento takes a different approach.

The most interesting track on the record, though, is the surprisingly well-done Robot Koch remix of “Rain”. The remix takes the song in an entirely new direction. It’s an elegant mix of electronic music and traditional classical.

I think the folks at Subtempo Records must have agreed with me, because this week also sees the release or Ripples Remixed, a seven-track collection of remixes by artists who are pushing the bounds of what’s possible with electronic music. The remixes are as elegant and beautiful as the original music — which is a surprising (and triumphant) surprise.

In many ways, it’s easier to love the remixes than it is the original. I suspect everybody will find something to love in the remixes, and the original record will appeal largely to fans of modern classical.

The remixes add a lot of texture to what was already a very textured record, giving an impression of added depth and meaning to each track.

You can listen to Ripples on Apple Music, iTunes, Soundcloud, and Spotify.

You can listen to Ripples Remixes on Apple Music, iTunes, Soundcloud, and Spotify.

The post Alejandro Bento: Ripples appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The entire soundtrack is in a similar vein to the Ghosts record from Nine Inch Nails. Some tracks are longer than others, but when they are, they feel like four or five songs pieced together from a single nebulous idea. “Monolith”, the first track, is the perfect example of that: the song twists and turns for over six minutes, but it never feels like it abandons its premise.

In other ways, No Man’s Sky is as exploratory as the game it’s based on. No Man’s Sky, the game, is an exploratory game that challenges the player to move from the outer rim of the galaxy towards the centre, exploring potentially billions of planets on the way, cobbling together better spacecrafts, learning alien languages, and fighting for survival in harsh planetary conditions. No Man’s Sky, the soundtrack, asks a simple question: “How can music capture the same feeling of exploration?”

In that sense, the soundtrack’s greatest success is that it doesn’t feel like it repeats itself. Obviously, there are basic themes and motifs that often carry from one song to the next. Some tracks sound like they run into each other — the rhythms, in particular, often feel similar from one song to the next. But like any great soundtrack, these familiar notes don’t dominate the record. They’re used as catchphrases. They allow the listener to feel rooted in something familiar, even when the explored territory is alien or novel.

At many points throughout the soundtrack, I’ve wondered how this music would fit in a video game. The music is bombastic and calls attention to itself, and would feel out of place even in a superhero flick.

As a result, the soundtrack for No Man’s Sky stands alone. Experience with the video game isn’t a prerequisite for enjoyment. It’s what makes the music work.

No Man’s Sky: Music for an Infinite Universe is the perfect music for those of us who like ambient music that we can sink our teeth into when we want, or need, to think. It’s one of the best soundtrack releases of 2016.

The post 65daysofstatic: No Man’s Sky: Music for an Infinite Universe (Original Soundtrack) appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

For Before the Flood, a new documentary about global warming from Leonardo DiCaprio, Trent and Atticus have expanded their traditional boundaries. Before the Flood is the first time they’ve worked with “outsiders” on music, bringing in Mogwai and Gustavo Santaolalla (the composer behind Brokeback Mountain).

This lends an additional touch to the compositions. Gustavo’s horn work and textural abilities are a good match for the aesthetic qualities of Reznor and Ross. Mogwai’s tracks feel as if they come from an entirely different perspective, but rather than clashing with the other compositions, they add a variety that otherwise wouldn’t exist.

What’s most interesting about Mogwai’s tracks is how optimistic they sound, by comparison. Reznor and Ross are known for making uneasy music — or music that starts laid back and quickly decomposes — but Mogwai has a whole different feel. Check out “Ghost Nets”, a Mogwai track that’s bookended by the Reznor and Ross’s more “traditional” “And When the Sky Was Opened” and “Trembling”. “Ghost Nets” is an entirely different track, without the same elements of unease that riddle the others.

This is the variety that makes the record work as a whole. Unlike Trent and Atticus’s soundtrack for Gone Girl, which was both beautiful and exhausting, Before the Flood is easy to absorb as a whole. I firmly believe this is because of Mogwai’s contributions — the unsung heroes of the record.

You don’t need to watch Before the Flood to enjoy the music on stage here. In fact, I didn’t (and haven’t). I’m not even sure the documentary has premiered yet (I think it’s a television premiere to boot, and we don’t have cable). But even without seeing it, the level of sobriety on hand here — the hope for our planet’s future and the fear of its potential destruction — is plainly evident.

This is, in my opinion, the best work that Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have done together since The Social Network. It’s already become a staple in my ambient music collection.

The post Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross: Before the Flood appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

I think the concept behind this is beautiful. It sounds exactly like what Clem is describing: these songs all sound like they’ve been played by one pianist. It’s a remarkable trick that requires considerable talent and more than a little bit of luck.

Part of that luck comes from Clem playing both parts. Every pianist plays slightly differently, the same way that we all speak slightly differently, so Clem can match his own “speaking” intonations by handling every role.

But regardless of that, the compositions are top notch. It reminds me of Nils Frahm’s Screws, which he recorded while he had a thumb injury that rendered one of his hands almost useless. As a result, the album was played with one full hand and only one or two fingers on the other. It gave the album a simplicity that it would never have achieved otherwise.

Somehow, 2Pianos feels similar in its qualities. Texturally, this has all the magic of Screws. It’s nearly surreal in its composition, with clear technical ability. But it’s also incredibly simple music that’s easy to grasp, even for modern classical newcomers.

What’s most impressive about 2Pianos, though, is that it’s able to find simplicity in the complexity of its parts. Clem has written these tracks for two players, but plays them as if they were one. That’s still four hands playing piano at once — twice as many as most piano records, obviously.

But by the time you hit “Yuri”, the final track, it never feels like you’ve been subjected to that level of complexity. Instead, the music has washed over you. It’s a cleansing, calming feeling. It’s almost a ritual. Yes, 2Pianos has nearly magical qualities.

Needless to say, I’m looking forward to 2Pianos II.

The post Clem Leek: 2Pianos I appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

A week ago, I saw a screening of La La Land at TIFF. Equal parts heart-wrenching and enchanting, it’s easy to see the film as a major contender come awards season. The performances are excellent and the direction is impeccable. While the film is obviously modern, it takes many of its visual cues from the earliest Hollywood musicals.

While all of that will sell tickets, the film is provocative for other reasons. Most importantly, it’s a love letter to traditional jazz. In one scene, Ryan Gosling explains what makes the genre so great: the tension between improvising musicians, its unpredictably, and its ability to look back while also dreaming of things yet to come.

It’s a poignant scene. Metaphorically, it compares jazz to the film’s story, but more importantly, it frames jazz in a modern context for film-goers. People who don’t love jazz, or haven’t appreciated it in years, will come out of the film with a newfound appreciation for the genre.

Even the music throughout the film is appropriately jazzy, with Gosling’s tracks being the most traditional. When Gosling encounters tension between jazz’s past and future, we root for him to contextualize it for us. Gosling serves as the point-man for the audience. His convictions about jazz convict us. By the end of the film, the audience roots for traditional jazz because they want to see Ryan Gosling succeed.

Damien Chazelle made a film for jazz lovers with Whiplash, but La La Land will make us all jazz lovers.

After the film was over, my wife and I walked through Toronto’s city streets until we found a jazz bar. It felt like we had to continue soaking in the genre, absorbing the tension that Gosling speaks about in the movie.

La La Land might be a musical, but its not a traditional one. It doesn’t feature big-band tracks the way Chicago did. La La Land’s best songs are its quieter ones. It’s authentically jazzy.

As strange as all of this sounds, La La Land might breathe life back into the genre. Its authenticity is refreshing. Its dream-like qualities make the film’s musical interruptions compelling, even for people who find musicals traditionally nonsensical. The film will introduce thousands of people to jazz again.

And that’s something we should all be excited about.

The post Why Music Lovers Should Be Excited About <em>La La Land</em> appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The Stranger Things soundtrack is basically techno before we ever called it techno: it shares the same basic structures and synth-driven loops.

Not every track is densely populated with swirling rhythms and beats either; after all, this isn’t a Trent Reznor track. For every pulsing track (like “Kids”), there are two like “Nancy and Barb” and “This Isn’t You”. On top of that, most of the tracks are quiet short — about a minute and a half, on average.

At once, these tracks are reminiscent about so many ’80s trends in music: there are strong elements of the Alien and Terminator soundtracks, but also a sense of playfulness throughout many of the tracks that feels influenced by the decade’s rock groups. Tracks like “Lay-Z-Boy” and “Biking to School” feel inspired by Duran Duran.

Other tracks are sinister, bathed in the neo-noir that the show frequently references. “Agents” has a lot in common with the theme song — particularly in its evil-sounding probing pulse. Other times, songs like “Lamps” are sinister due to their haunting mystery.

But what makes the soundtrack work as a cohesive album that you can listen to is the way it all comes together: tracks don’t often bleed together like they do on traditional soundtracks, but it feels like each one is a piece of a larger whole. And while the music is impressive, it’s particularly great for focused work, where its ambient beats can become part of the background without ever losing their import.

At its heart, though, the soundtrack for Stranger Things works because it’s evocative musically of what might be this year’s most fascinating television show. The Stranger Things soundtrack is a trip back to the sci-fi film soundtracks of the ’80s, and it’s incredibly successful at accomplishing this mandate.

The post Kylie Dixon & Michael Stein: Stranger Things, Vol. 1 (A Netflix Original Soundtrack) appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

No doubt this is intentional: “sparse” is the best word to describe the record, which features few vocal moments — and almost entirely for effect. Although Arnalds doesn’t replace every instrument with a piano — he still uses much of his string accompaniments — this record sounds entirely organic (and beautiful). It eschews much of the classical looping of his past efforts.

Ólafur still loops his instruments, though: “1995” is, fundamentally, a couple of loops that twist and turn around each other until the song is over. But on Island Songs, the loops aren’t made up of electronic noises or beats. There’s nary a beat to be found on the EP; it finds its rhythms through the sounds of the island.

There’s only one song on the EP that features a traditional vocal performance. “Particles” feels almost entirely different from the rest of the record, particularly because its beat is less implied and more forceful than the other songs. Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir’s vocal performance, though, feels like it does the work of four or five instruments, capturing the same vibe that Arnalds is working with throughout the rest of the record almost entirely on her own.

Her vocal work couldn’t come at a better time: Island Songs is perhaps purposefully similar throughout, with many songs sounding like riffs on a theme instead of separate ideas. While album closer “Doria” is the major key complement to the minor key opener, “Árbakkinn”, it retains many of the same musical ideas. This is purposeful: Island Songs captures the near-monochromatic beauty of Iceland’s vistas by making these tracks similar.

As a result, there’s no clear idea of where the record ends and where it begins; much like the island’s ecosystems, they fade in and out of each other. While each is individual enough on its own, they’re all clearly connected.

Island Songs is two things: entirely beautiful and completely focused. You’re not likely to hear a more focused EP this year, and Arnalds delivers the goods in spades. Island Songs is perhaps my favourite work from Ólafur to date.

The post Ólafur Arnalds: Island Songs appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

Antonio Sanchez’s work builds on a single, looming tension, escalating until it breaks and a lack of sanity is revealed. And therein lies the rub of the film as well: you are listening to the slow de-tangling of a man.

Unlike Whiplash, its sister jazzy film from 2014’s Awards season, Birdman is not about feats of jazz strength, or virtuosity. It is about the act of performance. At times cool and suave, and at times suddenly broken, Birdman never sits still.

More interesting still is the way the soundtrack experiments with sound placement and timbre, matching the way the film does it. This may have been out of necessity, since the sounds and music in the movie often follow the movement of the camera, but in isolation, this is an especially interesting diversion from regularity.

And that’s what the whole soundtrack is about, really: it’s a diversion from the norm of film soundtracks. It doesn’t have an orchestra of any kind, electing instead to be more about the focus of a solo single instrument. It matches the film’s intensity, particularly because the drums can be both lively and under-stated in a single track.

People who haven’t seen Birdman may not get as much out of its soundtrack as those who have, but folks who appreciate subtle jazz experimentation will find a lot to enjoy here. Those who are more interested in flash and sizzle will quickly lose interest.

The post Antonio Sanchez: Birdman (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The Last Panthers is a television show that dives deep into the crime world in a mystery about stolen diamonds. I think. To be honest, I haven’t seen it. You don’t need to in order to appreciate Clark’s soundtrack for the show.

Judging from the soundtrack, I would expect The Last Panthers to feel like a dark, dangerous trip for its heroes. Clark is in prime form here: textures are everywhere, but more interesting is how he uses them to create weird sort-of sound effects, much like Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross did with such aplomb on the Gone Girl soundtrack.

As a point of comparison, Clark’s work does beg to be compared to the output from Trent and Atticus. It sounds like they’re exploring similar themes, in the sense that they’re using electronic music and it’s repetitious rhythms to slowly build to climaxes and crescendos.

What makes Clark’s record different from anything Reznor and Ross have done is that it feels more free to explore. Undoubtedly, this has to do with writing for television instead of the movies. While themes repeat, and often grow more sinister in time, the space between them can breathe. Cryogenic breathes until it slowly descends back towards darkness by the end. (It only takes two notes for Clark to create a strong sense of unease, which is astounding.)

Much of the soundtrack, certainly its most impactful moments, live within that tension and unease. Brother Killer is a great example. It excels at building tension to a point that feels unbearable, until suddenly becoming something else.

Unlike film soundtracks, The Last Panthers is missing a sense of focus in that regard. But when Clark is able to write focused thematic pieces, he excels. Diamonds Aren’t Forever and Diamonds Aren’t Forever II are perfect examples of this: clearly spiritually related songs, with similar themes, the tension builds to a remarkable climax of texture and discomfort with II.

In a lot of ways, Clark’s record goes beyond many expectations for a soundtrack. It carries itself as well as his 2014 record did, and although it lacks the focus, it feels exploratory and powerful. Clark understands and enjoys his exploring the aesthetic of film, and because his music is so textural, it’s a natural fit.

The Last Panthers is, on record, a visual story as much as it would be on television. As an album, it holds up well with the rest of his library. Like everything Clark makes, there’s a melancholic motion that carries it all forward. It’s an astounding contribution to electronic music and to film soundtracks, and one that’s worth listening to without a visual point of reference.

The Last Panthers is an original take on a well-trodden genre that feels uniquely Clark. It’s a total treat.

The post Clark: The Last Panthers appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

Far from being a soundtrack to a simple video game, fans of Monument Valley will know that the soundtrack had a monumental (pun intended) task. It had to match the intricacy of a puzzle game so gorgeous and understated that it won a design award from Apple, and it also had to carry the player through a game based more on texture than story-telling.

The soundtrack rises to the soundtrack with aplomb, easily moving from one theme to the next. It can be quiet or energizing, but it’s never over-powering and frequently calming. More importantly though, there’s a certain depth to it that’s lacking from most of its brethren.

Many people believe that music is made up of textures and colours. There’s a known phenomenon where some people perceive musical notes similarly to the way they perceive colours, to the point where they can close their eyes when they hear somebody play a D# on a piano and vividly see the colour they associate with that note. I imagine that, for those people, the Monument Valley soundtrack would be an incredible experience.

For the rest of us, the soundtrack transports us to another place. Even if you haven’t played the game, the music feels decorated with the same sense of playful curiosity that the game’s M.C. Escher-inspired art direction is. It’s moody without being sour, and more interested in sounds than it is in the construction of a whole.

That doesn’t result in a feeling of disconnect, though: the Monument Valley soundtrack feels united in its thematic sense of exploration as it guides the listener from one feeling to a next. Certain tracks are starkly reminiscent of the same Indian music that inspired The Beatles’ Tomorrow Never Comes — but in a completely different, quieter and more introspective fashion.

For fans of the game, the soundtrack is a must-listen. And for those of us who haven’t played the game, it’s a journey to a world we haven’t experienced yet — a journey as magical as many of our favourite film soundtracks. (And if you’re wondering what all the fuss is about, you can download the game for iOS here.)

The post Stafford Bawler, OBFUSC & Grigori: Monument Valley (Original Soundtrack) appeared first on Unsung Sundays.