Nicolas Jaar never fails to exceed and confound expectations. You want to believe his latest 12″ represents his latest creative parabola, but the stamp on its cover reads: “recorded in New York, 2011-15.” The incineration of time is almost Madlibean. There’s nothing unintentional to the decision. It’s a way to dismiss critics fixated on the angle of the curve, rather than the flashing high beam groove and sacral devotion to minimalism. There is only so much you are supposed to know. What could be cryptic pretension actually offers a certain freedom to focus exclusively on the music.
All that matters is when the song first sees light and quickly retreats back into the darkness. Aside from Burial, there no one else out there whose songs so reward patience. And like the semi-anonymous London shadow, Jaar’s music relies on intense mystery. The voices splintered into ectoplasmic wails, the faint stitches of dialogue that fade in and out, the keyboards that flicker like half-functioning Christmas lights. It feels like a quiet anthem for the end of the world. Drums switch pace, voices disappear and re-emerge, the beat picks up, drops out, and I assume all three sides of Audrey are revealed. I’ve never met her but she’s impressive at first glance.
You can purchase the record at Other People.