Sometimes I
get in the mood for something sparse and intricate. To fill this gap, I'm
embracing the new album Temporary Music from improvisational jazz group, Asa Tone. The
collective is comprised of Jakarta-born Melati Malay and New York-based Tristan
Arp and Kaazi, and the current project is the product of a 2018 pilgrimage to
Malay's native Indonesia (something he does at least once a year, apparently) where
he was joined by his New York collogues, seemingly without the intention of
recording an album. At some point, they cobbled together a temporary studio in
the jungle and began sharing ideas and rehearsing. Temporary Music is the product of several of these recorded
improvisations. The music features analog instruments in conversation with
digital processes, and was inspired by the sounds and sights of the jungle it
was recorded in. It primarily features sub-tonal beats passing under bright
chiming effects, mimicking the layered foliage and stratified ecosystems of the
forest. The mix recalls at different points, raindrops ricocheting off tree
leaves, monkeys and frogs in dialogue with potential mates, babbling brooks
relaying stories to no-one in particular, and the placid echo of distant bird
calls. It's helped me appreciate the sounds of my own environment, allowing me
to pick up on qualities that I would otherwise tune out. The squeak of a
passerby's shoes as they hustle by me on the sidewalk. The satisfying crunch of
care tires pressing into fresh snow. The coos and anxious scuttle of pigeons on
balconies overhead. The impatient chirp of the crosswalk light. They're not
exotic sounds, and to talk about them with any reverence feels parotic, but
they are the sounds of my home, and it doesn't do me any favors to ignore them.
They're worth acknowledging, if for no other reason than the teeming petri dish
of urban life and endless overlapping currents that they allude to. It's a
constant reminder that any sense of loneliness that I feel in this place is a
self-imposed illusion I've created out of fear of fully embracing it. There is
something about this album that reminds me of Brian Eno and David Byrne's
collaboration, My Life in the Bush of
Ghosts, like field recordings from an alternative universe that differs
from our own, only in language and form, but not in content and spirit. Your
mileage may vary, but Temporary Music has already had a lasting impact on me and how
I will be listening to music in 2020.
Get a copy of Temporary Music from Leaving Records, here.
