Some nice reviews
I have received some really great reviews of the Dials EP so far, but the two most recent ones have stuck out as being the best.
The Silent Ballet:
Score: 8/10
I have a love-hate relationship with limited-edition, specially-packaged editions. When I get my hands on them, I love them; I chortle with glee, I cruelly imagine all the poseurs who will be doing without them, and I congratulate myself for being wonderfully aware and click-happy. But when I miss out, I curse the gods, I inwardly berate the labels and the artists for being so short-sighted, and I sit on my couch and pout like a geeky loser.
I did not get a copy of Dials. Only fifty were made. Look at that photo at the top left of this column. Doesn’t it look awesome? No, it does not. It looks terribly crappy and ill-prepared. This is, of course, what I tell myself because I found out about it too late. It actually looks gorgeous, huggable, and collectible. I could, of course, let this go if I didn’t like the music. In fact, I tried not to like the music, because then I could dismiss the entire project and say that I didn’t need it in my collection. Unfortunately, this EP is very good. I don’t really want people to know this. I want it to be my little secret. I want to be the only one checking eBay daily to see if one is up for grabs. I don’t want others competing with me. On second thought, I’ve changed my mind. The EP is terrible. Absolute trash. Stop reading this right now and switch to another review. Go away. There’s nothing to see here. Move along.
Crap, you’re still reading. [Checks eBay: “Your search returned 0 items."] At this point I suppose I should say something about the music. I’m sure it won’t be interesting. There’s already enough lovely ambient stuff around to fill out one’s collection several times over. Admittedly, the strings on “Winter: Silhouette” are as beautiful as any on Slow Six’s latest, but that one is already at home, right? Okay, what probably isn’t at home is a recording that takes the audience through the seasons in a gentle, cathartic way, as if we were walking in a park hand-in-hand with our soulmates, watching cherry blossoms bloom, grass turning green, leaves changing color, and flurries descending from above, all in the course of half an hour. But who in the world would want to be reminded of honeysuckle, salt-scented beaches, apple cider, and toboggans all at once? No, no, no, we wouldn’t want that.
It’s probably important to know that the album is painted in pastel hues of piano, glockenspiel, and strings: three instruments we all hate. It’s especially annoying to hear them all played so well, apparently by a single person. To me, this seems an incredibly selfish act. There are plenty of people around who can’t play well and who need jobs, especially in this economy, and it seems that the right thing to do would be to hire them. We all prefer albums that boast off-key notes, stumbles, and ill-thought composition, because these things make us feel more like part of the flawed human race, united with the untalented masses and thus devoid of envy.
The peaceful, transcendent feeling that one acquires, almost by osmosis, while listening to this recording is also a sign that the artist (Guy Andrews, also known as iambic) is incredibly irresponsible. There are many, many things that need to get done in this world, and we need anxiety and fear to motivate us. What good is it to play this music while driving, to be cut off by an obnoxious driver, and to be so blissed out that we do not in return tailgate said driver and give him the finger, thus missing the opportunity to teach him a lesson and to improve our society? And when we play this music at home after an argument with a spouse or partner, feel our hearts fill with love, relent, apologize, and buy flowers, isn’t this a drain on our finances? Horrible! Not since Rhian Sheehan has an artist recorded such a wondrous, life-affirming collection, thus distracting us from the things that we really should be doing, like complaining about our politicians while sitting on our asses watching television.
The fact that the album flows so well is also a problem.Life does not flow well. We face all sorts of hurdles: inner doubts, health concerns, relational difficulties, employment obstacles. And this music seems to be saying, “These things shall pass. Be at peace with your soul. All shall be well.” What kind of message is that to teach our kids! Life is brutish, and short. Better to learn that now. This EP is dangerous. Why, it’s actually a good thing that so few people were able to purchase it. In the wrong hands, it could transform society into something peaceful and empathetic. And then what would happen to our military budgets? The world’s economy would collapse – again!Guy Andrews, what were you thinking! Somebody stop this man from recording!
Dials is so lovely, perky, and perfect that it will make many other CDs seem paltry and sad, and then the listener will in turn will feel paltry and sad for having wasted his money on the other discs. I strongly advise never look for it, speak of it, or think of it again, because it may destroy one’s self-esteem.
In conclusion, you don’t want this EP. But I do.
-Richard Allen
Chillbase.org (He got the lyrics a bit wrong in places, but the review is stunning!):
Four parts of a whole, one existence in distinct forms. The Moving Dawn Orchestra also known as Iambic is Guy Andrews, the Ambient fusion prodigy from the UK. With his first hard copy EP released on Daniel Crossley’s impressive new Electro-Acoustic label: Fluid Audio, Guy has created a different frequency for each season in ‘Dials’. Deviously simple instrumentation allows for the real story being told to manifest in your mind. Join me on the adventure.
Early morning, the first rays of light move across the landscape, time slowly pacing forward. The gentle breath of life begins to stir the air with it’s warming touch. Innocent bells chime and refract through the icicles hanging from the tree limbs. A string quartet aches with the earths desire to shake off the deep freeze of Winter in a ‘Spring Hymn/Hymn’. As the sun arcs inexorably higher over the horizon the world begins to free itself, a cello foretells the future as water drips off the icicles and joins the mass exodus down a nearby stream. Surrounded by the birth of a new circle you are overwhelmed by the sheer gravity of it all. Time, still slowly moving forward to the procession of the piano, the bells ringing out begin to bend as the world shifts around you, in an instant you are engulfed by the experience. An IDM melody dances forward like time lapse Videography, revealing the explosion of life, the unseen world of the plant. The sputtering and lurching growth patterns begins to come back into phase. The piano rings true, open and inviting. A forest clearing full of flowers, butterflies and bees dancing among each other as the harmony of life pours out of a deeply meaningful musical moment.
Metal bells ring out, as the whole world slows down. Singing in silent excitement, like the encounter of a first kiss. A gentle breeze begins to blow in long sighs, breathing in deep this day of ‘Summer, Keep Still’. The air rumbling with Timpanic electricity – the meeting in the shade of an old tree on the hill… A flashback: to the beginning of this journey… Steadily forward, the wheels on a bike hurry through the hot day. A Summer love in bloom, accentuated with the rolling of guitar strings like fingers across bare skin, passing by ubiquitous experiences of this season along the road. Dreamy arpeggios float into his mind with the anticipation. “ “Don’t, don’t stop … there’s somewhere to be …” resounding in his head. “Wait … Hope … and let the Sunrise …” is all that he can think of doing. “Don’t, don’t stop … there’s somewhere to be …” He can see their tree on the hill. “Your … Pulled … Until the last one …” Jumping off the bike he takes the final steps into her arms. Words need not express the symphony, the few fleeting moments that last an eternity. Dueling guitars intertwine and writhe around with untempered passion… The scene transitions like a dream, with arpeggios and a ghostly piano pounding out the faded but never lost experience of that moment. Reminiscing… The potency of a single event in his life. Memories in a sea of forgetfulness, bouncing and flashing in the minds eye. A triumphant orchestra raises its voice as the world pulls back, an old man and woman are seen, sitting together hand in hand, under a dying tree.
A frosty evening breeze, earlier each day moves in; piano gently rocking like the dying leaves falling from trees ‘Between Our Hands, Autumn’. The dreamy shower of reds, yellows, orange and brown rain past through the nipping cold. Weary Rhodes drift off into the distance, the world prepares to sleep for another season while the beautiful debris piles deeper on the ground. Majestic gatherings of migratory birds fly in formation overhead. Going to places far away to escape whats coming. A deep resonance fills the earth, entire mountains and tracks of land visible from space light on fire. The creatures of the forest hurry and prepare. Squirrels scurry around filling up their stores, a mother Bear gorges herself for her hibernation. The deciduous shedding marches on, every last leave begins to fall, the resonance quiets. A spiny chill pangs out across the land, transforming the year once again. Life pulses and slowly fades from view to hide within. Anything caught in it’s reach begins to die. Ghostly breaths whisper through the living skeletons, Slower and slower the cycle becomes until suddenly the world pauses. The Rhodes returns weaker now ringing out in gasping frozen air. The long night dances like faded dreams of a better time until everything stops as life takes its last gasp.
A lone piano cries as frozen air rips across a wind swept scene. Blinding storms of snow whip around outside, the world covered in a ‘Winter Silhouette’. A never ending gale of cold harshness so close to you, but feeling so far removed within the confines of home. Devoid of all color in the perpetual twilight, embankments of ice crystals build deeper and deeper sculptured by the relentless motion of the planet. Melancholy strings show the alien landscape so unforgiving and formless as it amplifies the reflection of light from the fireplace against the glass. A deep bass and the finality of nature locked in ice as life giving warmth radiates against your back. The strings join others mourning the death of another year. Falling into the depths the bass pulses with the contrast of the safety from exposure. Piano fading away, the string quartet weeps like the family of mother nature. Screeching resonance moves across the glass like the liquid nitrogen fingers of old man winter. Clawing and scratching to get into sanctuary and make it your grave… Quiet.. an ominous vocal bass drones on with the ages, hypnotic strings pluck almost aimlessly like a lost and starving wanderer…
“To the window… Feel the darkness… Falling over, to redesign this… In the next life… Rediscover… In the next life… Undercover…”
Remember the Dials EP can still be purchased here in both WAV and MP3 formats.
03 May 2010 Guy 0 comments
