Timo van Luijk – psychotropic wonderland

October 29 2017

Elodie, “Vieux Silence” (Ideologic Organ, 2017)

Tony D'Amico archived brainwashed reviews Andrew Chalk, Elodie, Ideologic Organ, Jean-Noël Rebilly, Timo van Luijk, Tom James Scott

For their latest album, the duo of Andrew Chalk and Timo van Luijk (Af Ursin) take an unexpected detour from their impressive run of limited self-released albums for an appearance on Stephen O’Malley’s eclectic Ideologic Organ imprint. To honor this auspicious occasion, the core line-up is fleshed out with returning collaborators Tom James Scott and Jean-Noël Rebilly, as well as pedal steel guitarist Daniel Morris. In all other respects, however, Vieux Silence is every bit a traditional Elodie album, unfolding as a flickering impressionist dream that seems to emanate from a time and place totally unlike our own. As an album, it does not necessarily tower above the rest of Elodie’s consistently fine oeuvre, but the title piece might be the single most achingly gorgeous piece that Chalk and van Luijk have recorded together to date.

As a longtime Andrew Chalk fan, I am hesitant to describe the collaboration of Elodie as greater than the sum of its parts, yet something transcendent undeniably occurs when Chalk and van Luijk get together. To some degree, I can see shades of Chalk’s tender and quietly beautiful drone-based aesthetic and hints of Af Ursin’s shadowy and chameleonic otherworldliness on Vieux Silence, but it feels like such an uncannily seamless blurring of styles that neither artist seems to be steering the ship. At their best, it feels like this album is a séance and Elodie are channeling some kind of gorgeous and languorous music from the spirit realm. The opening “La Vallée Du Sommeil” is a perfect example of such a feat, as its simple and heavenly synth melody seems to vaporously float through a patina of tape hiss like smoke.

The best reference point that I can conjure is that it resembles what Angelo Badalamenti would probably sound like if he were suddenly taken by The Spirit and started composing rapturous hymns to God rather than collaborating with David Lynch. In fact, the brief piece (“Corridor”) that follows even resembles an organ hymn, though Rebilly’s bittersweet, breathy clarinet melodies inject a bit more soul and harmonic complexity than normally found in such fare. That aesthetic of soulful, unhurried, and simple beauty veiled in a thin fog of unreality reaches its apex with the title piece though, which dreamily pulses and weaves an absolutely gorgeous fantasia of warm chords, gently cascading arpeggios, and a repeating snatch of ghostly vocal melody. It kind of sounds like an achingly beautiful, slow-motion waltz enhanced by a haunted Victrola.

Even when they are not at their best, Elodie remain extremely damn good—the only real difference is simply that the illusion dissipates enough to feel like the work of human musicians with specific instruments playing planned compositions. For example, “La Nuit Voilée” is essentially a fluid and haunting pedal steel solo over a shifting bed of gently stuttering, melancholy chords.

“Au Point du Jour,” on the other hand, sounds like some sort of missing link between modern classical and Volcano the Bear, blending a slowly tumbling and rippling minor key piano motif with a surreal backdrop of vocal moans, strange breath-generated textures, and some eerily strangled-sounding bird-like whistles. Later, “Le Temps d’Antan” essentially offers up its negative image: a radiant dawn dispelling all of the previous darkness with a lovely piano melody languorously wending its way through a quiet idyll of lingering reverb, soft breezes, and distant birds.

After all of that elegantly blurred beauty and nuance, however, Vieux Silence nearly ends on bit of a perplexing forceful note, as “Entre Deux Mondes” introduces an ominous and cinematic-sounding string theme that feels like it could have come from just about any skilled soundtrack composer. Fortunately, it eventually segues into a wonderfully dreamlike and spectral finale (“La Saison Blanche”) which feels like two indistinct, supernatural Theremin-like melodies slowly dancing and intertwining over an unpredictable bed of shifting chords and passing shadows of dissonance.

Unsurprisingly, the best pieces on Vieux Silence (“La Vallée Du Sommeil” and “Vieux Silence”) are the ones with the most gorgeous melodies, but the true brilliance of this project lies in the less tangible details. The most significant is probably the duo’s talent for smoky, elusive-sounding textures, elegantly sidestepping the common peril of turning everything into a soft-focus, reverb-swathed blur. Instead, Elodie somehow make their melodies feel a beautiful half-remembered dream: strong and clear, yet still enigmatically obscured by haze and mist.

A crucial corollary to that is Elodie’s lightness of touch, a delicate balancing act that separates an achingly beautiful unreality from a mere suite of lovely chamber music. Elodie do not always fall on the right side of that equation here, admittedly, but the results are singularly sublime when they do manage to nail it (and I cannot think of many other artists who could even hit that target once).

Less essential, yet still significant is the duo’s surreptitious harmonic sophistication, as there are almost always shifting harmonic colors hovering all around the main theme and Chalk and van Luijk are not afraid to bring some fleeting shadow to their languorous heaven with flickers and undercurrents of dissonance. More succinctly put: there are some fine compositions here, but it is the masterful and nuanced execution that makes Vieux Silence something far deeper, more mysterious, more layered, and more movingly fragile than the quiet, warmly lovely melodies would otherwise suggest.

Listen here.

April 13 2017

Elodie, “Odyssee” (Faraway Press, 2016)

Tony D'Amico archived brainwashed reviews Andrew Chalk, Elodie, Faraway Press, Timo van Luijk

This collaboration between Andrew Chalk and Timo Van Luijk (Af Ursin) has been active since 2011, yet this is the first of their albums that I have actually heard, as Van Luijk shares Chalk’s love of limited, small press-style releases. As a result, Elodie’s output has mostly been a series of vinyl-only releases from Belgium and Japan, though Stephen O’Malley’s Ideologic Organ has thankfully stepped up to get their next album to a wider audience.

On paper, Odyssee seems like a very poor choice for my first Elodie experience, as it has two traits that generally make me steer clear of an album: it is both a live recording and the soundtrack to a film. In reality, however, this album is quietly stunning, taking Debussy-style Impressionism into gorgeously smoky, twilit, and eerily hallucinatory territory.

Odyssee consists of just one 33-minute piece, “Musique En Scène II,” which was recorded live at the Geräuschwelten Festival Festival in Münster in 2015. Although the release itself is characteristically lean on background information or useful details, the piece was apparently performed as accompaniment to a film that Van Luijk made that very evening. Since the film did not exist earlier that day, it is probably safe to say that the music was completely improvised. It certainly does not sound like it though, nor does it sound at all live (until the audience begins clapping at the end, anyway).

More importantly, it also does not sound particularly like an Andrew Chalk album, nor does it bear all that much resemblance to what little Af Ursin I have heard (though Van Luijk is admittedly kind of multi-instrumentalist shape-shifter). I will not say that Elodie is necessarily greater than the sum of its parts here, but they certainly transcend whatever expectations I had and offer something a bit unexpected.

Of course, part of that stylistic transformation is due to the piece’s simple structure and instrumentation, as it is essentially a languorous and Eastern-flavored flute solo centered on a small cluster of notes. For his part, Chalk provides a shifting and understated backdrop of quietly swelling synth chords, which is just perfect, as a large part of Odyssee‘s otherworldly beauty lies in the breathy intimacy of Van Luijk’s flute. Any further clutter would dilute the magic.

A more significant part of Odyssee‘s mesmerizing spell lies in the eerily melancholy and exotic mood, as it evokes nothing less than the exquisitely lonely sensation of being alone in a vast desert at night, though the piece gradually becomes somewhat less haunted-sounding as it progresses. There is also quite a bit of subtle beauty to be found in the details. For example, while Van Luijk’s woozily snaking flute melody is presented with crystalline clarity, it often leaves a ghostly afterimage that lingers in the air. That dreamy reverie is sometimes additionally enhanced by a sheen of feedback or chirping, trilling overtones.

The overall effect is quite a surreal one, as the piece leaves a wake of lingering shadow and murk while simultaneously conjuring up a chorus of illusory birds. While that is essentially all the piece offers, that turns out to be more than enough, as both the melody and the atmosphere are quite entrancing. The piece does have a clear arc of sorts, however, as Chalk’s synthesizer gradually becomes a bit more intrusive, creating more complex harmonies.

At the same time, the backdrop gradually shifts towards radiant major chords in the second half, though they are thankfully still vaporous enough to maintain the delicious spell of bleary unreality. Granted, I would probably like the piece more if the occasional shafts of light were even more toned down, yet I appreciate the ambiguous precariousness of the brighter interludes, as the encroaching undercurrent often suggests a mirage rather than an oasis.

Given its humble origins, Odyssee was probably intended as a somewhat minor release, but it is a weirdly perfect one. My only minor issue is with its brevity, which was no doubt dictated by the film. As far as I am concerned, it could have easily extended for twice as long, as the duo weave a gorgeously haunting dream scene from the first notes, nimbly walking the tightrope of providing enough small-scale dynamic variation to keep me deeply immersed while never disrupting that spell with anything more forceful.

Granted, I was admittedly quite predisposed to like this album as an Andrew Chalk fan, but that only got my initial attention: if this album were not special, I would have quickly lost interest. Fortunately, Odyssee feels like something entirely unique. I love pleasant surprises. This is exactly the sort of hidden gem that I am always looking for, though I suspect it may herald the dawn of a painfully expensive scavenger hunt for the rest of Elodie’s oeuvre.