And so on to the next part of this coincidental double-header. Like the previous entry this, somewhat obviously, features Dustin O’Halloran (who has, by my reckoning, been involved in four of this top 50 in one way or another and is also on two that didn’t end up being included), it’s more minimal neo-classical performances, and it also makes my eyes go funny in the nicest possible way, although this once more means that it’s banned from my car as I’m not sure that my insurance covers synaesthesia-based “incidents” on the road.
Lumiere is also a record that I struggled with more than most when I blogged about it upon its release – the word “Opus” appears a fair bit, which suggests something a bit more highbrow than the fayre I’m used to listening to, and anything carrying the term “classical” comes with a certain properness in its approach to composition and performance that I simply don’t have the knowledge to describe properly. Although I’ll pretty much give anything a go.
Where Dustin’s work in A Winged Victory For The Sullen is vast and expansive, his Lumiere compositions draw you right into a close, intimate setting where even the microphones become an instrument, picking up every soft clunk of keys and pedals being depressed and released as well as providing their own backing hiss which adds to, rather than detracts from, the performance.
Musically, I am personally reminded of Joe Hisaishi’s incredibly personal and sorrowful scores he created for “Beat” Takeshi Kitano’s existential gangster films – of which I simply cannot recommend Hana-Bi (Fireworks in the US) highly enough – creating the mood for both setting and character in a single flourish; Quintett N.1 and especially the moving Fragile N.4 are excellent examples of creating a cinematic mood by gently surrounding the heart of a tune without unnecessary embellishment.
The album closes with the evocative Snow and Light, ending with one minute of the hiss of a microphone turned way up, recording absolutely nothing but static. This sounds unremarkable in itself, but it’s a gentle easing out of an emotional album of music not just for us but also for Dustin O’Halloran himself, as during that final silent minute, the microphone is picking up no movement from the performer, soaking in the ending just as we all are before the apparatus is switched off.
This has ended up being another short overview, but that’s generally because it’s such an involving and closely-recorded collection that typing over the top of it seems somehow rude. It’s something that requires the fullest attention from start to finish, making it ideal to either wake up to in the morning, or settle down with at night. It’s just best for me not to drive while it’s on.
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