release - kyle bobby dunn - a young person's guide to...

type: album

released: 18th january 2010

label: low point

genre: ambient, drone, minimalism

Butel, the seventeen-and-a-half minute opener to this double album cuts a sinuous figure. The wavy ambient of the rising action seems to find its footing in the slowly plucked notes of a guitar, only for its lower end to be gradually taken out, reduced to a fundamental hiss. Though this climax happens at around the seventh minute, the carefully shaped changes in intensity are repeated several times throughout, gentle white noise in the background taking the place of rhythm. The fading moments bring in disfigured classical instrumentation, which gives an exit point that the music can fade towards.

It also gives some context for the listener. While it might seem daring to put the longest song at the front of an album that spans nearly two hours, the title tells us that this is a journey into the sounds of Kyle Bobby Dunn, an assortment of tracks from various works of his released so far. Though his work chiefly falls into the territory of ambient, he most certainly wants it known that his classical background is just as relevant.

So the first track feels like an introduction mostly by way of its breadth. That is, it showcases a wide range of what's on offer over the course of the record, but it doesn't go nearly as deep as the following song The Tributary (For Voices Lost), which in ten minutes creates a spacious and deep atmosphere that is both stripped back and rich in harmony, shorter in length than Butel but still carrying the sense of running through several movements.

Songs here drift between dreamy pulsing ambience and droning strings, Promenade showcasing the latter with bass tones entering the mix at choice moments to amplify the sense of tension. The Second Ponderosa manages to straddle both, breaking into blissful drone every so often as it trundles through its loosely assembled beauty.

The opener of the second album Grab (And Its Lost Legacies) is perhaps the true ambient song on here, only signalling tonal dissonance indirectly and never shifting too much at any one moment. Another gentle piece that doesn't disturb is Bonaventure's Finest Hour, which is warm and hymnal, and never says too much.

Sets of Four (Its Meaning Is Deeper Than Its Title Implies) allows a little bit of a break from the general formula for sombre, haunting piano that stays true to Dunn's minimalist tendencies, and blends well with closer The Nightjar, a piece which is sliced down the middle by slightly off-balance strings without ever being too harsh or abrasive. Neither is the spoken word ending, which brings us from the depths of Dunn's aural landscapes and offers an insight into the themes explored over the course of these two discs. This collection of songs is accomplished technically, and layered with romantic and impressionistic stylings that never have to sacrifice subtlety for emotional reach.