Jacaszek, Treny
Featured Album
Chamber music chopped 'n' screwed? Sentimental minimalism? Whatever — we know it's gorgeous
Chamber music chopped 'n 'screwed might sound absurd, but it's actually a decent description of Treny, the third album by Poland's Michael Jacaszek, which counters slow, mournful waves of string and voice with deft, delicate cuts and odd, against-the-grain dovetailing. The former lull you into an almost beatific state, while the latter disorient, tugging at the corners of your perception as if it were warm plastic wrap. It can be almost oppressively beautiful at times, but the subtle glitching has the effect of keeping Bathos at bay. Composers like Arvo Pärt, Henrik Gorecki and Morton Feldman are clear inspirations for these muted chamber pieces, which were arranged by Stefan Wesolowski and performed (on violin, cello, piano, voice, bells and the like) by a small ensemble before being rearranged in Jacaszek's computer. Slow-moving string phrases seep into a blurred background; streaks of white noise fall across the choir like a dust-moted ray of sunlight. In its materials and moods, Treny recalls classically-influenced artists like Johann Johannsson and Stars of the Lid, and Jacaszek's album makes a rewarding addition to that mini-canon of what might be termed "sentimental minimalism." With enough dissonance to keep ponderousness at bay, Treny rolls up two centuries of musical tradition into something undeniably gorgeous, and occasionally even sublime.
