Nonpareils is Aaron Hemphill’s solo project, which he launched several years after leaving Liars. His second album, Rhetoric & Terror, takes its name from a chapter in a book by Giorgio Agamben titled The Man Without Content. The book, published in 1970, raises questions over whether art has become detached from its existential purpose and hollowed out into mere logic and form. In some ways, this record reflects both – partly engaged in the amorphous subconscious and partly tapped into structure and form.
The opening track and single, ‘Opening Chord’, is most reminiscent of Hemphill’s earlier work in Liars. A large part of it is glacially slow and minimalist, but then it shapeshifts several times, driving between post-rock and then a kind of German new-wave segment.
Although presented as a departure from his more conceptual debut, Scented Pictures, this album displays its same idiosyncrasies. Long, drawn-out vocals act like a sedative, and the same penchant for disjointed composition is retained. Most of the album is subdued, but on some tracks, you might find light rippling through the forest trees.
‘Unscripting With The Snake And The Swan’ sounds like its name – an aural accompaniment to a mysterious fable. Woodwind punctuates the beginning and then casts spellbinding arpeggios towards the end. For only a few seconds, you’re reminded of Hans Zimmer’s ‘Cornfield Chase’ from the Interstellar soundtrack, albeit a bare-bones woodwind version. The little flourishes of the harp emphasise the fairytale.
Hemphill’s wife, Angelika Kaswalder, sings throughout the album and on ‘Figures Of Speech’, it’s just her in the spotlight. It’s a dreamy track, dotted with the occasional church bell on top of a sultry bass, which stops to give way to 80s-inspired synth interludes – all of which sink you into her ode to love and sex. Disrupting that purple world is the off-kilter ‘Flowers Like The Rain’. Hemphill’s vocals veer between languid and angsty. Alongside the very queasy and unsettling arrangement, it is head-spinning stuff.
‘Predictable Pan (Theme From A Book of Perfectly Drawn Lines)’ is another detour with anything but perfectly drawn lines. A detuned guitar strums dementedly, and propulsive rhythms create a sense of anxiety. With warped vocals, Hemphill sings, “Loneliness will weigh me down / Wear me to a ghost”. This is a mirror held up to the darker tunnels of his mind, laying bare what can’t be seen on the surface.
The album closer ‘Strawberry Hill’ offers some respite – it is less disjointed and more blissful. It’s slightly psychedelic, almost like Grizzly Bear blurred with Animal Collective. The addition of a glockenspiel here adds an angelic playfulness that encourages you to melt away with it. It’s all carefree, blue skies and green, green grass as Kaswalder doo-wops away in the background.
Rhetoric & Terror is a multi-textural album, constantly swinging in different directions, resulting in a less immersive time than Nonpareils’ debut. The album is constantly in flux, moving between different states like Hemphill’s mind. It is emblematic of his life as a dad and artist – two worlds which Hemphill was keen on integrating with the making of this album. What results is an uninhibited and intriguing jumble, with all the colours and shapes to boot.
