NINA, the debut work of Horses 4K, is an electronic album with Americana as its source material. The duo of Jacob Trombetta and Robin Guiler feed pedal steel guitar into samplers and synthesizers, taking a distinctive instrument and manipulating it into something sometimes unrecognisable and otherworldly.
But an overarching equine theme and a masked cowboy schtick for the promo photos bring with them the power of suggestion of rugged landscapes and vast expanses. The opening notes of the album ring out and twist like the filmic memory of the Old West. Little clinking details that evoke campfires and starry skies, before gently crashing electronics fully take over.
There are signposts that point Nina to certain genres: lap steel is inextricably linked to country, folk, and others that fall under the Americana umbrella. When Horses 4K use it in its most straightforward form, as on ‘No One Ever Called Me Graceful’ and ‘Sue Lived in the Pasture’, it comes across as a classic Western motif.
But frequently, the duo push the lap steel’s gently warped nature to distorted exaggeration. ‘I Noticed I Never Wanted to Leave When I Was Here’ is filled with a thick, gurgling dirge and an oscillating drone. Here the lap steel recalls a hawk’s cry, adding to this feeling of space even against unmistakable electronic noise.
It’s the field recordings, however, and not emulations, that make the connection to the wild tangible. Birds, crickets, and other nocturnal creatures chirping under the electronic drones give the tracks an expansive feeling. The ricocheting chirping on ‘Under Her Neck’ is like a weird looped bird call echoing outward, bringing to mind the open plains and a clear night sky. It’s a feeling that’s revisited on ‘Nina from Indiana’, its electronic buzz channeling an endless distance. Meanwhile, a clip-clop sound effect on the former, like the cartoon version of horses’ hooves, plays up the pastiche of what it means to make a cowboy record.
If that seems like a stretch, it’s worth mentioning that the titular Nina is a horse. The track titles are descriptions of her provided by her owner Kate, the subject of the album closer. That cacophonous final track – as well as the song titles – are a combination of technical information about horses and genuine affection that otherwise couldn’t find space on the album. Even then, Kate’s voice, the only vocals on the album, is knocked around by noise, overcome by a swell of distortion until it is barely audible. The narrative of NINA, like its composition, is a reference that is never allowed to be too precise.
