Lawrence English wears many hats – both in the figurative and literal sense – but above all else, he is a true curator of sound. In addition to directing the Room40 label, one of the most prolific resources of ambient and experimental music, he has also helped put together music festivals and curated exhibitions bridging sound and visual art. His latest record, Even The Horizon Knows Its Bounds, is borne directly from his curatorial work, originating from a request from curator Jonathan Wilson to create a soundscape for Naala Badu building at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Much of English’s recent work has centered around collaboration, including albums with Merzbow, Jamie Stewart from Xiu Xiu, David Toop and Lea Bertucci, amongst others. English’s knack for organising is central to Even The Horizon. The record draws a varied cast of performers, including regular collaborators such as Stephen Vitiello, Necks pianist Chris Abrahams, and Swans guitarist Norman Westerberg, as well as Dean Hurley (sound engineer for the late David Lynch), Claire Rousay, ambient pedal steel guitarist Chuck Johnson, and unassuming experimental music auteur Jim O’Rourke. Rounding out the group are a number of fellow Aussie musicians, such as Amby Downs, JW Paton, Madeleine Cocolas and Vanessa Tomlison.
The record, which is essentially one continuous piece, was composed as two sound prompts for the performers. With such a loose compositional structure, and with performers from such wildly different backgrounds, the end result runs the risk of bedlam. Yet, Even The Horizon is a remarkably cohesive record, to the point that one could almost mistake it for a solo record. It opens with a solemn piano meditation from Chris Abrahams, which is an anchor throughout much of the piece. Whereas Abrahams’ work with The Necks is often open-ended and mysterious, on this record his playing is strikingly direct in its doom-laden melancholy, at times sounding more like darkwave than the deconstructed jazz he’s known for. At points, the sounds are submerged in a deep, tunnel-like ambiance in which different sonic elements bleed into each other, almost calling to mind the cistern experiments of Pauline Oliveros. It conjures a liminal state, one in which everything is both emerging and deteriorating at once, leaving behind a murky, uncertain landscape. Certain sounds stand out, with Johnson’s pedal steel acting like a lighthouse amidst the fog, and the recurring harmonica parts add a lot to the atmosphere of the piece. But, as a whole, the piece is a dense web of texture, in which every individual element is just a piece of the greater whole.
The record provides an interesting contrast with English’s 2017 release Cruel Optimism, which, like Even The Horizon, featured a large cast of collaborators. Cruel Optimism is English at his most immediate, creating stark, intense landscapes that, at times, pummel the listener with their bleak atmosphere. Even The Horizon has some of the apocalyptic tinge that colors much of English’s drone albums, but it feels more like a meditation on the ephemeral nature of time, memory and space than any sort of sweeping gesture. The soundscapes on this record are dark and desolate, but also deeply immersive and vast. It makes sense that the record has its origins in something site-specific, as, even outside of that context, the record feels as though it was designed to occupy a space. It’s unclear how much of these soundscapes are sourced from field recordings, though, given the people involved, one would assume at least some of them are. But more importantly, the record activates a deeper form of listening and sonic perspective in a way that many field recordings do, without containing any direct or concrete sonic references. This is at the heart of what makes Even The Horizon one of English’s more compelling releases as of late.
