Longtime collaborators and kindred spirits More Eaze and Claire Rousay seem to embody a select group of internet-era musicians who have actually made good out of an unprecedented access to music, where so much work is detached from its context and sense of purpose. Their music reflects their rich background in experimental music, but it’s also informed by slowcore, indie folk, ambient and emo. These are all genres that can often be dismissed as having a suffocating sense of pathos, and it should be said that I can be one of those critics. But More Eaze and Claire Rousay boldly lean into these qualities, with Rousay often describing her music as “emo ambient.” That approach doesn’t always work for me – Sentiment, Rousay’s full-on emo album from last year, left me pretty cold – but their music takes genuine risks in an increasingly homogenized musical landscape. Without these elements, it’s difficult to imagine albums such as their first together, 2020’s If I Don’t Let Myself Be Happy Now Then When?, leaving such an impression.
No Floor is the duo’s first album together on the famed Chicago record company Thrill Jockey, and it’s obvious that both artists have a deep reverence for the label. In some ways, No Floor can be heard as the disparate elements that have made Thrill Jockey what it is (glitch, post-rock, and leftfield country, amongst others) transmuted into the disquiet of the 2020s. The album is coloured by pedal steel flourishes that reflect More Eaze’s background in country and folk music, a heritage which has recently become more pronounced in her music. It relates to the growing trend of “ambient americana,” which sounds like an algorithmically invented subgenre but has more legitimacy. The pedal steel has a warm, almost otherworldly quality to it, and when coupled with ambient textures, magical things can happen – just listen to Henry Birdsey’s Old Saw project for an example of its potential. Like all ambient music, it can also feel treacly and substanceless, and there’s a thin line separating the wheat from the chaff. No Floor succeeds where other examples might fail because of its subtext. For all of the celestial ambitions of ambient americana, the pedal steel still evokes the desolation of Middle America and the decaying American dream. In a context where said decay is giving way to a wave of anti-trans hysteria and hatred, it almost has a sinister undercurrent. ‘Hopfields’, the album opener and one of its highlights, evokes biking through suburbia on a beautiful day. The sun is shining and the air is clean, but the air of hostility surrounding the rows of identical houses lingers in the background.
No Floor feels more widescreen than some of the duo’s previous projects, but there’s still space for experimentation. On ‘Kinda Tropical’, contemplative acoustic guitars strum for a few seconds and then disappear without a trace. More Eaze’s string arrangements, which are great throughout the album, are lush and swelling, but they never build to anything. The fragmented nature of the track only adds to its emotional resonance. There are moments in the middle of No Floor that feel a bit soundtrack-y, but the record ends on a high note with ‘Lowcountry’. The strings really shine here, calling to mind some of Eiko Ishibashi’s recent work. Then, in a wave of glitch, it cuts off abruptly, and we’re left with the sound of passing cars and unheard conversations in the distance. The album as a whole feels like a dream that’s always at risk of being interrupted by reality, where pure bliss is just out of reach. But there’s more power in the in-between anyway.
