William Bevan, the electronic solo artist also known as Burial, has attracted much critical acclaim, but his music has always struck me as too detached and too unfeeling. His 2007 release "Untrue" lacked the emotional truth that characterizes the strongest and most poignant electronic works. Bevan's DJ stints around London and the four EPs to his name have taken strange and innovative stabs at redefining exactly what electronic music can be, and the result has often been far from accessible.
With the release of Burial's latest and most fascinating EP, "Kindred," however, I join the throng of listeners whose ears have been opened.
Perhaps I can credit James Blake's recent efforts for teaching me how to be patient and accepting of subtle electro-dub. Or maybe it's the musical overload of exhausting dubstep remixes that have taken the Internet by storm as of late, creating what Blake himself describes as a contest for "who can make the dirtiest, filthiest bass sound, almost like a pissing competition."
As one attempts to navigate through this cloud of effects and samples, scattered female voices, and hallucinatory syllables, "Kindred" provides rays of light displaying deft craftsmanship.
This EP demands quite a bit from its listener. It isn't very easy to sit through. You can't put it on while getting dressed, you can't dance to it, and you can't do homework to it; it suggests the soundtrack to some eerie '80s nocturnal action flick, but its mood hints at something more important in the development of electronic music.
It's a haunting and important suite deserving of careful attention.
Save for a few breathtaking and heart-pounding minutes in "Loner," the EP plays more like a piece of classical music than any traditional electronic album.
While there are only three songs here, each exceeds seven minutes in length and is broken into discrete sections; effects and whisperings come, go, develop, saturate and dissolve back into silence on each track. Much of "Kindred" feels experimental and free-form yet has a clear organization and internal consistency.
A major motif in this EP is the recurring crackle and hum of a record needle scratching against vinyl, calling to mind something nostalgic and pure.
The effect makes us feel as if we're searching for something, looking through the depths of forgotten sounds to piece together these intricate compositions. Considered in this sense, the listening experience becomes an active one.
"Kindred"—the title track—begins with a choir of angelic hymns played against a backdrop of broken static. A complex, heavy and repetitive beat emerges, providing the backbone of the song.
Then the mood shifts rather quickly.
Vocal samples appear, seemingly originated from R&B or some '90s radio-ready pop song.
With the voices come a melody and a more defined sonic backdrop and suddenly the stakes are higher, and the song feels more important as the words struggle to find clarity.
As on the other two tracks, Bevan achieves this by deconstructing vocal samples to a point where they sound like instruments and obscure noises, devoid of their human quality.
The beat departs and re-enters throughout the song, as if it keeps forgetting its stage entrance, or continuing to walk into the wrong room.
"Loner" begins similarly with a collection of soft and sweet voices, then a male voice warns the listener: "There is something out there."
The combination of the two elements sets a serene mood while simultaneously putting the listener on edge.
This is still a room of shadows, and we are still unable to fully conceive of every noise's origin. There quickly develops a rather digestible beat, a noticeable bass line, and a strong synthesizer arpeggio. It's easily the most palatable section of the entire EP, yet a haze of droned vocals adds depth.
"Ashtray Wasp" is calmer than the two previous tracks. With more subdued beats, the synthesizer phrases are stranger, more like radar signals and alarm sounds.
Except for dark hushes of phrases like "I want you" and "I need," most of the vocals in the final track are indecipherable. They weave and build upon each other; they are stretched to their limits, sped up and slowed down.
As the track builds, it quotes with subtle nostalgia the synthesizer themes of "Loner." Throughout the EP, Bevan cycles through phrases and motifs, rewarding the close listener.
Ultimately, this epic devolves into a simple piano melody with a tinkling bell.
It's a noticeably simple finale to what would be an otherwise mammoth record.
In the span of three songs and 30 minutes, Burial has crafted an album that is dark yet inviting, nostalgic yet forward-thinking, and altogether something I haven't seen the likes of since The Knife's gradually rewarding 2006 release, "Silent Shout."
The depth in "Kindred" continues to spill out upon repeat listens, and having done so upwards of 15 times in the past week, I'll confidently announce it as an early frontrunner for album of the year.
This week's five hum and beats:
Burial—"Kindred"
Johann Strauss II—"The Blue Danube"
Chromatics—"Running Up That Hill"
ATC—"Around The World"
Jack White—"Love Interruption"