Monday, April 16, 2012

Jayson Munro's "Meteor Tears" EP; A Sonic Mirror

I can't call myself a musical expert, not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm your Average Listener, merely moved by what I hear, unskilled in breaking it down to its bare components in my mind. It's a holistic and mystical experience for me, my disbelief is suspended and all I know is what I like and what I don't. With that disclaimer, I've really enjoyed Jayson Munro's new EP "Meteor Tears." These four songs present a seamless interplay of multiple tracks telling a realistic story, unfolding organically, building towards a larger picture. A complete picture, with a definitive end. I like how self-contained this is, how continually it flows. The subtle, reflective sadness that drives these sounds reminds me, at times, of the instrumental work underlying Low's early albums. But it gets a lot harder, a lot heavier. It crashes and crests, it gets really... big."Meteor Tears" could easily score a short film, rumbling forward and progressing steadily. Ending in an utter explosion.

I listened to this again after walking through the darkest parts of Brooklyn at night, and felt even more strongly that this is a soundtrack for cities, for modernity. It turns the industrial landscape into a forest, in my eyes-- Jayson Munro's work here is to music as Carl Sandburg's poems were to literature. Like the cities themselves are the new wilderness, and I hear echoes of our primal beginnings coming down the alleyways. And the contrast of my own small heart beating inside, as I walk. Maybe that's my own strange ear's perspective, as the piece is pretty open to subjective interpretation. All I can speak to is the way these songs reflect my own experience.

For me, this is rock for a world moving through syrup, insistent noise tempered by educated restraint. I become more aware of how strange this modern surging life is, and of the dizzying speed at which we all move. This EP insists upon a pause. I let go of the mouse and stop the infinite clicking and tip-tip-typing. I hold in my breath when I hear such orchestral swelling, leading into a dark breakdown. I stop my day. Sometimes we all forget what it's like to give up that control. That's what art is all about, right? Leading us by the hand to the core of things, the Real underlying our daily routines.

No comments: