They say some of the best art comes out of adversity, and Philip Clemo has turned a family crisis into a moving, memorable body of work.
All Colour Arts ACACDS004
Philip Clemo (guitars, voice, piano, keyboards, electronics, sound-design and field recordings); Arve Henriksen (trumpet, keys); Theo Travis (soprano saxophone, flutes); Sarah Homer (clarinet, bass clarinet); Kevin Pollard (piano, Fender Rhodes); Elizabeth McConkey (violin); Emily Burridge (cello); Stefan Celosia (guitar); Simon Edwards (electric bass, moog); John Edwards (double bass); Martyn Barker (drums, percussion); Dirk Wachtelaer (drums, percussion)
Recorded Philip Clemo’s studio, Sussex; Echo Zoo Studio, East Sussex; Fly Studio, Brussels, and at several musicians’ home studios. No recording dates
A writer (I think it might have been either Martin Amis or Christopher Hitchens) once used a stark metaphor to describe the experience of having a life-threatening illness. He said it was having your life transported from the land of the well to the continent of the unwell. Anyone inhabiting this continent (and the people who are close to them) will experience a mix of fear, dread and apprehension.
The blue wave in this album’s title refers to the kaleidoscope of emotions Philip Clemo experienced as a father when his youngest daughter became seriously ill. The music on this album charts his emotional journey, which thankfully ended on a happy note, with his daughter recovering.
Philip Clemo (who was born in Scotland) is a multimedia artist. He’s a composer and musician (this is his seventh album); a filmmaker, sound designer and performer. He’s one of those artists who work at the interface of art and technology. With his visual arts background, it’s no surprise that the music on this album has a widescreen, cinematic feel. It’s multi-layered and multi-textured. There are soundscapes which bathe your ears in a multitude of sounds; and others which are sparse, light and minimalist. Clemo describes his music as a blend of spiritual minimalism, electronica, experimental rock, Krautrock (Kraftwerk being one of the genre’s best-known acts) and jazz fusion.
The advancement of music technology – which took off in the 1980s – has given musicians a seemingly endless choice of musical possibilities. Sometimes, the technology tail wags the musical concept, but not in this case. There is a lot of humanity in this music, and even if you didn’t know the backstory to the compositions, it’s still very affecting. It helps that Clemo knows when not to over-egg the technology pudding and he’s enlisted a fine cast of musicians to support him, including Soft Machine’s Theo Travis on sax and flute; Norwegian trumpeter Arve Henriksen and cellist Emily Burridge.
This album was created rather like a painting. Clemo creates a master canvas of music and other musicians add a dash of sound here, or sometimes something much more substantial. But whether their contribution is large or small, it all matters to the music. The album was created using a mix of improvisation and editing. Sometimes, musicians recorded their parts in a home studio. But the music sounds coherent, as is everyone was in the same room at the same time, reacting to each other.
The opening number, ‘Stalker’ last for almost 13-minutes and is suite-like in its construction. The opening consists of synthesisers and electronic sounds combining and then surging to create a bleak, icy landscape, which is pierced by the plaintive cry of Henriksen’s trumpet. His horn is treated with electronics and there are times when he is barely blowing into his mouthpiece, as if gasping for breath. It’s a haunting sound that captures the anxiety associated with a serious illness.
Two minutes in, the sound is joined by a slow, steady drumbeat, reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s ‘Breathe’ from the Dark Side of the Moon album. The colours and textures created by flute, electronic sounds and Henriksen’s trumpet, create an evocative sound. A rich, percussive section starts up at four and half minutes in, driving the music forwards. The instruments slowly drop out towards the end of the song, leaving behind a bleak electronic soundscape and the eerie sounds of flute and trumpet.
‘Maze’ is a midtempo piece with a drumbeat that is relentless as a heartbeat, with electronic sounds squawking and twittering in the background. ‘The Frozen Sea,’ is well-titled. It’s a dark, brooding number that evokes the image of a vast, glacial landscape. Electronic sounds sweep across the soundscape, along with mournful sounds from cello, bass clarinet, piano and violin.
‘Machines’ sounds like a musical mechanical beast, with a disorientating intro of babbling electronic sounds, a rock-steady mechanical beat and steam-engine sound effects. The percussion sounds like two workers hammering with synchronised strikes. At the coda, a clarinet flutters over the mechanical bedrock of sound. ‘Journeying’ is one of my favourites. It starts with an ascending mix of electronic sounds and a slow, steady drumbeat, which are joined by the plangent sounds of trumpet and soprano saxophone.
‘Constriction’ is a dark, menacing number, with an unsettling intro that sounds like an approaching peril, and clashing electronic sounds create a feeling of dread. ‘To Breathe’ by contrast, has a lighter opening, with slow, swirling electronic strings merging with the sounds of a bass clarinet. Sarah Homer (who co-wrote the tune) is the standout performer on this number, her clarinet and bass clarinet (which are double tracked in places) adding rich, deep sounds and colours.
‘Seeing Is Believing/Machines Reprise’ is another gem, with a vast, swirling electronic soundscape enveloping the listener’s ears. A simple piano riff adds poignancy to the sound, as sounds slowly ebb and flow across the sonic canvas. ‘Machines Reprise’ is very short, with a brief repeat of the stream engine effects. ‘Space To Dream’ is an atmospheric piece, alternating between a ballad and a midtempo piece, and coloured with electronic sounds, strings and bass clarinet. The shortest tune, ‘Rest’ is less than two minutes in length. It’s like a sonic firework display, as electronic sounds rise, burst and then fall to Earth, to be replaced by other ascending sounds, and the cycle repeated.
The closing number, ‘Dawn’ ends the album on an optimistic note. A delicately picked guitar starts off the track. There’s a light, delicate feel to the music, and it does sound as if the world is just waking up. At the coda, a chorus of voices chant, ‘Take it all away,’ and the song slowly comes to a conclusion. They say some of the best art comes out of adversity, and Philip Clemo has turned a family crisis into a moving, memorable body of work.
