Campbell Kneale's Birchville Cat Motel has been infecting ears with his unique amalgamation of noise and drones for over ten years. Always prolific, he has spawned multitudes of massive, monstrous compositions. With an even subtler touch than usual, this time Kneale turns his gaze to the heavens.
Lighter than much of Kneale's other material though no less involved, Gunpowder yearns to achieve some sort of meditative or transcendent state that's just out of reach. Yet there's too much commotion in the background, obscured as it may be, to quite hit the blissful highs for which it aims. Rather than an obvious transition to a grander objective, this composition seems to hang in the air even as other elements roil, albeit mutedly, below the surface. A slight wavering melody hovers like a dream throughout this piece, so delicate that it almost passes unnoticed. A loud church organ, or some other instrument that achieves much the same effect, dominates this track, lending the music an air of religiosity beyond the title itself. Although it holds this piece together, I also found that it distracted from the movement of sounds and textures that unfold underneath it. By the time the piece was finished, my ears were numb to its finer nuances and my mind retained only the domineering intervals, which unfortunately is a disservice to this otherwise fine recording.
While I enjoyed this quite a bit, I still prefer the Birchville material that has a bit more evolution to it, like the recent collaboration with Fear Falls Burning. If this one were half as long, I'd probably like it twice as much.
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