REVIEW: Corbo - Adrift

Kelly Kirwan

California is for dreamers. A mecca of artists out for their big break within a concrete maze of freeways, Los Angeles has a sun-bathed glint that so often catches our eye and pulls us in closer. And mixed in with all that scrappy ambition funneled towards "making it" is a lingering undercurrent of ennui. LA can wear you down, with its encroaching sense of loneliness seeping in at the most unsuspecting of traffic lights.

Corbo (also known as Corbin Clarke, from the dynamic duo that is Bür Gür) has captured this intermingling of easygoing West Coast vibes and lurking listlessness in his solo debut. This independent undertaking, Adrift, has been described as a wandering through LA's art scene, "an acute appreciation of ephemeral beauty colored by a gentle sadness." Even the album’s cover conveys this feeling, a somewhat pixelated, neon-colored wash of abstract watercolor. It's an apt transmutation of Corbo's melodies, with their glimmering synths and breezy guitar riffs falling together with the ease of an exhale. His vocal accompaniments are varied, displaying a range of talented singers on the rise, and their presence on the album furthers the album's starry-eyed atmosphere.

Adrift as a whole is textured and sprawling. Each of the nine tracks has its own vivid identity, but listening to them in succession seems like a requirement. Corbo’s music induces a trance-like state, like a daze that sets in after long stretches of driving, and it feels as if you’ve thought about everything and nothing. On "Crack," crinkling is the main motif. Genevieve Artadi’s breathy, satin vocals follow an introduction akin to shattered glass crunching under our shoes. She then guides us, with her lightweight timbre, into bouts of white noise as the song narrows into silence before billowing again.

Then there’s “Our Everything,” with speaker-rattling percussion that dots the melody in a pattern we can’t immediately place. Phantom Thrett’s singing is downright soulful, letting the lyrics linger in his magnetic croon, “And I know the strength in numbers / But I like to be alone sometimes.” The song is speckled with these sweet if not deceivingly innocuous details, like “I turned on my radio / I heard a song my granny used to sing to me / It made me feel at home.” It’s a beautiful song, a rumination on cravings for solitude, made more complex by a simultaneous desire to keep our connections close.

Another favorite is "The 81," which is a beaut. It’s experimental with heavy helpings of funk, guided by Sudan Moon’s vocals, which are ever-so-slightly raspy in their murmur. Her voice is layered, at times start-and-stop, and mixes with the ambient touches of laughter that evoke warm weather respites. And the truth is, we’ve only cracked the surface. Adrift is an album that can fill any space, infiltrate any mood. It's not to be missed.

VIDEO PREMIERE: Ensemble Pamplemousse - Organic Synthesis Vol. 1

Laura Kerry

You may have come here to this music blog in search of bands, in which case, I will warn you that Ensemble Pamplemousse is not a band. As their name suggests, they are more of a collective, and their song “Organic Synthesis Vol. 1” is less of a song than a work or composition. Playing together since 2013, the group is comprised of several musicians of different backgrounds and instruments who unified under the banner of experimentalism. In “Organic Synthesis Vol. 1,” Ensemble Pamplemousse continues to stretch the bounds of music, using familiar and unfamiliar instruments and sounds to create an unsettled and unsettling, yet precisely structured and oddly engaging piece.

Organic Synthesis Vol. 1 from Ensemble Pamplemousse on Vimeo.

The video, premiering here, is also atypical. Set against brightly colored solid backgrounds, the three musicians in it—Jessie Marino, Andrew Greenwald, and David Broome—appear outside of space (until around the eight-minute mark, when they appear in a room and then in a tie-dye haze in outer space), which adds to the general sense of disorientation. By stripping away the usual bearings and replacing them with elements of the absurd, the work playfully chips away at the constraints of music as we typically understand it. In the video, sometimes a cello creaks; a bow can play a drum; humans sound like birds; robotics are instruments; and music is a moment humid, sweaty silence. One part of the forthcoming video album, This Is The Uplifting Part, “Organic Synthesis Vol. 1” rewards a sense of humor, curiosity, and the suspension of disbelief.

PREMIERE: Multa Nox - Simmer

Gerard Marcus

Multa Nox's upcoming EP might be one of the most well-crafted pieces of music I’ve heard this year—every sound seems like it's exactly where it's supposed to be. A prime example of that is its first single, "Simmer." In it, composer Sally Decker crafts a style that ebbs and flows, creating a world that beautifully balances tension and release. Her use of different sonic qualities, amplitude, and position in the stereo field draws listeners in and refuses to let go.

It's a testament to her development as a composer that "Simmer" falls more into the realm of enveloping experience than isolated single, feeling (true to its title) like a pot of water boiling around you. Her overall production chops, mastery of synths, and attention to detail allow her to convey that aesthetic of submersion with grace and subtlety.

Granted, this isn’t music for everyone. It's a style that encourages focus, not on any one subject in particular, but on the act of listening itself—"Simmer" will, quite frankly, challenge your concept of what it means to engage with music. The full Multa Nox EP comes out next week, and there are few things we'll recommend more as the soundtrack to a contemplative spring.