Ian Holloway’s aural signature is a dark ambience more windswept than processed. In their immanence and immediacy, the works are generally closed to the listener, and their full, uninterrupted flow draws out an intimacy that keeps vigil in us.
Certainly there are separations, limits, attractive and repellant phenomena that arrive and traverse the sound field, creating diverse situations, but an awareness of the situation as such never appears to surface. More often than not, there is simply a dim, droning halo of sound, characterized by a fleet evocativeness and slight changes in momentum and breadth, all of which are achieved with some dexterity.
Regardless, one doesn’t simply sink into the proceedings. The sound is warm, but also ambiguous, with particular places especially marked by opaque aggregates that inspire some trepidation. In rare, well-timed moments, additional layers create a jarring sense of depth and perspective; and as the odd field recording gleams through the material, elements of the profane world do subtle yet strange violence to the long-form sustained tonalities.
Max Schaefer
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