There’s an eerie, unsettling remove at work in the drones of French sound artist Sylvie Walder, like an itch one cannot scratch. The 13 pieces that make up Moments function much like movements in the classical music sense, each delicate drone providing a new glimpse into Walder’s world, but ultimately offering no conclusive picture. Walder was a former member of Les Bruits des Silence, and has a history of self released drone recordings behind her, but I’d doubt that they’d match the precision found on these intimate works.
Walder quotes metaphysical musical mystic Gurdjieff in ‘trying to remember oneself’, these tracks functioning as snapshots, Walder capturing tiny details and bringing these to the listeners attention, but through her ears. Fragments are magnified, distorted, processed, presented as blurred, hazy, warm or cold, much like memories and recollections. Gurdjieff-like piano motifs lie buried beneath layers of wispy drones (‘Paris Failure’), deadened chuch bells toll meaninglessly (Non Depourvue d’une Violence’), birdsong decorates glacial shimmering pads (‘Restored’, ‘Sunday After Noon’). For all the warmth and silken beauty there’s a deep menace at work, lurking just beneath the surface. It’s as though Walder is exploring the same horrifying underworlds as David Lynch, only the veneer is more firmly masked on. Nonetheless, Walder’s is a wonderful world to be lost in.
Joshua Meggitt
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