New York-based ambient producer / composer and painter Tor Lundvall is certainly an extremely prolific individual, having released no less than seven albums since the emergence of his 1997 debut offering Passing Through Alone on his own Eternal Autumn Editions label. Empty City, Lundvall’ seventh full-length effort in total sees him returning once more to the self-described “ghost ambient’s compositions that have characterised his previous work, and as its title alludes is designed to work as a collage of a city’ different personalities and settings, as well as Lundvall’ own personal reactions to them. The apparent inspiration for the twelve tracks contained within – train rides between Washington DC and New Jersey where Lundvall would stare out the window at abandoned factories and warehouses bathed in the orange glow of streetlights, is also reflected in the typically evocative paintings by Lundvall himself that adorn the sleeve art.
Curiously though, a closer investigation of the illustrations soon reveals that the images of the city are being viewed from beyond its limits, something that perhaps serves as a visual metaphor for the music within, which frequently evokes the sense of an outside observer exploring some deserted metropolis. From the outset, it’s also obvious that Empty City inhabits considerably more cold and isolationist territory in terms of mood, as compared to Lundvall’ recent seasonally themed Yule EP. Opening track “Scrap Yard’ whirs open with what sounds like a rush of air before brooding reverb-heavy synthesised cello chords and sparse slow beats begin to trace a path through atmospheres thick with the wash of ambient drones, a stray trace of sampled children’ voices lurking like a ghost at the very edges and providing perhaps the only palpable presence of human habitation amongst this collection.
Eerie ambient moment “Platform #3′ meanwhile sounds like something that could have been drawn from the darkest of film scores, its numbing electronic drones providing an ominous counterpoint for sampled breathing sounds and distant digital detritus, the whole combination evoking the sensation of someone floating in a coma. When recognisably human voices do make an appearance, their role is relegated to that of being another wordless textural element, rather than the lyrical structures that featured on Lundvall’ previous album, 2005′ “Last Light.’ I’m filing this alongside Lundvall’ recent Yule EP as one of the best borderline cold/dark ambient listening experiences I’ve had in a long time.
Chris Downton
