Silje Nes stretches out and bathes in a swamp of fuzzy, low pitched notes, played with ascetic restraint, and encrusted with a scattered array of digital crunches and warm machine detritus.
As the album opens with a juddering, deep sound given a frisson of high voltage, at first blush the album seems to betray symptoms of a hodgepodge. This remains the case throughout, but it is oftentimes channeled into a weightlessness and filmic melodrama, which fairs somewhat better. “Melt”, for one, is built around a nebulous and reverbed keyboard stab that looms darkly at the centre, garlanded by waif-like bleeps, cascades of soft noise, and the coy vocal of Nes. Along these lines, the insistently clicky kick drum of “Drown” rides a delectable crest of overtones, as the gentle guitar melody staggers through stammer effects, delaying the pay-off.
Nes particularly comes into her own when more of a reciprocity is maintained between the melodic acoustic lamentations and guileless electronic excursions. Her strength lies firmly in the former camp, with her consistent ability to arrange tentative melodies and bright harmonics. The electronic tinkering, though not strong enough to stand on its own, opens up lovely modal possibilities and saves certain works from having to rely upon major/minor dichotomies. Ames Room is sometimes engrossing, other times frustrating – more often than not, it tantalizes one with thoughts of what could be.
Max Schaefer
