Music to unstiffen by. The new album by Mike Cottone is a rare wholeness, a dreamy collection of miniatures spun mainly off the acoustic guitar (though it shivers and sheens with an extended array of other non-electric instruments), gently fragmented, glitched and crackled upon, always verging on melody but never falling into step with expectations or conventional delivery.
‘Three Friends of Winter’ is a simple yet evocative title, resonant with the promise of an intimate short story to come, told by the pliant, bambooy voice of a thumb piano. ‘Over Treetops’ is an uncanny, precarious perch, a calm flute wending its way up through the canopy, while any number of benign water deities seem to be calling out from ‘Flotation Theme’. Each tale is a little different, but each is a variation or continuation of the one that came before, sprung from the same, contemporary folkloric mind.
Not only very beautifully crafted, it is deceptively simple music, even a bit shy – ‘Slow Bloom’ might have been an even better album name than merely track title. The listener might even ultimately infer a kind of green triumphalism in Incidental Music – if it grows it will always grow and if it is man-made and static, it will eventuallly submit to this imperative. Each fizzle and glitch represents the creepers and vines overtaking the abandoned factories and skyscrapers, from the tiers of air-conditioned server farm in the sub-basement to the mast of the broadcast tower.
Stephen Fruitman
