Lost At Sea (UK)

Efforts made at comprehending artists who operate within the tiniest of musical sub-niches can warp the mind. Par exemple: For Myria isn’t an album you can throw on while showering before a night on the razz; nor is it ideal dinner-party background music. Multitasking, dwindling amounts of attention, distractions and interference can often misplace the minimalism, subtle instrumentation and randomness of this field; if For Myria‘s appeal is to be truly uncovered, it demands the listener to surrender his or her absolute attention.

Like much of 12k’s repertoire, newcomer Jodi Cave has chosen to focus on tones and textures rather than melodies with For Myria, his debut full-length. His compositions tend to ebb and flow in terms of structure, consisting of sparse glockenspiel tinklings, muffled hums and ground failure noises, coming together as a delicate, transcendent patchwork of sound. Though melody tends to play second fiddle, Cave keeps things warm and fuzzy, positioning For Myria on the brighter end of the minimalist electronic spectrum.

The album’s nine-minute opener, “For Myria (One),” sets the scene, emerging with a collection of processed whirrs before a torrent of pattering electronic noise takes over. “Rara.A” sounds like the result of a microphone being scraped with a coin, with Cave’s chiming glockenspiel and enveloping sine waves frolicking in the background, while “For Sine and Breath Tones” ends the record with the digital manipulation of a sustained hiss.

Though bright and affable, For Myria falls some way short of spectacular. The instrumentation works well, but Cave tends to stumble over the noisier elements, which lack the experimentalism and diversity of, say, Sebastien Roux. For Myria marks another noteworthy episode for 12k, exhibiting the potential for Cave’s to elevate his recordings from proficient to distinguished. He has some ground to make, but For Myria shows promise.