“Just playing the few notes you really feel and otherwise not playing anything.”
Nils Frahm is a unique musician whose work is a union of analogue electronics and classical influences. On Music for Animals, Nils expands his catalogue by three hours, serving up a gargantuan record of longform ambience. Whilst Nils achievements are unique and untouchable in many regards, similarly extensive works from ambitious artists have had mixed results. Sigur Ros‘ Liminal Sleep was pleasant but has not stood the test of time. Four Tet‘s Parallel opens on a 27-minute epic, and thus I struggle to recollect what happened beyond it. Meanwhile, Max Richter‘s Sleep contained about four or five musical ideas in its 8 hour, 31 track runtime, and was brilliant. In all these cases, the artists have been aware that their long pieces should be crafted carefully. This lends Music for Animals a distinct purpose, both philosophically and in practice.
Moreover, Nils Frahm is self-aware on the precarious nature of a more “purely” ambient record, whilst taking aim at modern trends in ambient music. I agree with his assessment that, increasingly, the role that ambient music has as “relaxation music” is being emphasized over its other qualities. If Brian Eno‘s Music For Airports did anything wrong, it cemented this idea of ambience-for-functionality. Many Spotify playlists encouraging you to “relax” or “chill” are full of artists that have only a few algorithmically-optimized singles, each played millions of times (probably on repeat, in a spa). I’ll guarantee it all sounds nice, harmless, and by no means an incorrect entry to ambient music – indeed, our relationship with music (and art) cannot be untangled with its function, and we should celebrate what music can do for us whether we seek to ponder or party. But there is a separation between what the mostly faceless Spotify relaxation-core scene and an artist like Nils Frahm does. The breadth of his body of work and the kinds of feelings his work inspires are a testament to this. Think for example of Aphex Twin – if you heard his celebrated piano ballad “Avril 14th” without context, you would have a very different opinion of him compared to if you had happened upon it whilst stuttering through the full opus that is Druqks.
The question is, does Frahm’s talent also come through in longer-form pieces, or is he best suited to more focused, short-form tracks? Music for Animals is certainly “minimalist” in the sense that each piece explores only a few ideas. Some momentum can be found, particularly towards the end of the tracks, as instrumentation and melodies shift and resolve. These changes are subtle and gradual, coming at the pace only a live performance could impart. Some sense of progress is important, as otherwise a piece could be to focused on its fundamental looping idea, a trend I notice too often in analogue tape music. These cases are a lost opportunity to make texturally rich pieces more compositionally compelling. Of course, ambient musicians can instead completely dedicate themselves to looper-ism, like Celer or Blanket Swimming. Importantly, Nils Frahm has struck a good balance between consistency and progression with tracks like “Lemon Day” and “Stepping Stone”.
Nils Frahm‘s classic sounds are all over this record. “The Dog with 1000 faces” mixes pulsating, bassy drones, flickering synths (the most undeniably ‘Frahm‘ aspect), and what seems to be a dollop of static noise into a soothing tapestry. The drones might be sourced from a glass harmonica played by Frahm‘s wife, although given the context of the record, I would hope to be forgiven for mistaking it for a synthesizer at times. No matter the source, the low tones across Music for Animals are rich and engrossing. The shortest track, “Right Right Right“, could easily have appeared on All Melody as a ‘long interlude’, but also makes sense here: a sequenced rhythm backed by processed strings, with delay effects occasionally catching the edges of sounds and propagating them through time. It’s a good signpost ‘single’ for the record: try it, and if it tickles your fancy, dive into the rest.
“Sheep in Black and White” is the creepy slow dance version of Nils Frahm’s “All Melody”, and the album’s darkest moment. This mood carries over into “Stepping Stone”, which offers some distinct structure and gratifying resolution in its final six minutes. This takes the form of a two-chord sequence: one chord building tension, the other resolving. The instrument of choice here is a breathy lead pad, possibly an homage to the late Pauline Oliveros‘ beloved sonic palette. Next, the unfortunately-named “Briefly” is the longest track at 27 minutes. With it, the mood transitions to one of comfort and contentment, like a quiet Monday morning sunrise at the start of a good week. “Lemon Day” then opens with a three-minute new age synthesizer conversation that could have been its own track. These synths return under a sequenced rhythm and gently-clattering sample to make a very satisfying fifteen-minute piece. These tracks are a sequence of strong, long moments, but other notable tracks include “Mussel Memory”, whose drones promote this sensation of gravity lifting you upwards. Another great piece is “Seagull Scene”, which, besides being a good name for a Blackpool-based DIY punk band, plucks its synths and textures from a Tangerine Dream.
Just one of these pieces doesn’t work for me; “Do Dream” is mostly a slow duet between something like a wind instrument and accordion. Texturally, it’s satisfying, but as it presents like a slow solo, it feels like it has much less to say than its runtime provides. Just as “Do Dream” feels like it might conclude on a pedalled, gravelly bass note, the soloing instrument disappointingly returns to play the same few notes glumly. All things considered, that’s the first time I’m saying something went on for too long on Music for Animals. And given that this is the final track on a three-hour album, this is plenty good innings. It’s also nice to listen to a record as substantial as this one that doesn’t overstate its intent or claim a high concept; it’s simply pleasant, sufficiently engaging, and cinematic. Even if you don’t see yourself getting through all three hours of Music for Animals, do yourself a favour and try spinning “Lemon Day” or “Stepping Stone” as a breather between your other plays.
However, if we’re going to talk about music-for-function, I have to say my cats simply slept through Music for Animals. In the supposed “modern” context of how we use ambient music, apparently that’s the extent of what it’s for, so I’ll award a perfect rating on their behalf. Then again, unless I am listening to birdsong or harsh sine waves, my two cats don’t tend to notice audio cues. Unless I’m personally playing guitar, of course…
7.5/10 (10/10 from my cats)
Music for Animals is out this Friday via LEITER, and can be pre-ordered here.