Similes - Eluvium

Similes

Eluvium
Temporary Residence.

SCQ Rating: 81%

“I’m a vessel between two places I’ve never been,” intones Matthew Cooper over the petal-soft piano of ‘The Motion Makes Me Last’, and it’s certainly a moment to savour. Like how a freeze-frame of reality can concrete to one’s memory, this lyric alone sums up the quiet hesitation of choosing one path over another and living with the consequences. Such are the boundaries of Similes’ mentality, a record dedicated to Cooper’s personal deliberations as much as it is cratered by an obvious sonic progression. Gone are Copia’s post-classical meanderings that often sounded as ambient as a junior-high piano recital and lost are the gauzy epics that bogged down Cooper’s focus; what is Similes if not the clairvoyant, unhurried jewel beneath that former record’s rocky terrain, a mystic knowledge acquired through those growing pains? The assuredness muscled at the roots of these eight songs are both reflective and seemingly enthralled by their very existence… so when Cooper sings about being a vessel between two unknown ends, it’s completely viable that one end is personal, the other professional.

A less subtle acknowledgement to that lyric is that, um, there are lyrics on an Eluvium record! Beyond his recent welcoming of verse-and-chorus structures, Cooper’s inconspicuous vocals warrant recognition as the biggest risk of his seven-year career. Whether treading low and cautiously over ‘Leaves Eclipse The Night’’s humid rustling or leading the finale ‘Cease To Know’, these vocal outings consistently hint at an emotional punch not worth engaging in forthright. Similes is more effective shadowboxing anyway, creating highlights out of missed climaxes and reveries out of sidewalk-wandered self-analysis. To call this album introverted doesn’t even do it justice; to recognize that every song with lyrics is centered around the word “mind” is getting warmer. As gently cohesive as Similes feels, it remains a brazen progression that will cause some Eluvium fans to turn up their noses. Let them. After the gluttonous Life Through Bombardment - a box-set of every Eluvium LP ever released – made a lengthy case for how predictable Cooper’s brand of ambience can become when split into sonic shades, Similes is a well-timed second coming that spotlights his craft in an exciting new direction. A brilliant document from an artist who lives between ambiguity and transparency, Similes brings out the best of both realms.

Copia - Eluvium

Copia

Eluvium
Temporary Residence Records.

SCQ Rating: 64%

I’ve spent the entirety of ‘Indoor Swimming at the Space Station’ trying to find an opening sentence for reviewing Copia, Eluvium’s (aka Matthew Cooper’s) latest instrumental offering. For the record, that’s a ten minute swim and so far, this is the best I’ve got. I’m laying all my critical shortcomings on the table because, to be blunt, this record doesn’t call for verbose reactions. I could explain how ‘Seeing You Off the Edges’, like many of Copia’s songs, is a blur of treated keyboard and strings that are comforting despite their intense downheartedness, but that could describe most songs from Talk Amongst the Trees as well. Or, I can discuss how Cooper has abandoned much of that previous album’s electronic production in favour of traditional instruments, but the compositions are largely unchanged. Truly, these lonely recordings are expertly constructed to relax their listener, only occasionally providing a moment’s silence for he or she to announce: “It’s beautiful”.

The melancholy is beautiful, yes, but it’s also domineering; the emotional focus of ‘Ostinato’ or ‘Reciting the Airships’ is so restrictive that it rivals soundtrack-status for long-winded dramas. Much of this critique can be aimed at Cooper’s piano-led numbers – ‘Prelude for Time Feelers’ and ‘Radio Ballet’ are the clearest examples – which are lovely but entirely indistinctive, the kind of faux-classical mush you hear your dentist’s secretary playing while you sit in the waiting room. I appreciate a good mood piece, but the repetition and suffocating sorrow ensures that Copia will only be played when you need a break from the records you’re obsessed with.

My issue is obviously with the compositions more than their graceful execution, and thankfully Cooper offers a few fully developed songs where its mood depends on the listener’s perspective. Beyond ‘Requiem on Frankfort Ave.’ and ‘Hymn #1’ (two of the shortest songs here, sadly), ‘Amreik’ is the real deal, sharply arranged and balancing the tightrope over disappointment and hope. Like its cover suggests, Copia is at its best when we can see the full picture, the sky among the mountains.

Wow, maybe this record does deserve some discourse.