Finland. Jazz. Not exactly a combination that was self-evident when I found this assignment in my virtual office tray - Scandinavian neighbors Sweden have a far more notable (fusion) history in this field to my knowledge. But at first listen it becomes rather apparent that the colorful bunch that makes up Black Motor isn't all that intelligible, nor is the brand of jazz they bring on Vaarat Vastukset.
While the sax, drums and upright bass are the base of Black Motor's sound, they've expanded their instrumentation with some of the finer weirdling background-fillers such as strings of bells and chimes, flute, chants and mantras. As a whole, this album is one you're not likely to use when you like a jazzy vibe over Sunday brunch; this album is ideal for the late nights, when the level of Jack Daniels drops under it's label and conversations are limited to a few strenuous "yeahs" (or other states of low brain-activity). As such, Vaarat Vastukset works very well for those experienced in the field of mind-altering music, with its lengthy episodes of krautesque jazz explorations.
Now don't get me wrong, if the jazz department of your collection only contains a Miles Davis collection box and a Best OfJohn Coltrane, this might still push your buttons in the right order. Throughout the album, the experimental jazz approach prevails but still offers mellow resting areas and groovy bits of "drunken rhythms;" one even encounters some parts the listener could hum along with after a few listens. Some of those intermezzos call the soundtrack Baise Moi to mind, or at least the closing four tracks composed by the hand of Jan Varou.
In all, if an experimental three quarters of an hour doesn't scare you off and you can handle your jazz, it is well worth checking out this album. The production is as organic and solid as you'd find it on late sixties- early seventies prog or krautrock albums. I realize that this album can take some effort on the listener's behalf at first, but it gains much in depth once you find your way in Black Motor's sonic universe.
A bolt of lo-fi lightning searches its way through the thick skies and I found myself awakening, not knowing how I got where I was and unable to define my state of being; how could I be sure I was leaving the blissful mantra of silence and deep sleep? I rested my eyes for a few moments and inhaled my surroundings. I remembered an ancient wisdom and, confident in my faith that, however horrific (or redemptive) it might turn out to be, I'd follow the flow of the proverbial river.
The dark tunnel lightened as I confirmed my decision, filling the atmosphere with a dense and ancient graphite glow. Whatever the nature of the forces at work may be, whatever their objective was, I realized that this would be an endeavor where I had no choice but to comply with the unearthed rails ahead. My vessel reminded me of Blaine the Mono, and my surroundings confirmed this hypothesis. Waves of landscapes that once were stunning - but at the time of my passing were no more than victims of time that moved on - drew themselves past the windows of my mute railroad companion who needed to focus on the screeching of the rusty rails.
"Grave Robbing in Texas"
A shift in the speed told me that soon I had to leave the crazed people-carrier I had become accustomed to. Tension rose as my schizophrenic means of transportation came to a halt. As Blaine rested, I was lured in the direction of the dark, trembling monotone voice hiding in ambient space; the only distinct feature in the darkened surroundings I could make out. Drawn by the far-off wailing ghosts of haunted monks, I found my way to their grave and took in their omnipresent vibrations. They tested me as much as they could, cleansing the mind with the abundance of dark drones that spawned out of unrecognizable and untraceable sources.
"Dark Country Road"
The "Grave Robbing in Texas" had taken a lot out of me; in fact, the past eight minutes had been quite an ordeal at their most intense moments. I doubted that the deafening silence was a sign that I had completed my mysterious trip, so I examined my options to avoid my new-found status of Chinese volunteer.
The evaluation of my options was suddenly solved by the distant swelling of familiar sound of diminishing metal on corroding iron, aided by layers of soft droning ambient. I panicked, as I knew that the easiest (and perhaps only) way out of this silent madness was on that psychotic train that had such a prominent place in a book I so fondly read in my childhood and adolescence. I pulled myself out of my still state and rushed back, hoping I'd be able to catch him. Despite my effort, I had no choice but to proceed on foot. The sound of Blaine's friction began to fade away in the night as I followed the obscured road, which I could only assume was leading where I had to go.
"On Perdition Hill"
I'd been walking through the statically-charged silent surroundings for some time before Perdition Hill loomed out of the sonic scenery. I worked myself to the summit, hoping I'd be able to give my journey a direction, and as I took in the more prolific soundscapes, I was able to recognize some form of civilization in a city that I could only assume that it once was (or would be) Lud. As I gazed over its form, I realized that my interpretations were fueled by my desire to escape a "real" world that made even less sense to me than this fictional place. I decided to continue, as I had come this far already, and maybe there was redemption to be found down there.
"Slow Motion Prayer Circle"
As I descended towards the abandoned city, its rumbling faded and made way for yet another ephemeral entity. I stopped in the midst of an open area, illuminated by a rock formation where the Celts would be jealous of - massive pillars forced the charging winds to break and form an audible play of siren-like chants, hypnotizing me. They seemed to want to break off my journey, to force me to give up and enjoy their eternal, shapeshifting song until I'd dissolve into them. I pulled myself away from the soothing loops and went down the path towards Lud, entering the final stage of my endeavor.
"The Ghosts of Eden Trail"
I found my way to the final frontier and let the familiar, yet somehow richer ambient of this place soak in, anticipating a means to end this journey, one that would make the tale complete. I wandered around for a while, finding nothing but the repetitive, fluctuating beauty of cascading strings. All of a sudden, I recognized my former companion in the distance, coming to a raucous halt under this lost city. Blaine was waiting for me nearby, and I felt joy come over me as I remembered another ancient teaching; it was not the destination that was important, but the journey itself. This one offered many stunning sights, sounds and experiences - I had forgotten my ways when I had been waiting for a climax, and I must atone for my recklessness. Trembling, I caressed Blaine's shell, thanking him for letting me find my way again, and then boarded while I wondered what forgotten world I'd envision the next time I hit the play button.
William Fowler Collins's first release on Type Records (and second overall) tastes like the dark and cinematic ambient of labelmate Xela, and is right in place in the respectable list of artists who signed on this prolific label. This San Fransico based artist tells audible tales with a dark and organized structure that'll evoke visions of abandoned wastelands where scavengers are patiently waiting for their prey. Recommended if you like cinematic dark ambient with an intelligent approach, music that takes its time to evolve without using massive droning forces just for the sake of it.
6.5/10
