Burial: Street Halo / Kindred

BURIAL: STREET HALO / KINDRED (2012)

1) Street Halo; 2) NYC; 3) Stolen Dog; 4) Kindred; 5) Loner; 6) Ashtray Wasp.

Beat Records took the trouble of releasing two of Burial's EPs, Street Halo from 2011 and Kind­red from 2012, on a single CD — considering that they are ideologically quite close, this makes for a cozy enough «third album» to merit one more autonomous review: after all, much to Buri­al's honor, he does not regard electronic music recording as some sort of inevitable daily activity, on par with going to the bathroom, like quite a few of his peers do.

This does not automatically ensure that each new release of a Burial album turns into a mind-blowing event, but these two EPs, in particular, certainly go a step further than Untrue, and, I would say, more or less in the same direction in which Untrue alienated itself from the self-titled debut — namely, the music is gradually becoming louder and livelier, as if, indeed, the guy were busy constructing his own «cycle of life», where Burial represented the post-apocalyptic «cock­roaches, Cher, & Keith Richards» phase, Untrue was the baby organic matter recomposing itself after a lengthy wait period, and now these two EPs let you hear the newly developed steady pulse of life — immune not only to extreme radiation exposure, but even to dirty vinyl scratching.

The big difference, of course, is that, for the first time in Burial history, the dance beats are not only perfectly audible and usable, but they are also all over the place. ʽStreet Haloʼ employs a relatively straight techno track, to which Burial pins all his usual trademarks (melancholic ambi­ent synthesizers and vocal samples lifted from select R&B ballads). On ʽNYCʼ, the rhythms are more tricky, with an industrial flavor, but loud, precise, and predictable enough for the track to be classified as «body-oriented» — and then on ʽStolen Dogʼ the techno aspects are back, although, to be fair, all of the tracks are multi-part: every now and then, the beats sink into the mud, and the music takes some time to reform and regroup.

Kindred takes this liveliness even further by adding speed and frenzy — not on the title track, which mainly reproduces the atmosphere of ʽNYCʼ, but certainly on ʽLonerʼ, where not only the beats, but even the synthesizers are subjected to some rather unusual acceleration by Burial's standards (resulting in a slightly paranoid, never-stop impression not unlike the one triggered by Pink Floyd's ʽOn The Runʼ), and on the first part of ʽAshtray Waspʼ, whose rhythmic and melo­dic parts have really little to do with the image of an ashtray wasp — the fast-moving synth loops suggest dynamic journeying rather than immobile decomposing insect flesh.

That said, whether all this change is for the better or for the worse remains an open question. The transition from a largely «static» sound to a more dynamic ambience may give us reviewers something to write about, but it also steals away some of the bold charm that was the main reason to listen to and speak well of Burial in the first place. Ever so often, I catch myself thinking that, on their own, these tracks have nothing important to add to our understanding of electronic music ever since Richard D. James had expanded it so thoroughly even before the new millennium crept in. In context — yeah, sure, «death breeding life» and all that stuff that crept into my mind while trying to visualize the offered sonic ambience. But solitary standing — not really.

Granted, both EPs were generally met with tremendous praise by the critics: Kindred, in parti­cular, has received plenty of ecstatic rave reviews («never before has his music possessed this much majesty, this much command, this much power: the pathos here has moved from sym­pathetic to completely domineering», writes Andrew Ryce at Pitchfork, making me question the very es­sence of such terms as ʽmajestyʼ and ʽpowerʼ, neither of which I would ever associate with the music of Burial). But honestly, in terms of sheer substance, I see little, if any, progress here: basically, this is just the same solid Burial formula, made a bit more accessible for the average electronic listener. As such, this pair of EPs does deserve a solid thumbs up, but it hardly seems to deserve the «amazing techni­color breakthrough» tag that certain people suffering from long / short-term me­mory loss have been so keen on sticking to it.

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Burial: Untrue

BURIAL: UNTRUE (2007)

1) Untitled; 2) Archangel; 3) Near Dark; 4) Ghost Hardware; 5) Endorphin; 6) In McDonalds; 7) Untrue; 8) Shell Of Light; 9) Dog Shelter; 10) Homeless; 11) UK; 12) Raver.

Supposedly, the only way I can say something vaguely interesting about Untrue that has not al­ready been said by the ranters and ravers — and there have been quite a few of them around 2007, with Burial's second album predictably making even more of a splash than the first one, since this one was already expected — is by keeping up those visual interpretations. Naturally, Untrue is a logical sequel to Burial, conceived and executed in similar ways, built on similar ideas, and pro­ducing similar reactions. But if there are at least a few departures, how does that agree with the impression of a devastated post-World War III planet?

Well, the one thing that is different is that Untrue is a little busier. Its compositions may feature two samples instead of one, or three instead of two. Or there might be one or two extra layers of electronics. Most interestingly, there is a heavy increase in vocal samples of R&B artists — com­pared to Burial, almost every composition is populated with them, and now Aaliyah, Erykah Badu, Amanda Perez, and even Christina Aguilera have joined the roster. Coupled with Burial's dark bass and post-industrial electronics, their vocal loops represent the kinkiest in ironic decon­struction. If I were any of them, I'd probably start campaigning for a ban on sampling now — this is a prime example of «no-fair! use» (as opposed to «unfair»).

On the other hand, there are so many of these vocal bits now that they can no longer be interpre­ted as the symbolic last remains of human voices on the destroyed (deconstructed?) Earth. Rather, this might be the start of the rebirth cycle — the little ambient melodies that manage to break through the core of the bass frequencies and the vinyl crackle represent the world beginning to slowly get back on its feet (even if you have to use the vocal talents of Ray J. and Beyoncé to achieve the set goals).

In other words, Untrue is not nearly as «creepy» as its predecessor — and, consequently, not nearly as thrilling, at least not for those who have already, like me, formulated their own «rules of the universe according to Burial». It only takes playing the lead-in tracks back-to-back: ʽDistant Lightsʼ with its metallic hum and clanging midsize robots carrying on with their daily tasks, and ʽArchangelʼ, with its pseudo-Mellotron electronic backgrounds and Ray J.'s pleading, high-pit­ched vocals looped so densely that the whole track begins to resemble a goddamn prayer.

Of course, we're back in the dark on the correspondingly titled ʽNear Darkʼ, but even that track is hyper-populated with vocals that carry out their rotten task of humanizing the robotic beats. ʽGhost Hardwareʼ is a great title, and the interaction between the sampled Aguilera and the elec­tronics is ghostly indeed, but still there is no genuine sense of danger. Darkness, perhaps, but a peaceful, non-threatening — at least, not immediately threatening — kind of darkness. Later on, there will even be moments of majestic darkness: ʽDog Shelterʼ, for instance, completely free of beats and sounding as if it had been stolen out of one of Eno's vaults.

From this point of view, Untrue is a bit of a letdown for me. The combination of dubstep forma­lities with ye old time industrial and dark ambient stylistics that this guy latched on to was not tremendously unique or innovative, but it was quite a find, certainly much more of a find than you'd expect from one of the several million wannabe electronic wizards dicking around with pre­packaged software. Here, it already seems a bit sissied-up and diluted, shedding some of that at­mosphere — even if, paradoxically, I suppose that more work must have been invested in Untrue than in its predecessor. But this is just one of those cases where too many ingredients do not exactly spoil the broth, yet somewhat cancel out each other.

Still, a thumbs up, because if my visualisation fails, it's just my problem, right? In most respects, nothing has really changed, and if your perception of this kind of music follows more abstract guidelines, you might not even notice this seeming transition from «dark black» to «dark gray» in this guy's work (to an extent, reflected even on the album sleeves, as I have noticed). In any case, the moods are still there, along with an occasional surprise or two (such as the evil bass swoops on ʽEtched Headplateʼ, grinning at the wimpy R&B samples), and even if the world according to Burial is no longer as thoroughly bleak a place to live in, it is still desolate enough to impress a mind like mine, normally bored to death with this kind of electronic patchwork.

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Burial: Burial

BURIAL: BURIAL (2006)

1) Untitled; 2) Distant Lights; 3) Spacescape; 4) Wounder; 5) Night Bus; 6) Southern Comfort; 7) U Hurt Me; 8) Gutted; 9) Forgive; 10) Broken Home; 11) Prayer; 12) Pirates; 13) Untitled.

Apparently, for the first few years of his career, William Bevan did not even reveal his true iden­tity, stating out of the gloom that he was «a lowkey person» and that he «just wants to make some tunes, nothing else». It was known only that he was holed up somewhere in London, hooked up to a computer with Sony Sound Forge, and some went as far as to suggest that he was really Aphex Twin in disguise. Reality turned out to be less extravagant than we usually want it to be, but, fortunately, this has little bearing on the extravagance of the music.

The genre labels for Burial's self-titled debut that one usually encounters involve «2-step», «dub­steb», «UK garage», etc., but all of this is misleading — yes, with a little effort you might learn to dance to these tunes, yet there is really no serious reason why you should: the real reason why Burial's output is valued so highly is in the atmosphere, not in the beats. And that atmosphere... how should I put it? Well, from my old-timer school's perspective, let me put it this way: Burial sounds as if, above everything else, it drew its chief influence from Side 2 of David Bowie's Heroes — particularly ʽSense Of Doubtʼ; and this point stands even if the resemblance is purely coincidental (which I doubt, since no respectable electronic musician these days may be ignorant on the subject of the «Berlin Trilogy»).

«Burial» is right, in fact — it is basically an album about burial, with so many of its beats sound­ing like dull shovels pounding against the clodded earth and loose rocks of the graveyard. What this album really has on so many other electronic productions is that all of its tracks merge toge­ther in a genuine sense of purpose, and that purpose (the way I interpret it) is — to picture a deva­stated, bombed-into-oblivion, post-apocalyptic planet where lonely ghosts, occasional zombies, roaches, and loose radio signals represent the only remaining traces of life. (Strange enough, no Keith Richards in sight, though — must be a parallel universe after all).

The actual samples used by Bevan do not interest me in the slightest — the only point of interest is in that they are deliciously random, ranging from bits of Benicio del Toro's dialog in 21 Grams to reggae (Sizzla) to ambient (Eno) to mainstream R&B (Ashanti and Destiny's Child). But they all get the same treatment regardless of their original context: Ashanti's "you hurt me" from ʽFoolishʼ is a ghostly echo now, rising out of some dreary chasm that the nuclear fallout and the acid rains have ripped in the former heart of the city, barely registering against the incessant pum­meling of the excavator and the vaguely mid-Eastern shreds of melodies emanating from the earth's pores.

What makes Burial so particularly spooky is that there is nothing intentionally and arrogantly look-at-me-I'm-so-spooky about it. The beats — and all other sounds, for that matter — are deci­dedly quiet and inobtrusive. Nothing ever «builds up» to anything — most «songs» end the same way they started out, so the only suspense to be experienced is found in between the tracks. There is no danger in the air, because it seems as if everything dangerous that could have happened already has — even if there are zombies here, they seem to have completely lost interest in any­thing other than simply hobbling around, moaning and groaning in quietly stunned mode. The two-minute long sonic scape called ʽNight Busʼ is not about going anywhere — it is actually a beatless, rhythmless ambient interlude that focuses, at best, on the rusty remains of a night bus that has long since run its last run. The only serious tension throughout is provided by the bass frequencies — «sensed» rather than «heard», they are the perfect embodiment of the technogenic catastrophe residue, and have a primary role in creating the overall illusion.

Individual tracks do not need any description here: this is a cohesive experience where separation of ingredients will only decrease the admiration. Naturally, the pictorial interpretation that I offer here is far from the only one possible, but at least I can honestly state that Bevan paints a musical landscape that is open to a concrete interpretation — one that borrows heavily from the experi­ence of, say, Autechre, but is at the same time much more accessible than Autechre. I am not in­terested in the slightest if Burial does indeed «legitimize dubstep», as Jason Birchmeier pro­claims in the All-Music Guide review — its formal percussive trappings are just that, formal per­cussive trappings. What matters is only that, if you listen to it long enough, you might start be­lieving that what you hear on it is the future of humanity. And that's sufficiently creepy — not to mention oh so frickin' dark-romantic! — to justify a thumbs up.

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