The opening track, “Colocation,” begins with percussion that is like a series of bells. It’s so interesting, because the sound might remind of us of some call to attend religious services, but there is also something about it that puts us in mind of computers working away. Two very different scenes, to be sure. But perhaps they are already being combined, for it is in that manufactured universe that we are turning for so much these days. So why not spiritual fulfillment? Then suddenly the piece kicks in with a great force, feeling like a tremendous train that cannot be stopped. Aren’t there moments when we’d like to call a temporary halt to so-called progress, at least until we can figure out if continuing will be more beneficial or harmful to us? After all, we are still relatively young and relatively stupid as a species. Sure, we create this powerful technology, but we still are attached to old mythology and superstition. There is something fun about this ride, and there is humor at moments early on. But there is also something frightening at times about this track, particularly approximately four minutes in, when the music seems to overtake even the musicians. The power is getting out of hand, and soon the music moves into chaotic territory, and much too quickly for us to be able to sort things out, lights and metal and numbers hurling past us and at us. Then there is a pause, a moment for us to get our bearings. As we do, there is a haunting quality to the music. We’ve entered a different space, and even though things might be mellower here, they are no less frightening. In fact, having a moment to be able to look around might produce more worries, as we get a good view at the monsters. But maybe things will be all right, for there is an unexpected sweetness in the mix. That, however, is only temporary, and things get crazy again, building or falling into chaos. There is a frantic feel here, but no particular direction, giving us the sense that we are surrounded. Yet, surprisingly, a great groove emerges from this. And with it comes relief and a sense of fun. Are we saved? Or is this unreal as well? And isn’t that one of the scarier notions of this Artificial Intelligence trend, that we won’t be able to tell the difference? Once again, things become frantic before the track’s conclusion.
“Routers” also begins with percussion, short ideas popping up and disappearing, then reappearing. There is some humor here. I imagine gophers in some computer room popping up from various spots in the machinery, and then ducking back down before they can be grabbed. The saxophone expresses frustration at one moment, giving sudden shouts. But a rhythm is established, and rather than fighting it, we become part of it. The machinery itself seems to be taking part. But the saxophone largely remains the human voice here, reacting, yes, but also attempting to orchestrate or direct the action, or to overcome it. And then things begin coming together, many voices now moving in one direction and dragging the rest of us along with them. The track picks up in power, in energy. And then it suddenly drops us into an isolated area, a place strange and kind of wonderful. It is there we are left. Then as “Singularities” begins, the voices are together, experiencing the same moments, expressing the same sensations. Though, interestingly, there isn’t a flow to those experiences, at least not at first. There are breaths, there are pauses, waves of information overtaking us, then, I suppose, receding. Then there is something of a struggle, of a fight, as we are overwhelmed, but refuse to bend. And it seems, perhaps, that we’ve come out on top, put things into their places. But if so, it is only a momentary victory, for the electric circuits rise up and wrap around us like tendrils. A groove emerges, and things feel good for a time. They feel right. We are back in the driver’s seat, moving along a road, swaying to the elements around us, and within them, even as some darker forms begin to rise around us. There is the sense that we can continue to dance, to enjoy ourselves. Keep an eye on what’s forming, certainly, but that’s all that is required. We’ll be okay. But then it is as if our eyes are getting smaller, their eyes more numerous. We are shrinking under the onslaught, even if it is not a particularly violent one. It is almost like the information itself becomes too much. When we find a door, where it leads is to an unfamiliar place. And we wonder, is there a way back? The answer seems to be no, that we are the ones who have to adapt. The machines seem to sing to each other, their voices getting more excited. Maybe they realize they are winning, or have won.
“Graceful Exit” opens in a somewhat more somber, and perhaps lonesome place. There is beauty to that work on acoustic bass, and we are in a natural setting. But after a breath, the electronic world makes itself known. So it is in our mind even as we get some gorgeous, classic work on saxophone, playing that has that great late-night vibe. There are two worlds here that have become attached at a fundamental level, a forced hybrid of sorts. The human element still wishes to create beauty, to express emotions, but perhaps even those things are being co-opted by the more sinister elements underneath. And will these become the dominant voices of our world? There is a sadness here, a melancholy that existed even before the machinery, and it seems this is one of the things we wish to hold onto, which is interesting. The desire, the willingness to take despair and pain over coldness and emptiness. There is some wonderful work on violin. There is also the sense of an inevitable march toward one’s doom. And then there is uncertainty, a scampering about, searching for one’s footing. Are the machines learning to even mimic our very despair, assimilating it? Once that is done, we are whipped into submission, for even our sadness is gone. And the heavy doors close on us. “Graceful Exit” leads straight into “Spy.” There are what could be animal noises, squeals, with human voices mixed in. It’s all one to them, isn’t it? Now we are in a dark realm, submerged. And if there is a struggle, it is no longer to keep the machines in check, but to find a tiny human place within their world. A voice tells us, “I saw a tiny bumble bee today.” And we can’t help but wonder if even that was real, or some kind of illusion. I am put in mind briefly of Bonnie Dobson’s “Morning Dew,” when Bonnie sings, “You didn’t hear a man moan at all.” Perhaps it is there, after all, one tiny element of a world that is largely gone. And perhaps not. Perhaps it too is part of the artificial world, a drone gathering information, in the guise of something natural. That is Mazz Swift on vocals. As the electronic voices threaten to completely overwhelm her, she sings, “And as it disappeared from sight/I swear it turned to say goodbye.” And we feel then that it all was an illusion. And at that point we are only halfway through the track. Where do we go from there? We go deeper into the harsh new reality, for it does feel like a descent. Some people are eager for it, remember, they’ve already given up their voices, and their humanity was probably dubious from the outset. It is maddening that they are somehow in charge of this project. But we still find beauty where we can, create it when it is not to be found, and perhaps that part of humanity cannot be fully extinguished. At the end, Mazz Swift repeats those final lines, but now her voice has power, even glory, the electronic creatures have released their grip, at least momentarily.
CD Track List
- Colocation
- Routers
- Singularities
- Graceful Exit
- Spy
Server Farm was released on February 21, 2025 on Irabbagast Records.
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