The latest batch of four on the curatorial platform Longform Editions features a durational outing on the Mills College Chapel pipe organ by Chuck Johnson, with the haunted chorals and keys of Mills alumnae Kristine Barrett and Marielle Jakobsons plus Patrick Shiroishi on reeds rounding out the small ensemble, a document by turns wistful and blistering of the Quaker Run wildfire composed by Daniel Bachman for fiddle and guitar, and a sojourn into the staggered heart of Cajun isolation through the treated strings of Weston Olencki with Jules Reidy.
Yet between the sustained organ drones and American primitivism, The night we slept under an overhanging cliff by the Warsaw-based electroacoustic composer Piotr Kurek serves as both skittish upstart and spirited likeminded salve. Elaborated from a series of short and unfinished sketches which Kurek left on the cutting room floor as he completed the skewed vocal harmonies of Peach Blossom and the sprawling root system or curlicued landscapes of Smartwoods – captivating full-lengths which the composer released on Mondoj and Unsound in 2023 – the finished collage or montage is made up of seven more or less discrete segments.
In the opening moments ofĀ The night we slept under an overhanging cliff a woman’s voice slips out amid the clamour of the forest, a cloaked call from beneath the tree of life or a sublimated Eve in the tropics. A clarinet supported by snatches of saxophone and bass then introduces the reedy character of the piece, resonating with the wetness of a Cristal Baschet with its tuned glass rods daubed by moist fingertips. Amid the whispering reeds and sloshing waters, synthetic woodwinds and harp take on the character of shakuhachi and plucked zither, tranquil and tentative while underlaid by New Age or Celtic, almost Enya-esque choruses. Pitch-shifted vocals play out like long yawns or stretched bass, and as the choir comes to the fore its transportive choral chants feel like water droplets, each splash or coo having a rippling effect, or like pan pipes cleaning themselves from the inside out with slender whorls and wisps of synthesizer for accompaniment.
At just over 14 minutes the choral swell segues into scarcely audible dinner chatter, metallophones standing in for cutlery while electronic squelches zip around the dining room and disappear into the pall of the evening. After a few loose keys, the sense of cosseting warmth is displaced by clarion bells as The night we slept under an overhanging cliff offers a cracked take on the stained glass and stultifying ambiance of a liturgy, with the occasional bell chime and warped organ peal against a droning background creating an atmosphere of heightened portent, the wily Kurek having successfully sculpted a few loose scraps into a bristling and nimble subterranean narrative.
