Tim Hecker

"Ravedeath, 1972" had carved out a deep, deep groove. A sound that kept renewing itself, now rough, now hazy. An album conceived starting from the organ. And chances to see Tim Hecker at work in a concert specifically for organ and electronics have been exceedingly rare. Parma, polar cold, a thin blanket of snow and an imposing baroque church provide the perfect backdrop.

The Canadian scans the surroundings with curiosity: the facades, the frescoes, the organ that up there, four metres high, is getting ready to roar. People arrange themselves with their backs to the altar, faces turned upward. Candles at the sides and the imposing Doric columns dividing the structure into three naves. As darkness falls, a surreal silence takes hold; Hecker climbs the stairs and, back to the audience, traces the first, faintest ambient drones. The mass has begun, and Hecker is its meticulous priest.

Impetuous roughness starts to pile up, followed by apparent moments of calm. All of it, though, follows a less harsh trajectory - aside from a couple of episodes - and a more liturgical one. An imposing rumble sets the tone. I recognize the gothic splendour of "Chimeras", the three-part elegy of "In The Fog" laying out its shape-shifting trail, the placid glow of "Hartred Of Music" and the opening hiss of "The Piano Drop".

Spaces open up, in a sonic rendering that comes close to perfection. Tim Hecker binds himself powerfully, viscerally, to the sound he offers - a sound that smells of earth and toil, a sound that sweats, that is cold, that writhes. And yet, through all of this, it knows how to stay close to you, knows how to warm you and set you free. And even where a drone rises up impetuously, the mind finds room to roam, to shift.

A tight fifty minutes, in which what's sketched out is a deeply felt, deeply lived liturgy. A performance that is pathos and empathy, that creates a sense of communion and participation in the sound. It's like being swept up by it, absorbed and then returned to yourself. A whole that becomes both form and substance, a rustic elegy that crosses every mountain and every sea.

Slowly, then, the cascades of drones start to fade away: silence is the new sound. Hecker crouches down and, with a breath, blows out the candle. Nothing lasts forever.

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