HRSTA - Stem Stem In Electro

These days there's great ferment in Montreal around the "cult" label Constellation. Proof of this comes from the recent, significant releases by Silver Mt.Zion, Hangedup and Elizabeth Anka Vajagic, to which is now added the second work by Hrsta (pronounced, apparently, "hursh-tah"), the moniker behind which hides Mike Moya, the guitarist who co-founded Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Set Fire To Flames, finally back with the city's most celebrated label, a full four years after his solo debut, released on Fancy/Alien8, evocatively titled "L'Éclat Du Ciel Était Insoutenable", marked by a hypnotic weave of dense psychedelia, arduous melodies and sinister drones.

Moya now profoundly reconsiders some of the aesthetic components of his musical approach, presenting himself with a completely different line-up from his debut, here including the two members of Hangedup, Eric Craven and Genevieve Heistek, as well as strings played by Sophie Trudeau and Beckie Foon (Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Silver Mt. Zion) — a lineup that already speaks volumes about the return to the Constellation home base and to a sound that, while still harsh and tormented, is perfectly consistent both with his artistic origins and with the current paths of many of his old partners in crime.

The work opens with the mantra "...And We Climb", which immediately conveys the idea of the band's new register: a rhythmic loop, with Craven's noisy trinkets relegated to the background, over which an indolent choir chants endlessly "we climb and we climb, to the light", first in a swirling, dark crescendo, then in a sudden fade-out, along with the backing track, toward an ending that is both sweet and sinister. Decidedly more suspended, dilated atmospheres permeate a good half of the remaining tracks, whether sung or instrumental. "Blood On The Sun" and "Gently Gently" have the unusually bare structure of captivating ballads that, in construction and delivery, evoke Elizabeth Anka Vajagic; the former closes with Moya's piano, drifting close to the fine work of Yann Tiersen and Shannon Wright, while the latter remains as ethereal and elusive as Jessica Bailiff's songs, before hinting at a crescendo that's left unfinished all too soon. Equally dilated are the two instrumental pieces "Quelque Chose À Propos Des Raquetteurs" and "Heaven Is Yours", which come across as none-too-substantial interludes between more significant passages — the first in a delicately ambient vein, the second as a counterpoint between an abstract base layer and the concrete noise made up of Hangedup's trademark dissonances. The contribution of the two members of that group to this work is significant, but takes shape in forms of expression quite different from usual, so much so that distortions and dissonances only emerge from the shadows in flashes, coming fully into the open only on the complex "Swallow's Tail", which opens precisely with a persistent, slightly grating metallic screech that then gives way to a solemn-toned vocal elegy, punctuated by bursts of guitar and bass erupting in constant alternation with the choir's martial march.

The circular geometric element recurs in almost all the compositions on the record, suggesting not so much a predefined scheme as the idea of a basic structural concept, meant to lull the listener — in a genuinely rather unsettling way — with enveloping atmospheres, now liquid and psychedelic, now dark and anguished. This also holds true for "Folkways Orange", without doubt the track that comes closest to a fully-fledged song form, drawing near to another of Moya's many past experiences, that with Molasses, echoed here in the song's harmonic construction and its pronounced minimal-psychedelic streak, culminating in the accompaniment of a distinctly 1970s-sounding acid organ.

The overriding impression one gets from the current output of Montreal's artists is that of a search for further developments of that fascinating sonic experience: in this sense, this record, notwithstanding the odd nostalgic digression, should be placed alongside Silver Mt. Zion's latest "Horses In The Sky", of which it forms a kind of ideal completion, given also that some musicians appear on both. There are no shortage of points of contact with that album, even though "Stem Stem In Electro" offers no unambiguous pointers, leaving instead the deep impression that Mike Moya and his current fellow travelers have plenty of ideas, but ultimately rather muddled ones, ending up doing justice to very few of them. It is telling, then, that the best track (alongside "Blood On The Sun" and "Folkways Orange") is the closing charge of "Une Infinité De Trous En Forme D'Hommes", a post-rock symphony in full Godspeed You! Black Emperor style, with its alternation of manifold shifts in rhythm and intensity.

Ultimately, the album fails to move beyond the mere statement of otherwise commendable stylistic options—interesting in prospect but still only potential at this stage; as such, it will undoubtedly find a lukewarm welcome among the many devotees of Constellation and the Montreal art scene, to whom alone it can be recommended, not least given the demanding listen that has by now become typical of such productions.

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30/04/2026