SENKING - Closing Ice

Returning to the scene two years after the deeply disappointing “Capsize Recovery”, this feels a bit like a last chance for Jens Massell. It must be said straight away that the darkest, most cathartic soul of the historic raster-noton roster arrives here with little credit left in the bank, after a first stretch of his career in which he stood out as one of the most original interpreters of the rigid canons of Alva Noto and co., followed by a second (from “List” onward, with the sole exception of “Pong”) in which he repeatedly failed to leave a mark. Let's get both “pieces of news” out of the way at once, so we can then take our time unpacking them: with “Closing Ice”, good old Jens picks himself back up with a cohesive, substantial, direct record. On the other hand, he does so by dipping into a sonic repertoire that in 2015 already sounds well past its sell-by date, further contributing (after the point of no return reached by Frank Bretschneider and the prolonged silence of Byetone) to the impression that Alva Noto is now the only representative of the raster-sound still keeping pace with the times.

With its bright, gradient-green cover art, somewhat surprising given the historically grey tones of the raster-noton catalogue, “Closing Ice” stirs a concrete dimension into the Senking cauldron. Something unthinkable until not long ago, to the point that it's fair to speak of a conceptual compromise. Yet it's exactly through this that, across the record's nine tracks, a (still) cybernetic verve and a (nonetheless) teutonic vitality resurface — that substance which had been missing for far too long, and which manages to rehabilitate an artist whose talent was never in question. Take straight away one of the best moments, that “Dustclouds” in which an organic drum kit (!) even pops up to reinforce an authentically muscular, toned, solid mantra, made of booming bass and a fury that had been (sorely) missing. Here's Senking again, the wizard of bass sound, the man who once injected black tar into the clean contacts of his laptop and now prefers synths to the binary syringe. The opening of “Scout And Spies”, which reaches back to the past with its hypnotic skeletal frame, is fleshed out by the scattered notes of a Moog that even hint at a melody.

The multiple refractions of “Serpent” take shape as the minutes pass, turning into a martial, dystopian gallop with an industrial aftertaste and a marked sci-fi charge. The croaking march of “Grolar” once again leans hard on a mechanical dynamism that seemed forgotten, in favour of a stasis that here, fortunately, only finds room in the unfortunate interlude of “Winter Brevet”. And it is fought off with mortar fire, see “Lighthouse Hustle”, another remarkable hand grenade driven by a simply gripping melodic distortion.

Even the unhinged, noise-flooded dub of “Swarming” lands well, leaning on the (easy but ever-effective) nostalgic pull of the Nineties and Sheffield's analogue harmonies. And even the stroll through hums and hairpin turns of “Hitchhicker Perspective”, which starts off slow and threatens tedium, manages to redeem itself by the end, with a visceral progression of genuine digitized sound capable of paralysing you right through the finale of “Miller's Meadow”. The latter, ultimately, sounds like a (self)-correction on the theme of the recent past: finally focused, concise, forthright.

The most concrete, human and heartfelt record, as well as the least glacial (the title in that sense is almost too telling) and the most “faithful to the line” of Senking, greets his resurrection. Credit to him for the courage to vary his formula, to open it up to contamination and thereby finally raise its overall value. And a (final) rap on the knuckles for how conspicuously long it took him to realise it.

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15/10/2015