On Phil Yeah’s sprawling debut, Grey and Gold, the Philadelphia-based artist dives deep into a year of isolation and finds deliverance in unexpected places. During the summer, Phil explored his home city by kayak, traversing the Schuykill River at night. The unhurried aqueous dub rhythms of “Same Water, Different River” are exploratory, digging into deep caverns and propping up the bass-heavy electronics that ride along the surface. In the dark repetitions, there’s a peculiar kind of meditation that unfolds. I’m completely transfixed as he subtly shifts the tones and mood into another dimension. Flipside burner, “Giver Bend (If It’s Rain)” is lighter and more dynamic. Synth odysseys meld into field recordings and ethereal drones, digging into a particular framework while mining for new ideas and approaches. Wistful sonic spirits bring a presence that, when you close your eyes, evokes jagged concrete debris jutting out from lush green landscapes, the juxtaposition that keeps Grey and Gold locked into two separate worlds. Phil Yeah uses music and composition as a processing tool – not just for sound, but for his own feelings and motions – to move invisibly through the ruins of the city, uncovering new secrets along the way. Grey and Gold is one impressive debut.
