Forms obscured by willowed silhouettes become immersive, pondering environments on The Mountains Pass. This is music drawn from primeval memories, ideas borne of amber glass, and natural movement patterns. Olivia Block’s way of connecting fleeting soundworlds and fragmented sonic expressions always leaves me wondering. Is any of this real? How did I end up here? Whimsical electronic flourishes hint at answers in the ether, but those melodies fade into skeletal, ephemeral arrangements. Continuing, we wander.
Minimalist approaches teem with texture and combine for grandiose tone washes. Organ repetitions fuse with the metallic timbres Jon Mueller’s distinctive percussive techniques and it’s like I’m staring straight into the sun. The intensity is understated, but sit in this aural rinse long enough and the brightness is deliciously overwhelming. Even Block’s tender, whispered lullabies don’t dull the shine; her words invite us to lean in, to let the frenetic harmonies dance on our skin.
Intricate patterns and arpeggiations become a sort of living sonic tapestry the further I get into The Mountains Pass. Hypnotic rhythms wrap around chiming expressions and layered drones. Block channels the animalistic spirit of the mountains into energizing constructs, sonic monoliths in the wild covered in complex tonal arrays. Somehow, even the harshest stretches hold a sacred essence as though pulled from the crisp, cool air. Chord progressions swim through starlight, celebrating the darkest hours with pointed conviction.
Block’s voice sinks through the atmosphere like elegiac breaths, casting shadows that etch out messages in a buried mirror. Inspired by time spent in the mountains of New Mexico, stoic undercurrents intersect with the life-affirming catharsis she unlocks with Mueller and Thomas Madeja (trumpet) on the massive “Hermit’s Peak.” It’s like coming up on those secret messages, unearthed and staring us in the face, making us realize the landscape was within the whole time. This music bursts forward and skyward, but the tension still hangs in the traces left behind.
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