Black Swan (5) – In 8 Movements

Here is some information from the swanplague website (http://blackswan.byethost18.com), re: various editions of this release:

STANDARD EDITION VINYL LP, 1 of 500 (this refers to the Experimedia release)

PAST EDITIONS:
• Limited Edition Vinyl LP Set - 1 of 30, Hand Numbered, includes photograph card and 'Bleeding Hearts Alliance' membership

• Cassette - Limited Edition of 20

• 7" Reel - Limited Edition of 8

No label name or catalogue # information is given.

The line between brilliant and ordinary is not always obvious, but some audio documents are just too amazing to waffle over. Black Swan (In 8 Movements) is an ambient album, but it is unlike any I have had the pleasure of hearing.

Black Swan opens with a grandiose swooning of strings, backed by analog crackle and tape hiss. A tempered and drifting klaxon joins in, sounding like a call to freshly deceased spirits to come hither and proceed to the next phase. Black Swan makes the approach to the River Styx sound lovely. One can hear orchestral moments of salvation through a dark fog as well as the tortured screams of the souls of cursed violins. The entire work is colored with a romantic necromancy, standing still in time, neither positive or negative, and unequivocally gorgeous.

The mysterious artist behind the Black Swan project could have left this cohesive 33 minute drone symphony in one piece, but the eight intriguing movements are worth isolating. The divisions give the listener a stronger connection to the work by offering a map, like chapters in a book. The piece has such grace and perpetual energy that knowing when a track changes is unnecessary, but the subtle cinematics dictate the movements’ divisions. The music is comprised of delicate strings, plaintive piano, plenty of subtle, sonic debris, affected atmospherics, low end drones, and a constantly mutating emotional architecture.

This is a deep listening experience, one where the senses are heightened by the parade of deceased symphonies, much like sitting in a forest at night and being aware of all the layers of sound and life. It is difficult to discern whether certain orchestral moments caught in the wind are sampled or not, but at times there are parts that sound like a Disney score trapped in ice, or perhaps a chariot piloted by Debussy passing through a cloudscape high above. By “Part VII” the hypnosis has had plenty of time to take effect, and the music has encouraged the listener to let go and be led into the landscape of the afterlife. Baroque choral voices and organ are suddenly present, opening a massive door that leads deeper into the drone, closer to peace. The power of this drone is in the knowledge of being taken somewhere. This is no half-assed drift - this is walking a path along the arc of Black Swan’s exquisite narrative.

The anonymity of this New York-based artist has an effect on the listening experience. The music is given the right to exist on its own, as if it had always existed. It stakes its claim in the mind, making the listener a collaborator in a seductive narrative-noire that travels through a hall of horrors and memories, an escort to a final resting place. One might encounter spirit animals, forgotten lovers, faceless apparitions, leviathan rifts, or a cozy blanket of stars. It is easy to become comfortable in the soothing darkness, and when it seems like eternity has arrived, Black Swan pulls the plug.

-Nayt Keane/The Silent Ballet