Past recordings by Greg Davis have emphasized the granularity of texture, of the molecules abrading his aural surfaces, of layers upon layers; he's a fairly deft wielder of laptop and its recombinant synth software. Davis is, in fact, something of a chameleonic presence on the experimental electronica interface, early works weaving through pastoral ambiences and quaint, new-agey electro-folk fantasias in addition to wholesale abstractionism and spiky improvs. His collaborations with anarchist and archivist Keith Fullerton Whitman have no doubt borne stylistic fruit throughout his recent works, but on Mutually Arising, Davis has discovered the drone in a big way. On quite a cosmic scale, for that matter.
In this regard, Mutually Arising might take as its precedent no less a grand progenitor than the mighty Popol Vuh, legendary for establishing immense galactic regions of sound, either via the big Moogs of their formative days or the more acoustic-minded patterns Florian Fricke devised in his band's twilight years. Here, Davis opts for the big bang — or, perhaps, what comes in its aftermath. The first interstellar trawl, "Cosmic Mudra", reveals its prehistoric underpinnings as Davis lets loose some antique Crumar and Korg synths to map out his solar birthrights. Little actually happens during the piece's 20-minute excursion, but that's precisely the point — the ear may or may not detect minute discolorations as the tones boil, yet like the gaseous clouds forming numerous colorful eddies in a supernova's wake, patient exposure yields the same blissful dividends. At high volume, this stuff might very well reach critical mass; keeping the dial primed at mid-range turns out to be the appropriate level for maximum, lysergic immersion.
"Hall of Pure Bliss", the other lengthy mini-epic, essentially mimics the characteristics of its brother, albeit in a kinder, gentler fashion. The tones achieve a misty, star-shiney quality that befits the kosmische grandeur Davis has set up. Shifting, shimmering, pulsing with an almost hallowed "grace", the respirating sound fabric makes for the deepest heavens and stays there, blissfully unaware, aware of bliss. It's ambient music in pretty much the purest, most Eno-esque sense, either filling the vacuum of your listening space or initiating paroxysms of ecstatic catharsis.
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