Customer Reviews

Blemish

5 star:		(15)
4 star:		(10)
3 star:		(8)
2 star:		(5)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

David Sylvian has always broken new ground every so often and he does so again here. The tracks are stripped bare with the hums and buzzes of electronics, guitar reverb and his baritone voice. This is probably his most personal of albums. The voice is deliberately front and center (almost jarring at first)- the lyrics are also very self-conscious, more direct. The music is purely backdrop for his voice (don't expect a groove/beat in any traditional sense with this album).
To those who were introduced to Sylvian by his "Dead Bees on a Cake" album this will seem like a drastic diversion. In fact, he is right on course pushing boundaries, exploring new themes and respecting his audience by not just rehashing his prior work.
Expect to listen to Blemish many times before you start realizing its beauty. A must for all serious David Sylvian "fans".

I for one would like to express my admiration for David Sylvian; he has enough respect for his audience to avoid recycling his past work, instead offering something surprisingly stark and somewhat impenetrable (at least initially). It seems some fans feel betrayed, screaming "where are the gorgeous, multi-layered melodies?!" I don't feel that way. As others have noted, Sylvain has delved into atonal territory before--some bits of "Rain Tree Crow", "Gone To Earth", "Pop Song" and so forth. There is melody here, though it's mostly supplied by the voice. And David's pipes have rarely sounded better, gaining a warmth with age that just wasn't there in his Japan days. Obviously this isn't music for the masses, but that's not the point. I guess I was lucky to have my head blown apart by Scott Walker's "Tilt" when I was fifteen years old; after a while, it stopped sounding so unbearably alien and paved the way for my move away from the mainstream. If not for Scott, I probably wouldn't be able to enjoy an album like "Blemish" for the great, difficult beast it is, while turning my back on the drivel that seems to have risen to epidemic levels. There are still living artists creating music that's vital, and for that I'm very thankful.

Blemish appears to be one of those albums so extreme it'll either be loved or loathed- bringing to mind such albums as Laughing Stock, Music for a New Society & Tilt. Sylvian abandons the lush eclectism of Dead Bees on a Cake and the electronic directions of Approaching Silence for minimal climes. Blemish contrasts hugely with the last original material released on Everything&Nothing (eg The Scent of Magnolia).

Sylvian recorded it in a month off from another project with brother Steve Jansen- it has a raw, improvised quality- & listening to it makes me think of albums like Dongs of Sevotion, I See a Darkness & Mark Hollis. Blemish is extremely intense- though its perfectly suited to a 40-minute playing time (any longer would indeed be mental torture akin to Swans!)As with many artists, Sylvian has formed his own record label- preferring the indie-artistic route to the corporate path- Blemish has been a success on Amazon UK, showing that an album can be a success in an alternate domain to the usual. Sylvian joins a number of artists who have produced albums in their home studios- Mark Eitzel, Paul Westerberg, Tom Waits, Shelley-devoto. The pro-tools/sample/revolutions of Dead Bees on a Cake and the Tweaker collaboration have moved Sylvian away from protracted studio work with an array of top session musicians.

Three of the tracks here are composed with free-jazz guitarist Derek Bailey (Guitars'Drums'N'Bass) & are a challenge to the more casual Sylvian listener- Sylvian has always worked well with avant-garde guitarists (notably Marc Ribot, Robert Fripp, Bill Nelson & Bill Frisell) Earlier minimal acoustic tracks predict this territory: Dobro#1, Boats for Burning, Cries&Whispers. She is Not is very slight- The Good Son more of an endurance test- Bailey plucking atonal chords as Sylvian's voice echoes and compounds. The sound feels fractured...the best Bailey/Sylvian collaboration is How Little We Need to be Happy- which is rather soulful and ties in with Sylvian's frequent spiritual themes. The Bailey-tracks work especially well in this eight-track sequence- contrasting with the electronic of Fennesz & Sylvian alone...

The opening title track is a 13-minute slice of minimal bleakness- the pulses and shimmers reminding me of My Bloody Valentine & Gwei-Lo. The pulses of feedback etc take on an electronic form, who's precedent probably remains Metal Machine Music, the "song" over the top more of a series of ominous intonations ("I can't find the link between me and her...I fall outside of myself, she doesn't notice at all") Blemish feels very disturbed- perhaps putting words that titles like The Stigma of Childhood (Kin) alluded to? It certainly reminds me of bleak records such as Red House Painters, Time Out of Mind, Big Star's Holocaust, Everclear (AMC), PJ Harvey's 4 Track Demos for Rid of Me, I See a Darkness etc. Here Sylvian has more in common with the Leaving the 20th Century-Sonic Youth than the reformed Roxy Music...

The Only Daughter is another highlight- the soundscapes not far from Eno's Ambient4:On Land- though the sonic cracks shatter the lush surfaces- a blend of ambient and the avant-garde that might appeal as much as Pan-Sonic or Squarepusher. The Heart Knows Better takes us away from the disturbing atmospheres of The Only Daughter- though the repetition of "It's been a long time coming" suggest skeletons in closets and cans of worms becoming apparent.

Late Night Shopping advances on the sampling apparent on DBOAC, fusing with the ethos of 1989's uncompromisingly ironic Pop Song; alien guitars, handclaps and samples of crashing trollies combine in another disturbing song. Sylvian could even be accused of being political in the anti-globalist sense, lines like "Tell me what you need/Write a list, or something/We don't need to need a thing/Late night shopping" highlighting the futility of an existence centred around consumerism/materialism. Perhaps this is just a direction suggested by Sylvian's spiritual side?- it's a lot more effective that the sub-No Logo dogma Radiohead pushed on Amnesiac.

The beauty common to Sylvian releases comes back in for the closing track, a fire in the forest- which sees DS collaborate with (Christian) Fennesz (Endless Summer). This is not far from DBOAC's closing track Darkest Dreaming and feels somewhat transcendental following the preceding maelstrom:"Come and take me somewhere/Come take me out/There is always sunshine, far above the grey sky/I know that I will find it/Yes, I will try..."

Blemish is quite unexpected, extremely raw and uncompromising; it might be a sound idea to buy one of the Japan/Sylvian reissues alongside it to temper this bleak material (eg Alchemy, Secrets of the Beehive, Tin Drum). It's already one of my favourite releases of the decade so far, as great as such albums as Insignificance, 69 Love Songs, Geogaddi, Lift Yr Skinny Fists..., Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Field Songs & Gwei-Lo. Like Rain Tree Crow, it might take a while to seep in...but for me it's a highlight both different & equal to such Sylvian classics as Brilliant Trees, Secrets of the Beehive, & Dead Bees on a Cake. One looks forward to the next releases from Samadhisound, alongside Sylvian's upcoming world tour...

Things have clearly changed for David Sylvian. 1999's "Dead Bees on a Cake", a slice of optimistic and generally happy music with lush arrangements and tight structures was several years in the past. Its followup, "Blemish", is about as different as can be. Melancholy and dark, in a way that nothing Sylvian had done previously, with minimalist ambient/avant-garde backgrounds-- clearly heavily improvised, with an emphasis on atmosphere and sound rather than melody. Over this, Sylvian exposes a darkness in him through his lyrics, deeply personal and very much troubling. Like I said, things have clearly changed, take this lyric, from the title track ("Blemish"):

i fall outside of her
and the trouble is
there's no telling just who's right or who's wrong
don't tell me that love is all there is
I know
don't I?

That's about the tone of it throughout, this is not a happy record. "Blemish" in particular, nearly 14 minutes of electronic noise, distorted guitars, and Sylvian's somewhat rambling vocals, takes a lot to get through. When I first heard it (and indeed this whole record), I found it virtually unlistenable and yet totally engaging. As I got to know the material better, I fell in love with it. There's a brilliant darkness to many of the pieces-- "The Only Daughter", a mournful piece ("smitten no longer / me, the only daughter") with a delicate and chirping background that really grabs your attention, the throbbing "The Heart Knows Better" and "Late Night Shopping", with its melancholy feel, beautiful vocal, and primitive beat (I think the only one on this record) almost sounds like a bunch of punks got ahold of a sampler. And certainly three tracks features fractured guitar playing from avant-garde legend Derek Bailey (the best of which being the absolutely inexplicible "The Good Son").

But the real gem on the album, the one that fuses the best of Sylvian's past with the best of this new direction-- collaboration with electronic musician Christian Fennesz "A Fire in the Forest". A throbbing, minimalist backdrop filled with enough oddity to hold attention and Sylvian bringing forth all the emotion and power that his voice has to bear in what may be the best lyric he has ever written, exposing the core of the man, matching the darkness and melancholy with a sense of optimism that closes the album on a delicate and hopeful note.

Its not an easy album, its not one many people are going to know how to deal with, particularly coming from a background with Sylvian's music, this step is quite unprecedented in his catalog, but given time and patience, this album will reap rewards. It may be the best thing Sylvian has ever done-- it has a sense of immediacy and personal nature that none of his previous recording had. Highly recommended.

Would have made kickass EP. It's great to hear the master working quickly, and his voice grows more haunting as time goes on. A Fire in the Forest is breathtaking, one of the best ballads he's ever done, right up here with The First Day and Darkest Dreaming in that simple but transcendental way. The three tracks with Derek Bailey are just not my cup of tea -- like the Frissel collaborations, a little goes a long way when you're trying to carry a melody over someone's two-minute improvisation. While it's true that this work is not accessible in the same way that Dead Bees was (too accessible in parts), Blemish is not really all that surprising to those who've followed his work (Undark, the instrumental stuff), but it's great to see him do the electronic manipulation bit with such abandon. What I'm struck by is the sense of almost bitterness I get from the material; it seems to function as a commentary, if not on his life, then on the difficulties of maintaining close or meangingful family relationships. When A Fire in the Forest finally rolls around, with it's more familiar elegiac sense, it's like a ray of redemption.

As a long time listener of David Sylvian, I must admit
I came to this album with some skepticism. Having
heard that he had written and recorded it in a month's
time, and released it on his own (new) label just two
month later, I was expecting something overly self
indulgent: improvisational, abstract, with no sense of
direction or purpose---like throwing paint on a canvas
and calling it 'art.' However there is no question
that that the quick and dirty method works on this
magnificent collection of songs. There is unparalleled
immediacy and purity to this album that is
refreshing; the music is unencumbered by the customary
overproduction and multitrack layering; and the lyrics
are the most personal and revealing of any other
Sylvianís previous work. The songs have room to
breath. The listener feels as if he or she pays a
visit to David Sylvianís head and heart for the month
of March 2003 (the month he created the album). Yes,
the supporting music is rather abstract -- effects and
treatments rather than standard instrumentation and
structure (much like the tracks on Sylvian's
Camphor). But coupled with the deep, resonating
baritone voice and the revealing lyrics, it works. To
those familiar with other Sylvian albums: if you liked
the semi-improvised 'dobro tracks' recorded with Bill
Frissel (Dead Bees, Everything and Nothing), then
this is the album for you. For those less familiar
with Sylvian, I would recommend the aforementioned E&N
as the perfect primer before you take this one on.

I've been listening to David religiously since Brilliant Trees, developing a deep appreciation for his artistry, his attention to emotional detail, and his ability to capture the intangible. Clearly David explores the audio landscape like a painter approaches a canvas. However, this album marks a huge departure from all of his previous work in that it is so stark and devoid of rhythm, with only minimally implied harmonies. If what you love about David Sylvian is the lyric and his voice, intimate, up-front and center, then you may love this. I continue to listen to this album wishing that he had explored these themes with the interesting cast of musicians and rich layers of rhythm, harmony and counterpoint that I've come to expect from David's work.

Maybe it's just the New England climate [crisp & clear], or his adopted state's motto ["Live free or die!"], or the fact that he's finally found the thread that guides him through the maze of a popular musical culture, but it's safe to say that no one who's followed the odyssey of David Sylvian could have expected an album so different and challenging. Having been fortunate to see the "Everything & Nothing Tour 2002", it was many fan's fond desire to see him take that performing group and evolve to a new independent level. Which, of course, might still happen. But in the interim, "Blemish" has appeared. In a wave of sound effects, amp modulations, tonal swells & sweeps, Sylvian has affectually settled around a campfire to tell stories of the heart & mind. Often the context is illusory, but the intent is manifest. We are intimately drawn into each song's tale with no chords or beats to guide us. This ambient approach is paramount to the success of this project, as each track buzzes with electric/electronic twists & turns. The startling shape of song composition is highly unprecedented after a career of creating such gorgeous avante pop tunes. This direction is matched in intensity with three tracks composed with free-form British guitarist, Derek Bailey, which could sound like his young daughters learning to play guitar. A rough terrain to cross, indeed. Then, a deep chuckle after the humorous "Late Night Shopping" (complete with carriage sounds). After the electronica finale w/ Christian Fennesz, "A Fire in the Forest" (vaguely reminiscent of "Darkest Dreaming" from DBOAC), I was stunned into silence. A moving experience of adventure & influence, made to be played over and over again. A tremendous debut for his new independent label, Samadhi Sound. Good luck, Mr. Sylvian!

Because of it's jarringly avant-gardish (and occasionally atonal) nature, many will dismiss this record as strictly for the most passionate Sylvian partisans. While I must confess to being one of those, I think Sylvian has created something nearly miraculous here; something of an almost shocking directness, if not near profundity. The economical nature of the music has a lot to do with this.

With nary a drum loop or standard rhythmic construction to be found, Blemish is, at first, meditative. Then, with the second track, The Good Son, it becomes clear Sylvian has broken through to another world his previous work waltzed through for years but seldom stopped long enough to breathe the air: one so emotionally straightforward you can practically see the bones through his skin. That he does this without altering his vocal style or devolving into lyrics any less gossamer than before is part of what's so mesmerizing -- and triumphant -- about the disc. The result is powerfully affecting stuff. I nearly ran a stoplight while driving along on first listen.

For most of Sylvian's mature career, he's made no secret of his (eastern) religious proclivites. Finally, he manages to find real, lyrical traction in this respect. I've heard no other "popular" (whatever on earth that means) musician touch upon such centuries-old ideas with such communicativeness, yet simultaneous lovliness and poetry. And humor ("Late Night Shopping"). Many fans will balk, but I think we're hearing Sylvian finally finding his voice -- and knowing it.

Finally, after all the dissonace, musical and emotional, we get "A Fire in the Forest." I was overcome.

David Sylvian deserves press -- and a lot of attention -- for this record. Of course, the backstory is almost heroic: glam-boy jumps ship on 80s MTV-culture, spends two decades making lovely, unheard pop, then goes fully DIY and creates something that makes almost everything else of the year -- rock, jazz, classical -- sound irrelevant. An absolute master stroke.

Elegant and sophisticated are probably the two words most commonly used to describe David Sylvian's timeless masterpiece, Secrets of the Beehive. This was a time when everything appeared to be coming together for him in his music. After the breakup of Japan (Sylvian's seminal new wave band), he became even further introspective and began to approach music from a different angle. Since that time, there have been many hits and misses throughout Sylvian's solo catalogue, but Secrets of the Beehive undoubtedly remains his strongest material yet. A lot has changed since the time of that recording, and Sylvian delivers one of his most experimental and challenging albums thus far with Blemish.

Utilizing experimental guitarist Derek Bailey and glitch expert Christian Fennesz, it's easy to see that their influence here is relentless in coaxing Sylvian to focus on a more "left-field" experience. The album begins with the title track "Blemish," a beautiful 13-minute song that highlights his distinct voice and emanates with the experimental style of both Fennesz and Bailey. Probably the best track here, things tend to go up and down throughout the rest of the album. It's just as much of a letdown in some parts as it is breathtaking in others. "The Good Son" and "How Little We Need To Be Happy" take the meaning of the word "improvisation" to the end of the world and hurl it over the edge. The guitar on these two songs is more distracting than anything. Just as that is said, things appear to come back into play with songs like "The Heart Knows Better," "Late Night Shopping," and "A Fire in the Forest." It is here that the focus is more congruent with what we've come to appreciate about Sylvian's previous work. Unfortunately, when the album is allowed to wander, I am left with the dissatisfying feeling that this could have been one of this year's most compelling pieces of music.