Amazon.com's Best of 2001
Kieran Hebden is, it has to be said, something of a genius. The groundwork for
Pause was laid when
Dialogue--his debut solo album under the guise of Four Tet--landed in 1999, an album that redrew the parameters of inventive dance music. A peculiar mix of live-sounding instrumental jazz and technologically super-precise laptop dance trickery, it sounded nothing like Hebden's actual group--the post-rockers
Fridge--and, as it happened, very little like anything else in existence. Where
Dialogue employed jazz sax and flute in its evocation of a 21st-century jazz meltdown,
Pause goes even further, coiling whispers of harp and zither over layer-on-layers of fidgeting, rattling percussion. His inspirations? Well, like his friend and protégé:, Canadian tech-wizard Manitoba (whose
Start Breaking My Heart is easily the equal of
Pause), Hebden collects sounds and melodies from a dizzying array of places--ancient British folk music, the rattle of typewriter keys, the gurgle of running water, even a field recording of a children's playground. Genius? There really is no other word for it.
--Louis Pattison
From URB Magazine
Just as the uber-futurist whir & click of glitchitalia has reached a stylistic cul de sac, a seemingly contrary folksy pastoralism has snuck in through electronic music's open window. First, Boards of Canada doused us in their naÔf Casio daydreams. More recently, Kim Hiorthoy, Neotropic, Manitoba and now Kieran Hebden's Four Tet, it seems, have all caught the countrified bug. Lest you imagine shimmering acoustic strums and fey pleas to "love the one you're with," well . . . you'd actually be half-right.
If Matmos re-imagined America's lonesome vistas and endless deserts on The West, tweaking John Fahey and Ry Cooder's thumb-pick inflections into a post-digital crochet of musique concrËte and Neu!-inspired horizontals, Pause similarly re-imagines British folk music and its accompanying landscape, albeit filtered through a neo-hip-hop sensibility. But where Hebden's promising debut Dialogue emphasized scratchy breaks and post-Krautrock atmospherics, Pause lets in the open air, tempering his exquisite beats and tense urbania with spacious textures, like sound unroofed.
Threading its way through the wash and gurgle of Brian Eno circa Another Green World, the hypnotic harpsichord loops of Steve Reich and the celestial shimmer of harp, koto and psaltery strums, Hebden weaves typewriter rustling, the buzzing of playgrounds and all manner of field-recorded ephemera into his "Imagined Folk." Tied up all nice and neat in a Mo' Wax bow, Hebden's vision could never be confused as one of nostalgia. Nor is it a futuristic claim. It is simply an utterly modern, unabashedly far-out reverie of an album. Check it for a moment and listen, 'cause the whole thing works like a charm.
Alexis Georgopoulos