Here, for now, then, is a set of sustained streams, constant currents—endless eddies that lull into a sense of serenity, whose falseness is hinted at by undercurrents in the near-dark sighted below.
Last heard of in early 2014 with magisterial Eliane Radigue tribute, Not Knowing, there’s been barely a peep since then from previously prolific Nicholas Szczepanik. It smacks more of creative block than sabbatical—a rummage through archival drawers now turning up Here, for now, a 2012 venture with Celer never released. Will Long’s project’s last igloo ‘view was here, but he’s had plenty elsewhere, output and coverage, prompting the thought that this might have been a communion reanimated in the hope of some of Celer’s conspicuous production rubbing off on Our Nick.
Be that as it may, assembled here, “I,” “II,” “III,” “IV,” 15-plus minutes each stretched out non-dynamically, are four tracks—of scarce attack, all sustain, decay, and a release that just keeps on giving. Working fingers to the bone to hone their drone, the cronies confirm credentials, centering focus on the play of pure frequency and synthetic harmonics. The two find converge in slow-flow synth’n’string micro-symphonics a-swim with timbral brownian motion. Unfolding, they bloom, enfolding, then return in ending to quiescence. Minimal pulsing, emission creep, a rapture of metals captured and tweaked with antique effect for a feel of remotion. Spark ignites to glow, and then grows to radiance, a-stream in classical cadence, vortex-bound, before the orchestra’s sentimental steeple stoops, falls, and retreats to vanishing point. A soft neo-romanticist air shifts, changing tenor–from solace to desolation, there and back again, transitioning from somewhat maudlin beauty to something more ambivalent. Ending unresolved.
Here, for now, then, is a set of sustained streams, constant currents—endless eddies that lull into a sense of serenity, whose falseness is hinted at by undercurrents in the near-dark sighted below. And the slow flow goes, with a subtle sense of depth and power, bespeaking constancy and change, timeless yet transient. London Thatch, a short film by architect James Kirk, imagines a strange beauty brought forth from the carbuncles of brutalism—a beauty in which Here, for now plays an eloquent part (see below).
Here, for now is available on both Bandcamps (Celer | NS).
