When Can is the sound of two good friends just having an immense amount of fun working together, throwing everything they can at it and producing a new entity that is far more than the sum of its parts.
Ah, Sending Orbs, that wonderful Dutch imprint responsible for the release of many a classic Kettel album, premium Orb-style melodic ambient epics from Secede, superlative dub techno, including two stellar albums from Yagya, an understated, futuristic metropolitan set piece by Blamstrain and the last album we received from them, the sadly overlooked Doppelgaenger by Markus Guentner. That latter release came out just over three years ago now, and we’ve heard neither hide nor hair of Sending Orbs since, save that they were going dormant whilst the three who ruled dealt with personal issues and circumstances that took them away from the project.
Since then, followers of the label have been praying for Sending Orbs to return with a western spiral-arm shattering bang. The original plan was to restore normal services with a various artists compilation album to celebrate the label’s fifth anniversary, but 2010 came and went and it never happened. Fast forward to 2012 and what we’ve received is arguably much more exciting, the restorative potion for Sending Orbs being the long-awaited dream collaboration between Sending Orbs heavyweights Kettel and the elusive/reclusive Secede.
And so here it is, Kettel & Secede’s When Can in all its glory. Be warned, however; if you’re expecting the next Tryshasla, My Dogan or indeed an album that takes itself terribly seriously then take a deep breath and get over it, because When Can ain’t it. No, When Can is the sound of two good friends just having an immense amount of fun working together, throwing everything they can at it and producing a new entity that is far more than the sum of its parts.
The first sound heard the flare of sulphur as a match is struck in “A New Factory,” followed by a cinematic wave of lamentory orchestral strings and horns coursing through the speakers like a honeyed river. Then from “Kirsten” the unexpected pluck of acoustic guitar followed by an intoxicating mix of orchestral strings, wistful vocals, choral vocals, slide guitar, kalimba, whispered voices, dripping reverb. It’s a potent introduction to a complex, swirling cocktail of ingredients, and from beginning to end there is far more going on in any one track or moment than When Can‘s wistful, breezy tone lets on.
Those with reservations about the use of old-school ambient and electronic staples such as Gregorian chants and fantasy textures might be mildly perturbed when the intonations begin on “Admittance,” but they are tempered by upbeat marching band percussion and that glittering, rainbow-tinged waterfall spray and deep ravine reverb that characterized Secede’s Tryshasla.
Events take a turn for the unhinged in the completely dotty mix of Edwardian harpsichord, kettle drums, operatic vocals, whistling, oddball percussion, a playful, medieval staccato lute and believe it or not, a mouth-harp in “Pentimento,” which ends it’s cross-eyed, screw-ball globe-trotting with syncopated glee and the single chiming of a church bell. In the wrong hands this could all seem quite silly, but in the accomplished and eccentric hands of Kettel & Secede it is nothing less than charming.
Both real and digital birdsong flit amongst the tinkling toy and ivory adorned branches of the “Ringvanes” forest, the saffron-scented twang of sitar, glittering cascade of glockenspiel, floating soprano choir and pepper-shaker hi-hats careening through the dandelion-snow filled woodland air. “Missing Time” describes a secluded cliff-side retreat, the drip of water from rocks, more birdsong, the coruscating notes of a harp, again a world of fantasy that could have been plucked straight out of one of Jeroen Advocaat’s evocative and ever so slightly off-kilter fairy tale drawings.
“Jahe” is perhaps the most peculiar object in the collection, a higgledy scatter-shot mix of blips, plonks, clonks and twitches, blurring into a gauzy, dreamlike froth. Pure, aimless meandering of the prettiest kind. “Deliria Noon” immediately recalls “The King Of Sanda” from Secede’s Tryshasla with its fulsome operatic, vocal bosom, but replaces “Sanda”‘s jazz sax and brushwork with jaunty, bubbly melodies. It is also a piece of two halves, the second a lush ambient wash of pads and crystalline tones, a voice repeatedly advising us to “Keep drinking.” Well, if you insist. “Fullmoon,” on the other hand, has all the hallmarks of a classic Lemon Jelly track, replete with tubular bells, cowbells, steel drums, vigorous maraca shaking, pitch-bending “aaahs,” potent bluesy vocal samples, and a ludicrously catchy whistled chorus.
At the journey’s end we are “Canned Forever,” the squeal, squawk, quack and snuffle of farm animals mixing with baked earth keys and widescreen strings above which float the lovelorn and melancholy cries of layered soprano an falsetto vocals as the sun sets on the horizon. If one had to level a single criticism at When Can it might be that this piece is—at almost nine minutes—over-long with insufficient progression to really sustain it. That said, it is quite magical and one wouldn’t ever dream of stripping it of its luxuriously lengthy fade to silence.
In spite of the kitchen-sinkful of everything sonic palette, When Can still manages to present itself as an almost understated and serene experience, and one that is over extremely quickly in spite of its fifty-minute running time. What it lacks in the signature belters that briefly upped the pace on Secede’s works, or the off-kilter acid squelch that would frequently envelop Kettel’s work, it more than makes up for in sparkling creativity.
In a musical climate obsessed with procuring the darkest, weirdest and most disturbing sounds available to man it comes as a welcome change to be able to experience such a bracingly positive, unapologetically optimistic and euphoric album as When Can. Welcome back Sending Orbs.
When Can is available on Sending Orbs.
