A sonic environment that does not overtly distract from its surroundings but rewards upon deeper listening with rich detail and exquisite micro-production.
Steadily churning energy while no one is looking
Like the bizarre metal obelisk recently discovered in the Utah desert, partially embedded in the remote ground, Ultimae Records is a monolithic, bedrock expression of its mission. Over years of heavy listening to label artists Aes Dana, Carbon Based Lifeforms and most notably Solar Fields, I’ve learned to anticipate an almost otherworldly, precise quality and a highly particular sound from the French imprint.
Until this album, however, I had only heard one Martin Nonstatic track (on the compilation Enfold 01), and so writing a review felt like a juicy dichotomy to take on—an even split between extremely well-defined parameters and something largely unknown. Treeline collapsed these disparate quantities of my mental map into another deeply fitting continent on planet Ultimae.
Though Martin Nonstatic’s work clearly, naturally folds into this world, there are notable departures from my previously explored trails across the work of his peers. Treeline’s tracks are more deconstructed than Vibrasphere’s steady, enhanced psytrance or HUVA Network’s foreboding, plodding cinematics. The expression of this album is far subtler, more akin to the literal roots of ambient music—a sonic environment that does not overtly distract from its surroundings but rewards upon deeper listening with rich detail and exquisite micro-production.
These tracks read more like layers of soil in a remote landscape or the raw chemistry of a tree’s photosynthetic process on an overcast day, steadily churning energy while no one is looking.
Steady rhythms emerge throughout, only to fade away or break apart like drifting leaves. The title track provides more steady ground here, but true to its namesake it does not wear its beats thin or lean on them heavily. They feel more like landmarks passing by on a train ride, rather than the steady pulse of the rails. Similarly, Martin’s melodies (“Subtleties at Dawn” comes to mind) drift by like clouds or blurred textures in the background of one’s vision on a bike ride, rather than the more anthemic expressions of Solar Fields or more invasive, nostalgic or emotionally-charged compositions. These tracks read more like layers of soil in a remote landscape or the raw chemistry of a tree’s photosynthetic process on an overcast day, steadily churning energy while no one is looking.
As I had otherwise expected despite being mostly new to the artist, the quality, sound design and aesthetic presentation of Treeline is virtually flawless. A friend of mine argued that Ultimae’s predilection for the precise came across as sterile to him, and while I understood his point, I find it far more fertile ground. The near-perfect presentation of this album—over the last week of listening regularly on drives through the Colorado countryside—freed my mind and attention to focus on the subtler dynamics of my environment, allowing a pre-existing stillness a bit more room to breath, for subtler thoughts and emotions to come and go like shifting patterns on a river’s surface. This is a sonic continent I will gladly revisit and continue to explore—not to chase a particular emotion, moment or idea, but to feel what’s already there, humming at the edges.
Treeline is available on Ultimae. [Bandcamp]
