(05.17.05) Sentimentalist is another genre-defying release from the Type label that fits neatly into to its growing range of eclectic and challenging records, but is notable for being arguably the least immediate addition to their catalogue for some time. Melissa Agate was once a drummer for an Australian avant-garde rock group but soon became disenchanted by the genre and it wasn’t long before she discovered electronic music and consequently began experimenting with as many different instruments and styles as could be encompassed by her creative vision. The fruits of these experiments are abundant in her debut release, an exploratory work that contains boundless invention, experimentation and musical intrigue.
Given the personal, quirky and often highly artistic releases that Type have been putting out, it was perhaps inevitable that eventually a record would come along that initially comes across as a tad precious. Such were this reviewer’s first impressions of Sentimentalist upon coming in cold to Melissa Agate’s intrepid and unapologetic style. It probably doesn’t help that the album opens with a piece as discordant and alienating as “The Last Leaf,” an experience akin to being awoken early in the morning with a throbbing headache to the sounds of emergency services sirens blaring incessantly in the distance, low-flying planes droning overhead and the clatter of your rubbish being noisily collected from outside your home. These initial impressions are fleeting however, as the rather messy and incessant style of this opening piece is seldom repeated across the remaining tracks on Sentimentalist.
Brevity may be one of the primary characteristics of the eleven discrete entities that form Sentimentalist – there are only a few tracks that extend beyond three minutes in duration – but there’s little to no repetition here and each piece is full to bursting point with scattered and eclectic paraphernalia. There’s a tangible nostalgia and reflected personal history evident right down to the very roots of these high-spirited, free form, avant-garde and expansive pieces that, coupled with the fascinating juxtaposition of the familiar and the peculiar, fully justifies and realizes the album’s title. There’s a magical quality to many of the tracks too; a bewilderingly chaotic yet reassuringly safe aura that evokes hazy child-hood experiences and memories. “And Then Return to Zero” is a prime example; almost sparkling from the speakers with its heavily echoed kalimbas wreathed in a fairy-tale collection of scratched, pitch-bent and glitchy digital effects that dance elusively around the sound-stage. For one minute and forty-two seconds, “Spark” releases fluttering clouds of butterflies and swirling petals into the air, before revealing a path toward the vaguely oriental, ceremonial and minimalist “Minus_ecki.” And “Plant Skeletons” takes the listener on a surreal yet serene journey backwards through time that is impossible to describe in words.
Agate’s roots as a drummer frequently reveal themselves in the complex percussive patterns and programming that litter the earlier tracks. “Unsentimental,” for example, may open centered around rather inharmonious ukulele twangs and scratchy radio noise, but dry, dusty drums gradually subsume it all as they pirouette deeper and deeper into a well of echo and reverb. Similarly the acoustic instrumentation of “Zlumber…. Talkinmysleep” is slave to the choppy and hollow clunking and chafing of its irregular rhythms, and the darker, paranoid mumblings and detuned radio waves of “Blue Signal” are crushed under the relentless clattering and smashing of metal against metal. The album emerges from this smog filled and rather oppressive atmosphere as if dark storm clouds have parted to allow through warm and comforting sunshine to revel in more acoustic and expansive territories. “Frangipani Gardens” is one of the most enticing and evocative pieces here, effortlessly creating the vibrant, colorful and redolent atmospheres of its titular, plumeria filled gardens through its oddly comforting, humid, glowing and furred bass textures and tinkling wind-chimes that stir the aural and olfactory senses unequal measure.
With a total running time of just under thirty-two minutes Sentimentalist is frustratingly ephemeral, but in spite of this emerges as a great deal more than the sum of its parts and in no way feels inconsequential. Whilst it should be said that this album may not be for everyone, like a patchwork quilt personally crafted from the diverse materials collected during a lifetime of travel, or are-discovered, dusty album of old photographs with all the personal and sentimental value that such things can hold, Sentimentalist taps into the senses in intimate and vividly evocative ways that are guaranteed to entangle and immerse many in its fragrant and nostalgic charms. Highly recommended.
Sentimentalist is out now on Type.
