(11.10.06) Andres Trentemøller has been storming the remix scene this last
year or so, artfully merging the elegiac bombast of electro-house with
the subtleties of minimal techno and, for The Last Resort, his
first full-length record, he builds on the delicate commingling of
these styles to build an atmospheric masterpiece. The Last
Resort hums with nocturnal layering, filled with the seductive
whisper of its pulmonary dub and the spattering mercury of its
minimalist glitch, while still serving up gorgeous symphonic passages
that sweep right through the listener.
Opener “Take Me Into Your Skin” is the invasive rush of a fresh
infatuation: an adrenaline surge of choral voices and synthesizer
chords, a subtle — yet insistent — percussion that mirrors the
tripping heartbeat of new lovers, and the rich orchestration of
electronic strings. “Vamp” slinks and cavorts with a fat double bass
and plasticene percussion — part glitch, part echo of knobs been
rubbed together — in a fan dance intended to titillate the Sony QRIO
programmers in the audience. The rhythms of “Evil Dub” do a little
soft-shoe like Stefan Betke dancing on linoleum. A dub excursion
filled with Pole-esque reverb, “Evil Dub” eventually opens up with
gritty guitar that smokes its way through the climax of the track,
bringing along a entourage of glitchy bells and cascading percussion.
Trentemøller admits the record is a break from the dance floor
madness of his previous work (collected on a bonus disc that ships
with the first few thousand copies of the record). The Last
Resort is both more introspective and more cinematic, a highly
personalized reflection of his inner turmoil (“…my thoughts, my
needs, my insecurities, my longings…”). A song like “Always
Something Better” clings to this style of internalized discourse as it
moves from an overture of glistening strings to a melancholic guitar
line that moans over an Autobahn techno pulse. As the beats erupt
like a field of blooming flowers, Trentemøller mixes the liquid
sound of the guitar with a delicate cascade of micronotes. The naval
gazing turns itself inside out with a furious DJ break, a yodeling cry
of stressed vinyl that vanishes quickly but leaves its mark on the
track as the strings and guitar — emboldened by the intrusive DJ —
begin a game of aural ping pong.
“Like Two Strangers” thrums with orchestral bombast and a trio of
opera singers calling from the next room while guitar, glockenspiel,
and drum kit perform a meandering funereal love song. “Music is a big
prayer,” intones the sampled voice at the beginning of “Nightwalker,”
— the religious underpinning of the music’s impact writ large —
before the dub echo sweeps us off into the night. Behind us, a lone
guitarist keeps watch from the high balcony, sending the occasional
chord after us so that we can find our way home again. The brazen
throb of “Chameleon” rises out of a winter wind, a rush of hot weather
that gradually transforms the frigid opening into a tropical
thunderstorm. Like an offspring of genetic splicing between Peter
Benisch and Stefan Betke, Trentemøller injects dance floor
grooves into dusty dub echo and layers a film of delicate noises over
the slippery movement of minimal house.
“Into The Trees (Serenetti Part 3)” finally throws the warehouse doors
open, letting the rave out into the city proper. Beats squirm and
jiggle while sub-sonic pulses rattle the windows six blocks distant.
Sirens wail out of phase, but are easily sucked into the movement of
the song like the wind and the electric current in the surrounding
wires. But, even when Trentemøller is blanketing the city with
a vibrant rhythm, he never loses sight of his introspective
predilection. “Into The Trees (Serenetti Part 3)” retreats from its
fulsome expression, crawling back into its shell. It trades its
bombast and big house beats for a textured outro, a duet of bird song
and guitar that bleeds into “Moan” and “Miss You,” the two final
tracks of the record. Just as he wound himself up,
Trentemøller winds himself down, vanishing into a mist of
emotional ephemera and unresolved desire.
The Last Resort is a record that can be played for a thousand
people and they’ll all hear something different; they will all find
their own meaning and merit within the endless variety of its facets
and textures. This is one of the highlights of the year.
The Last Resort is out now on Poker Flat. Buy it at Amazon.com
