I'm sorry everyone, I have been struck with a bad case of writer's block recently and I just couldn't bring myself to review anything that has been released in the past two weeks or so. I just haven't been able to think of anything substantial to write that would do any album justice, rather if it was critical or appraisal. But to get back into the groove of things, I thought that I revisit my favorites list and review something from it, and lately I've been in a somewhat introspective mood. I've been staying up very late into the night, discovering new music, or listening to old music and just thinking about the future, which still frightens me quite a bit. But who isn't afraid of the future?
One of the most acoustic albums, aside from Pink Moon, that I recently added to my favorites list, which I added about three months ago or so at this point, is The Glow, Pt. 2 by Phil Elverum's first musical project, The Microphones. This band, much like Phil's contemporary musical project, Mount Eerie, was a relatively prominent lo-fi indie band in late 90s and early 2000s that created incredibly gloomy and dramatic music that focused heavily on acoustic instrumentation, soft vocals, and a mixture of ravaging sounds and noises that further added to the dreary but also intimate feeling that one gets from the music.
Unfortunately, there was almost nothing I could substantially find concerning the production of the album of itself, and this doesn't necessarily surprise me as I have began to notice these past few months that Phil is a very reclusive and private person, and that's completely fine. I'm almost certain that it's this introverted nature of his that he's been able to produce the kind of albums that he has. I at least know that he uses mostly analog audio equipment to record his music and produces in private studio spaces to further alienate himself to ensure that he's completely in control of what's going on. The result are densely layered albums that seem to tug at your feelings or deep thoughts.
The Glow, Pt. 2 is the kind of an album that one could ideally listen to for certain introspective occasions. It's about an hour and 7 minutes long, so it definitely has the duration of a lengthy car ride somewhere or a wonderful supplement to your insomnia. When I first listened to the album in it's entirety, I was riding on the Mega Bus from Austin to Grand Prairie. I rode during the night time so I knew I would be in for a nice, relaxing ride. But since I have a bad habit of not keeping myself hydrated, I had developed an annoying headache in the middle of the trip, so I was basically in a considerable amount of pain while stuck on the bus. I was constantly looking through my phone for relaxing music, which I truly believes helps to relieve headaches, and I threw on The Glow, Pt. 2.
I don't know what is was, but I felt like the album was reveling in the pain with me. Like it's music was perfectly fitting my situation but was also distracting me from my headache at the same time. It was during this headache filled bus ride home that I noticed something about the album that I could not believe I wasn't noticing before: Throughout the entire album, there is a single note that is repeated over and over again until the very end of the album. In my research in trying to determine what was the noise I was hearing, I found out it was the imitation of a foghorn that ships use when traveling at night, because you know, it gets pitch black out at sea without the moon.
And to be completely honest with you, this foghorn is one of the most ominous and relaxing things I've ever heard in an album. It's striking to hear that it literally permeates throughout the entire album, giving you this feeling that something is following the listener. Like a ghost lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike, but never does. I used to think that the foghorn itself was what "the glow" was in reference to the album's title, since it seems like the audio equivalent to a glow of light. But no, it can't be that since the album's title is actually referring to a song entitled "The Glow" from the Microphones album that preceded this one.
And that's the thing about Phil's music in general, including this album. Despite all the substance, ominous noises, and acoustic guitars, I can't help but feel that Phil's music doesn't seem to be about anything, it just exists. Or perhaps I just haven't thought about the lyrics all that much, because I haven't. I'm usually too distracted about how darkly beautiful Phil's music is. Generally, I get the feeling that this album deals with loneliness, insecurity, and isolation.
Even though the album has been criticized for having "too much filler", I would defend the extensive use of the instrumental and interlude tracks as a central part of the album's dark and moody atmosphere. In fact, I feel like the album wouldn't be as dramatic or as astounding without all the "filler". Aside from those tracks, the "main" tracks of the album are just as beautiful. I still get can't get over the chilling feeling from songs like "The Mansion", "I Felt My Size", and "Map". And despite how "quiet" this album is for the most part, don't be surprised by the extremely lo-fi and brutal attack of the aptly titled, "Samurai Sword".
Even though I still have a long way to go in terms of shuffling through Phil Elverum's discography, as the only other album I've heard from him is Mount Eerie, I'm ready to see what else Phil has conjured up in his head. At the same time however, the only thing that has tainted my experience with Phil's music is that his wife, Genevieve, has recently passed away from cancer. I can't imagine what he must be going through right now. Especially since him and Genevieve had their first and only child together not too long ago. All my condolences and respect to him. But I'm not proclaiming that this album or any of Phil's albums are haunted now, it's just something to bear in mind. The music is still beautiful and ominous no matter what happens.
Overall: 9.2 out of 10
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