It can be widely accepted that a perfect album may not exist, despite how many arguments certain Beatles or Stones fans might throw out there. Even Mozart's Requiem, arguably one of the finest complete pieces of music ever, has its imperfections. In fact, if the perfect album had been created, then there would be no more reason to make, listen to, and seek out new music. The true measure of joy in music appreciation lies in encountering an album that scrapes achingly close, as if the distance between two fingertips in the Sistine Chapel is the metaphor for this moment of listening ecstasy. Every real music fan has a handful of albums they would put on the so-called 'desert island' list that would qualify as near-perfect albums, and now I can surely add Nest's Retold to my personal list. Not since Fernando Corona released Remembranza under his Murcof moniker has an album so superbly and sublimely combined the sonic worlds of electronic music and neo-classical. Now Otto Totland, the 'other half' of Deaf Center, and Huw Roberts, label head at Serein, can confidently stand amongst peers of the highest stature.
Retold is an intimidating work. It is an intimidating work of art, because no element on this record ever, ever sounds out of place. All elements are natural and intentional. No sound or styling is suggestive of being picked at random or included just for the sake of filling space and sound. After about five weeks of listening to this album, it is still revealing itself in a series of what seems to be three phases of discovery. In the early going, it was Totland's piano that stood out, possibly because it carried a familiar tonic to his work in Deaf Center. The phrasing and lurid tone of his piano playing hark back to the magic of "White Lake" on Pale Ravine, though it is clear that Roberts has also contributed some work on the keys. In this early phase, the sparsely plucked Welsh harp concomitantly shared the spotlight with the piano and their interplay at times melded into one melodic force. However, on "Kyoto", the album's second track, the piano plays back-up to the harp. This creates a lighter feeling, through the radiant plucking of the instrument, but seemingly only to allow a breather for the listener and prepare him for the headlong dive approaching (though, with the harp's inclusion on the very next track, "Marefjellet," the transition is smooth and seamless).
The second phase of learning Retold comes with possibly its strongest element: atmospherics. These atmospherics range in fashion from field recordings and old library recording samples to what is just a drumbeat shy of dub. These subtle touches of dub stylings give a uniquely haunting relief to the piano work (and also require the use of headphones). Roberts' contributions here end up surpassing the aforementioned descriptors of 'field recordings' or 'electronics'. Those terms are too general, implying that they are an element of the album that is less worthy of attention. However, Retold would fail to exist in such a wondrous and eccentric manifestation without such sounds. Even the scant percussion is timed elegantly and with severe impact. All of these elements are akin to that of the careful eye and hand of a master painter, who leaves no stroke, whether fore- or background, to chance or potential neglect.
On "Lodge," the abum's opener, the sonic foundation appears as nothing more than an echo pinging back and forth, twisting through a maze of volume and panning modulations. As the echo begins to shatter against itself, it morphs into an imagined rainfall, then wind, and then back again to its skittering, initial incarnation. Roberts then adds a dash of somber emotion with the chopped bits of a human inhaling, as if about to speak but pausing instead. Upon first listen, I thought it was Totland breathing in time with his gentle refrain on the piano, but it is obviously not with even the most rudimentary pair of headphones on. A clear separation of tracks becomes evident. This leads to the conclusion that Totland and Roberts possess an incredibly keen sense of not only sound and its creative and psychedelic construction, but of real musical communication with intention. That sound of human inhalation is salient so as to create an impact of empathy on the listener; it opens a channel of honesty and vulnerability, but with strength and conviction, between Nest and its audience.
On "Marefjellet" these subtle yet whacked-out dub effections sound like the metal-on-metal creaking of a playground swing waning into the distance that is syncopated against the single, plucked stand-up bass note. There is also what can only be feared as the chattering of a centipede's legs striking the ground, which transmogrifies into a contorted radio static obliteration and then finally a so-so quiet organ synth. And these atmospherics easily move into psychosis; there is no room afforded for comfort's sake. This is clear on "Charlotte" when some of the plucked strings early in the track bring to mind a piano tuner gone mad, reaching in and pulling the very guts of the instrument out, as if the tuner had had some imaginary argument with this suddenly anthropomorphized instrument and felt that yanking the strings off the soundboard and plate was the only way to solve the disagreement. Yet, that unnerving madness is calmed by a churning synthesizer and provides the real rhythm counterpoint for Totland's piano to traipse around. And, as I had also mentioned, the percussion on this album has been delicately and painstakingly put in place. The best example occurs during "Kyoto" when an apparently riveted cymbal is scraped in such a judicious manner that it has no real attack and very little resonance. It is certainly processed, but has a skating effect on the song at a crucial point, launching the piano from its mooring and gently pushing it out to sea, as a burst of wind. Yet, without some keen, restrained cello and viola, these first two groups of sonics may not have tied together properly.
Thus arrives the third phase of discovery within this album. The strings on Retold are so penetrating that they unwittingly delve to depths where they can be unnoticeable at first. For example, on "Marefjellet" the plodding, rhythmically centric strings rock back and forth into a foggy seasickness but refuse to command one's attention until one has memorized the other elements of the song. There are, however, two tracks that own strings of significant power right off the bat. "Wheatstone" and "The Twelve" pack a cello and viola punch that is reminiscent, most of all, of Jacaszek's Treny. They wail like lonely, abandoned lovers standing on the break walls of empty, forgotten harbors - or spin their string theories across a universe, hoping for a reply but knowing they'll most likely die before hearing it. So, here we are dealing with an album apparently free of flaws, which leads me to deal with some contentions with a large flaw in how Retold ends.
Some reviews have argued that, since this is essentially a re-release of the self-titled EP with an additional five songs, ending with "Amroth" (as opposed to the original closer "Trans Siberian") is unnatural . They appear to have very similar sounds, with that hazy sepia static of childhood photography from frontier days, but "Amroth" is more of a meditation in quietly swelling and receding sound. "Trans Siberian," however, is solidly built around a piano motif that struggles to survive in an environment of multiple, lush field recordings that subdue it, which could be a perfect way to fade into the horizon of the album. That said, remaking and re-ending this album only exhibits more of Totland and Roberts' high level of skill, as they effectively add five new tracks to an existing record and avoid creating an awkward flow. In fact, this is like a story retold: it is extended, with a new ending, but still retains the original one; it is smoothed into the normal fold of the narrative. This is further evidence that this album is void of any major faults. Retold excels at what it is supposed to do as far as neo-classical and dark ambient musics are concerned. It is superbly recorded and engineered. It is experimental but somehow familiar and avoids being too sappy with its emotional edges. It is a seriously discerned palate that can craft sound that is so mature, yet wondrous, and so beautiful, but harrowing.
-Gabriel Bogart