On Sihl, Jason Kahn refines and perfects the form he used for Miramar, his previous album for the Portuguese label Sirr. Again, identifiable percussion sounds are reduced to tinting bells and the occasional rumble of a floor tom, either played or set to resonate by a synthesizer tone. High-pitched sine waves, queasy midrange tones, and low growls account for the backbone of the music, with various textural drones and extremely light percussion work (brushes on cymbal, for instance) providing subtle nuances. Kahn is credited for percussion and analogue synthesizer, but, listening to Sihl, one is more prone to think of computers and field recordings made in extremely remote locations. Miramar was a 70-minute set of five pieces. This one clocks in at a little over 45 minutes and racks up a dozen pieces. Brevity is the key: Kahn devises an aural landscape, selecting a combination of tones and textures, lets it unfold for four minutes or so, then abruptly pulls the plug and sets up again. It feels like watching a slide show of evocative photographs, with someone regularly startling you out of contemplation by shouting "Next!" A strange feeling indeed."
AllMusic Review by François Couture
Kahn drew his inspiration for this recording from contemplation of the Sihl River, from his description a slow- running, rather stolid stream whose languidness he grew to appreciate as he crossed it going to and from his studio. While the pieces, performed on percussion and analog synthesizer, certainly dwell in pools of stasis, their number (twelve), brevity (3-4 minutes) and truncated aspect act—intentionally?—somewhat against this semi- programmatic context.
There’s an appealingly similar feel to all of the tracks, rather like snapshots of the same river at different points —here muddy, there reflective, there eddying but each with an underlying aqueous character. As stated above, they are all pretty much steady state, with various hums and drones receiving the odd inflection during the course of the piece. The feeling is far more overtly electronic than percussive though, on occasion, you can pick out a soft mallet tapping on a small gong, some bowed metal or a quiet rattle. The pieces are quite attractive on its own and often very lovely; listeners to Kahn’s previous work with find themselves in fairly familiar territory. In particular, the ringing tones of the sixth track and the final cut, with its muted, insistent gongs over a jangling sizzle are stunning little episodes. My major quibble, and it’s a strong one, is that each and every one of these selections is abruptly snipped off, ruthlessly amputated right around the four minute mark. It’s as though your meditative view of the portion of the river you’re examining is suddenly interrupted by a passing freight train. Whap! Gone. While this is clearly intentional on Kahn’s part and one imagines he’s making a point on the necessarily transitive nature of such musings, I couldn’t help but want to hear at least half of these tracks continue on at far greater length. This ends up making “Sihl” a frustrating experience to some extent even if I have to presume that the frustration is one of the intended effects.
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