Posts Tagged ‘PJ Dorsey’

Tarotplane

Brand new LP this week from PJ Dorsey’s Tarotplane brings new shades to the artist’s catalog. While his past outside of the moniker may have seen Dorsey work within the realm of minimal techno, that side doesn’t often find its way into the DNA of Tarotplane. The A-side weaves new sonic structures into his Ash Ra Tempel explorations, letting the austerity of the Raster-Norton set design the interior of the album’s cosmic vessel. Field recordings bump against the measured pulse of electronic burble in manner that’s exacting but not cold — an artificial environment that’s got some moss growing between the cracks of its polished exterior. The tension between the motorik snap and the environment overtaking it builds subtly until it cracks completely on the second side.

The natural world opens wide as PJ hits the second portion of the album — the shift brings sounds that might feel more familiar to Tarotplane travelers. There’s a lushness to “Light Under Water” and the temperature drops quite a few degrees, with the listener submerged into damp chills — humid and haunted. The second side evokes alien landscapes. The manicured craft from the first side crashed into unfamiliar environs that glow and glower — light playing off the shadows in unfamiliar ways. Its not entirely sinister, not entirely inviting. There’s a sense of wonder between the groans of the synths that’s eventually consumed by a homesick ache as the guitars begin to wind their way around the headphones. Horizontology works as a kind of sound journey, and its marking some of Dorsey’s best works yet. Turning the dial of expectations on Tarotplane, but never leaving the cosmos he calls home.




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Tarotplane

A split last year with Prana Crafter brought Baltimore’s Tarotplane further into the light, at least around here, but PJ Doresey’s been issuing deep-tissue cosmic platters for a couple of years on labels like Aguirre and Lullabies for Insomniacs. He debuts on hometown outpost VG+ with an LP split into two side-long excursions into the outer reaches of crystalline headspace. The Feedback Sutras was conceived mid-winter freeze and the isolation and cold feed into the windswept desolation that scars the album’s surface. There’s something both macrocosmic and microcosmic at work here. Dorsey’s voluminous riffs and synth burble tug at the tundra like an ice core drill down through a glacier. The album leeches out the gasses and grit of eons packed in cold compress, refracting light off the crystal structure to create an earthbound cosmos in compact.

The first side is tenuous and trembling, with a slight tinge of danger lurking beneath the surface. While the coldness is at its core, something in Dorsey’s delivery sidles his work up next to the underwater explorations of Sven Liabek or the watery prog of Dominique Guiot. Like those soundtracks to the deep, there’s something of a descent into the abyss to Tarotplane’s latest. There’s a weightlessness, but also a force pulling the suspended listener further into the depths of shadow and light that flicker through the liquid lines of his playing. The second side sets aside some of the wonder to let the feelings of danger grip tighter. Its hard to fight the pull downward to the frigid waters that grow ever darker, even as the lights of the first track dance in glances back to the surface above. Last year’s split positioned Dorsey to take a hight place on the list of cosmic players filling up the ranks, and with The Feedback Sutras he leaps ever higher. Isolation just got a new soundtrack. Not a minute too late, either.



Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

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