Marc Kate


The crux of Marc Kate’s Despairer is, not so surprisingly, despair. His self-proclaimed “Ambient Materialism” structures fill the air around the listener but never blend into the woodwork, never seep into the pavement. They suck the air out of the room and replace it with their sullen moods – derived from the negativeness that Kate finds in his surrounding SF home, drawing on the materialism, greed and hollow nature of the tech industry. The tones are shimmering, but possibly only from the stream of tears that they evoke. Much in the same vein as Jefre Cantu-Ledesma, Tim Hecker or Lawrence English (who jumps in on mastering duties here), the weight of Kate’s creations is shouldered on sustained tones and crackled ozone drones that hit the listener squarely in solar plexus, and for Kate even more so, in the lump in the back of one’s throat. Strapping into his world is to be thrown headlong into the chasm of sadness and face it down like a physical torment.

All of this possibly sounds like an unenviable listen, but not so. Filling the room with manifests of regret, remorse and lament acts like a soul scrub. After the glittering crush of Kate’s tones washes over, exiting the other side feels like a new day. The pressure and ache are lifted and everything seems just a touch rosier when the air’s let back in the room. It’s hardly felt this good to feel so bad.

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