........

........

There's something to be said for the seasons, though they cycle regardless of mere musicians. It's doubtful that Jacaszek's wordless, cathedral resonance would evoke such deep-sinking depression, the kind one luxuriates in and is inspired by, were it not also for long autumn walks down deserted streets, brittle leaves degenerating on brisk winds, and the baleful thoughts that accompany you when no person can or wants to. Treny came out of nowhere, like it slipped up from behind me, and now it's filling my headspace with the molt of its ghosts. Boy do those leaves look dead.

Clips and adumbrated noise make the minor chord classical and choral arrangements even more sinister, like a shadow sister to Efterklang's similarly combinatory but more effervescent formula; yet melancholy unsettled by the glitch in the pit of its own stomach is only one of the reasons this album is a lasting and revelatory listen. Jacaszek also lend themselves easily enough to meta-conditions, music-about-music statements on the possibilities afforded by electronic tools—enough so that I couldn't help but think throughout my many, many listens that the album approaches a new watershed for how indistinguishable electronic and organic instrumentation can be in talented enough hands. For a long time I wondered if electronic music was a dead-end alleyway, an obvious way to either put fresh gloss on traditional songwriting or to clumsily blow it up; that is, unless one was crafting yet another slavish, dull-witted album at the altar of IDM or was jettisoning that craft into a vacuum of distancing technicality. Treny, on the other hand, should do for electronic and indie-classical music what Pan's Labyrinth did for mainstream folkloric retellings; the style draws you in, but it's the breadth of technology's reach that leaves one with the feeling that they've witnessed some small node in a broader redefinition.

The insight provided by cinematic touchstones is much more obvious in the listening. Where "Rytm To Niesmiertelnosc" encapsulates and features a little bit of each of the album's many strengths, the middle section of "Zal," "Powoli," and the absolutely haunted "Taniec" is more telling for its forsaken soundtracking and unsettled anxiety. So hooray again for technology but Jacaszek's patience and vision are tributaries to traditions much larger and historical than what teems at the surface. The album remains closer to classical than to electronic throughout, and this is both humble and remarkable songwriting, a simultaneously staid and accomplished achievement made possible by an educated perspective. The group does not rely exclusively ..-ups for evocation; sudden breaks in sound are not manipulations as much as knowing arrangements and strategically placed ambience, specifically on those mournful vocals, which cast subsequent tools as just that—tools in service to the larger project of right-brained narrative. All that's missing from Treny are the visuals.

Here there be subterranean rhythms, such as on "Orzula," where pulses are exhalations; the punctuated "Walc" is a struggle for that same breath, meaningfully spliced into the album's most non-linear arrangement. The two might represent the album's poles between pre- and post-construction, but together they also form an alimentary prayer: foreboding on the one hand, nostalgia on the other. That's the evocative power of something so seriously and effectively pulled off: the implication can be a warning or an elegy, can tap in to the fascination we share for apocalyptic disaster stories and sensational drama or the repugnance we show for inauthentic bastardizations of that primal fear. And, just like a good story, "Rytm To Niesmiertelnosc II" ends a desperate clop with the album's first and last note of real hope.

Simply put, vocalist Maja Sieminska, violinist Stefan Wesolowski, cellist Ania Smiszek-Wesolowska, and arranger/producer Michal Jacaszek have created a tour de force, and most likely my pick for album of the year. Treny deserves several close listens, alone, in head phones, along dusk paths and after weighty moments; it deserves exclusive spaces and gestures of inebriated faith; it deserves expansive praise for its veneer and intimate appreciation for its romanticism. It demands all this with cold hands and an ache in its heart. Melodramatic, perhaps, but all the more impressive then for making a believer of me.

One of the key reasons why Michal Jacaszek's Treny impresses as such a hauntingly beautiful collection is that the Polish producer eschewed samples entirely in the creation of the album's material and instead exploited to the fullest degree the artistic gifts of three guests— violinist Stefan Wesolowski, cellist Ania Smiszek-Wesolowska, and singer Maja Sieminska—all of whom make pivotal contributions to Jacaszek's work. Listening to his chamber-electronic lamentations, obvious names from the electronic and classical fields spring to mind—Max Richter, Marsen Jules, Murcof, Arvo Part, Henryk Gorecki, Giya Kancheli—yet Jacaszek manages to create something that feels unique. Deploying a limited but powerful set of sonic elements is one way of accomplishing that, and, by repeatedly spotlighting the mournful cry of Wesolowski's violin and haunted wordless vocalizing of Sieminska, Jacaszek does exactly that. The tastefully implemented electronic contributions that help solidify the sonic mass into hypnotic webs are more often than not subliminally rather than overtly present and rarely draw excessive attention to themselves (the exception to the rule, "Powoli" places vaporous streams front and center alongside the funereal percussive treatments that creep unsettlingly into position). The music itself is simultaneously elegiac and ponderous but communicates with powerful emotive force when elemental themes voiced by piano, strings, and vocals loop over and over, thereby intensifying their entrancing effect.

Another reason why Treny makes such a powerful impression is the strength of its melodic dimension. Don't let the material's relentlessly gloomy ambiance fool you: a remarkable piece like "Taniec" is packed with memorable motifs and melodies—the groaning cello figure, the anguished moan of the voice that drifts through the foreboding atmosphere Jacaszek sculpts with his subtle manipulations, and the glacial lull of its stop-start tempo (note the hiccupping pause at the end of every eighth bar which is punctuated by a single piano chord). Every piece distinguishes itself in like manner as an arresting confluence of sounds and motifs: the layered counterpoint of Sieminska's voice in "Walc"; the slow, stately, and (rather uncharacteristically of the album) steady unfurl of "Martwa Cisza"; the delicate harp lattices that grace "Lament"; and, perhaps most startlingly, the skewed samba feel that imbues this special album's closing track, "Rytm To Niesmiertelnosc II," with unexpected uplift.

September 2008

Three tracks from "Treny" album were used in new BBC documentary "China" (Panorama series)

The Wire

Somewhere deep beneath the junction where classical, electronica and ambient meet, Norwegian label Miasmah has been carving out its own dark and distinctly chilly cavern. As this album from Gdansk based Michal Jacaszek shows, it..s a place filled with foreboding, haunted by the ghosts of chamber orchestras who, misled by electronic manipulations and tape loops, stumble down unexplored passages until only their echoes could be heard. The atmosphere on "Treny" may be less oppressive than that of the ocean floor sepulchres found on labelmate Elegi..s 2007 release "Sisteres", but both are not so much a collection of distinct tracks as a constant shuffling and revisiting of sonic elements over a slowly unfurling album.

"Rytm to Niesmiertelnosc I" establishes the template, with spliced together atmospherics that suggest sudden air pressure changes or the laboured pumping of machinery. Having previously incorporated poetry and spoken word into pieces, here Jacaszek sets the task of conveying a wordless narrative to Maja Sieminska..s vocals and Stefan Wesolowski..s bold, bittersweet arrangements for violin and cello, punctuated later on by notes picked out dolefully on piano.

With its emotional palette running from sharp, tearing grief to lingering wistful regret via several grey shades of gloom, "Treny" demands more than casual attention if it..s not to drift past unheeded. But moments such as the plucked harp and subtle beats recalling Four Tet..s "Rounds" on "Lament", a sudden, disconcerting convergence of voices in "Zal" and the way final track "Rytm to Niesmiertelnosc II" chops vocals into peppery, rhythmic snippets all combine to ensure that "Treny" is more than mood music for cave trolls.

-Abi Bliss



Foxy Digitalis

I tend to forget this as the time between releases is always so long, but looking at the previous six albums released by Norway's Miasmah label, and at Jacaszek's "Treny", which is MIACD007, I can't help but notice that Miasmah might be my favourite label. I know I wrote something similar when I reviewed the last Miasmah release (Gultskra Artikler's "Kasha Iz Toporra"), but it's the same revelation: When it comes to labels, it doesn't get more exquisite and consistent than the label of Erik Skodvin (aka Svarte Greiner of Deaf Center) and its string of releases by Greg Haines, Rafael Anton Irisarri, Elegi, and Gultskra Artikler. "Treny" is a worthy companion to these, and it fits perfectly into the label's identity made up of field recordings, modern composition, and sombre cinematic atmospheres, mostly created by minimal string arrangements.

Michal Jacaszek hails from Poland. He has composed the eleven tracks on this album, which features vocalist Maja Sieminska, Ania Smiszek-Wesolowska ..o, Stefan Wesolowski on violin and Jacaszek himself manipulating electronics. While the first impressions of this album are dominated by the foggy, desolate grandeur of tracks like "Lament" and "Walc", repeated sessions reveal how memorable some of these pieces are. You wouldn't want to call a Jacaszek track 'catchy' but that's actually what they are, not only for their wafting vocals or their elegiac string arrangements but especially for Jacaszek's minimal electronics.

"Walc" in particular is a track that will be with me for a very long time. It starts with electronic teardrops dripping into an oily pool, soon joined by tape loop crackle and gradually expanded by those minimal string ciphers. After about two minutes, Sieminska's voice joins in to . Neither here nor anywhere else on this album am I able to find out whether she actually pronounces words. If so, it's most likely Polish, but for me it works well as it is, with the voice reduced to its abstract and atmospheric qualities.

Add to that Erik Skodvin's trademark cover artwork: Washed-out baroque lettering and aeruginous illustration fit the music perfectly, as does the use of ornaments and religious imagery. If anything, the art for "Treny" leans more towards metal imagery than Erik's previous work. Which makes perfect sense, even if this release isn't metal at all. Jacaszek seem to have an ep and another album out on the Polish Gustaff label, which – judging from this effort – should definitely be worth getting as well. I also seem to remember Skodvin saying something about Miasmah vinyl in the future. Bring it on.

9/10 -- Jan-Arne Sohns



The silent ballet

There's an ever-so-growing space between the listener and music, a meaning co-created between the two. Sometimes it's as though another organic psyche emanates from the notes' core, like a shared reality with rhythm. While some musicians try to artificially bridge the endless gap, others stick to underlining that exact space, which in many ways resembles the seashore, veering from conscious to unconscious, from felt to embodied.

Jacaszek pertains to the latter category. At a first spin, names such as World's End Girlfriend and Max Richter came to mind, but then it slowly transpired that, unlike the aforementioned, this Polish composer's Treny evokes a highly personalised response to what one hears, suturing the listener into another world, making him lose the plot of his own life even as it recreates the perfect soundtrack for all our interior film rolls.

Fluent and elegant, there is not a single moment of disturbance in Jacaszek's music. Sparse to the point of minimalism, all 11 tracks underline every inch of every note, playing it again and again, carrying one's mind to a faux climax, to that specific moment of tension that never comes. And yet they constantly elicit shivers and spine chills, making an incision to reach the most intimate feelings, displacing every thought and emotion. If anything, for 54 minutes you won't be able to escape Jacaszek's sharp blades cutting right to the bone; thus the strong organic character resides in the music's unexpected stagnation.

Piano, violin, cello, electronics and harp act as aborted children of an infamous mother, separately screaming the silence that grows in them. Slenderly layered, the music tends to create a foundation and construct the rest over it, thus leading you backwards and forwards to the same outcome. To some extent, it is particularly difficult to follow its flow, for both divisions stand out. Moreover, each instrument behaves as a different entity, but they interact in a rather uncanny way, silently communicating through nostalgic vibes, like whispers in the hollows of a stringless piano.

Each minute of Treny recites a short story of loneliness; what brings them all together into a sophisticated and integral piece is the unworldly female murmur, dragging the listener into a now complete picture. Every now and then, there is a slight change of tone that cannot break into the stillness of it all, but allows for the discernment of patterns. The same sounds appear mirrored throughout the album, setting the calm disposition, leaving the well thought of impression of rearrangement when in fact the immovable pervades. For all that, Jacaszek's effort transpires as a terribly feminine air: impalpable, yet intensely present.

Treny stays on the same tracks for almost an hour; undisturbed, unyieldingly emotional, never at a halt but perpetually cueing to standstills, to the monotonous whisper of the engines and the ever changing scenery, leaving behind distant sentiments and making one run off the rails of every train of thought.

8/10 -Diana Sitaru



Groove.no

Store deler av David Lynchs Inland Empire er filmatisert og foregår i Polen med en dempet atmsofære av mystikk og hemmeligheter. Hadde ikke Lynch funnet Boguslaw Schaeffer og den polske radiosymfonien kunne Jacaszek lett påtatt seg rollen som komponist for disse delene av Inland Empire. Som sitt eget soundtrack fyller den en lignende funksjon, men denne gang er filmen din egen.

Bildene er omtrent de samme. Tett skodde henger langs gatehjørnene. Rekker med gatelys kaster mismodige lysskjær på snøfillene. Tause rekker av bygårder holder vakt. Skygger bak vindusslørene. Korte møter mellom mennesker på fortauet. På Treny leies vi inn i denne settingen, driver sakte inn i tilstanden som Jacaszek legger opp til gjennom 11 spor, 54 minutter - men ett helt stykke, én reise og én endeløs etterklang.

Pulsen er langsom, monoton og suggererende. Hest og kjerre. Her er langsomme bevegelser i aksjon. En ordløs kvinnesopran fanger snart natten. Strykerne stryker oss med en sørgmodig hånd og et piano spiller sine siste toner. Dette er musikk for skyggene. Fra drømmene. Musikk som fanger det usagte og som forsiktig avdekker sine hemmeligheter. Melankolsk? Trist? I hvert fall ettertenksom og dvelende. Men først og fremst gripende vakkert. Treny er også en plate i konstant blomstring, de bleke gråtonene avslører sine farger. Det er håp i enden av det sorgtunge følget.

Treny er ingen komplistert plate. Den bryter ikke med etablerte strukturer innen neo-klassisime eller elektro-akustisk musikk. Noen - kjennere av klassisk musikk kanskje - kan sikkert avfeie dette som kitchy med all sin enkle logikk et sted rundt, etter mitt begrensede skjønn, Arvo Pärt, Erik Satie, Angelo Badalamenti, moderne komponister som Max Richter og artister generelt tilknyttet Miasmah (Deaf Center, Svarte Greiner). Gjennom kombinasjonen av elektronisk manipulasjon og akustiske, klassiske virkemidler føyer Jacaszek seg inn i et rammeverk, mer enn å bryte ut av det. Men jeg har til gode å høre noen som griper like sterkt tak. De tunge bildene som fremskapes gjennom minimalistiske, repeterende øvelser er vanskelige å bli kvitt.

På sin hjemmeside utrykker Jacaszek følgende om sin musikk: I want to create my own, personal and recognizable musical language, in which electronic manipulation of recorded sound is going to enrich traditional acoustic instruments. The motivation of these experiments is discovering the hidden and universal beauty. Den oppdagelsen mener jeg han i hvert fall er svært nær å avsløre her.

Jeg merker at jeg vet så lite om polsk musikk at det ikke engang er noen vits å late som å nøste tråder i den retning. Men det jeg vet er at den norske etiketten Miasmah igjen har gjort en utmerket jobb i forhold til å åpne våre øyne også østover. Deres forrige utgivelse var fra den eminente russer i Gultskra Artikler, med Treny har de igjen funnet en artist med et bemerkelsesverdig elegant og egenartet språk. Det er tungt å igjen løfte hodet etter at Rytm to nieśmiertelność II toner ut. For det er en gripende ferd dette her.

Stillheten etterlater ikke noe ekko. Men til slutt er det bare den igjen.

6/7 - Bjørn Hammershaug



Mapsadaisical

I'm far from impressed with these current experimental London weather conditions. I mean, we even set aside a whole area of the UK for random non-seasonal post-Easter snow flurries and the like - it is called Scotland. When the clocks went forward last week (robbing me of an hour of my weekend, which I won't forget; when it is least expecetd – some time around October probably – I'm nicking that back) I was on the verge of cracking out my shorts and my Soul Jazz Studio One compilations. I even checked my black book to see if I could round myself up some suitably-clad bitches, but the closest I came was the phone number of a vet in Highgate. Instead I find myself inside as the arctic winds whirl round outside, curtains drawn, black-mooded and bitchless, listening to the latest release on that most wintery of labels, Miasmah.

Although, it has to be said that this is probably the warmest thing they have released – it isn't exactly cheerful, but it does lack the iciness of the Greg Haines and the Rafael Anton Irisarri releases, and the spookiness of the Gultskra Artikler and (especially) the Elegi. On Treny, Polish musician and producer Michael Jacaszek has unveiled something closer in mood to Max Richter's stately classical and electronic embroideries, yet somehow richer and more colourful. Tracks unravel with threads of piano, harp, violin and cello (the timeless instrumentation also brings to mind Colleen's most recent album), into which are woven strands of near-operatic vocals. Edges are frayed by some finely-judged processing which typically lends a subtle blurriness, and only occasionally an intrusive crackliness. The end result is a grand tapestry, right up there with the best that this magnificently focused label has produced.

Now that they have found a cure for the British Summertime blues, I'm tempted to ask: is there nothing that Miasmah can't do? Listen to samples of "Orszula", "O ma żałości" and "Martwa Cisza" and buy a copy round their gaff, then all over to mine for a snowball fight. How does that sound?

Jacaszek proudly annouces a new album TRENY (gusstaff/miasmah marzch 2008) Check out new tracks!