The second nominally solo album from the former Yuck frontman uses improvisation, repetition, and group interplay as ways of breaking free of traditional modes of songwriting.
To improvise is to stand at the edge of a precipice and cast yourself over, with the belief that something—your own proficiency, other players, familiar musical meter, or pure luck—will catch you on the way down. The legendary free-music guitarist Derek Bailey referred to it as “playing without memory”: to rid oneself of standard chords and pre-established songwriting expectations and instead allow spontaneity to guide a performance.
When Daniel Blumberg left Yuck in 2013, this was the world he immersed himself in—one that wasn’t predicated on mining ’90s rock nostalgia so much as consummating his ever-evolving vision. He established himself as a fixture at the London experimental music haven Cafe OTO and spent the next five years performing and collaborating with other like-minded musicians, releasing music in various formations—Hebronix, Oupa, and Guo, to name a few—but mostly making art and staying out of the public eye. After going through a breakup, Blumberg dipped his toes back into conventional songwriting, resulting in his 2018 solo debut, Minus. That record was built around unhurried ballads with atonal flourishes, whereas his latest album, On&On, is based on repetition and reinterpretation of recurring themes, like he’s looking to break free from having to arrange traditional songs altogether.
On&On features the same musicians from Minus (Ute Kanngiesser on cello, Billy Steiger on violin, Tom Wheatly on double bass, and Jim White of Dirty Three on drums), who Blumberg has credited with being instrumental to his artistic process. Iterations of the title track are interspersed throughout the record like temporal markers, each of them more formless than the last, with an additional “&On” appended each time to signify the developing nature of the work. These recurrences share just the semblance of a melodic motif; some are gentle, others chaotic. On the opener, he summons a reverie with gentle acoustic guitar and artificial harmonics. “Take a man out for a walk, holding his hand,” he muses, seconds before a sudden, violent thwock punctures the stereo field. Is that a percussive non-sequitur by White or a fortuitously toppled instrument? It doesn’t really matter; it’s forever a part of that one recording, and it will never happen again.
Blumberg and the quartet move with gentle fluidity, displaying a trust that can only be forged by hours of listening to each other play. You can hear this on songs like “Sidestep Summer”—where a discordant groove gives way to a delicate chorus that slips away almost as soon as it arrives, replaced by abrasive splashes of sound—or the simmering pitter-patter and room noise that opens “Silence Breaker,” where the band is joined by Elvin Brandhi, the improvisational lyricist who’s also Blumberg’s partner in the duo BAKH. Though it’s billed as a solo album, On&On captures what is ultimately a community effort. The songs are Blumberg’s, but the performance belongs to them all.
The seven-minute indie-rock centerpiece “Bound” is the closest Blumberg comes to writing something reminiscent of his past projects. There’s a powerful moment at its midpoint when the pining guitar line disintegrates and all momentum suddenly grinds to a halt. “It was a mistake to put that ring on your finger,” Blumberg moans as layers of textural tremolo bowing begin to lift him up. “When I hit the hay/When I end the day… To be online forever/To be offline together.” It’s the only time he makes specific reference to modern-day ailments, as if to remind us that he hasn’t entirely sequestered himself away.
Like Minus, On&On was recorded and seen through completion by producer Pete Walsh, the longtime Scott Walker collaborator who worked with the pop star turned avant-garde enigma for decades. It’s hard not to draw career parallels between Blumberg and artists like Walker or the late David Berman, who mentored Blumberg and to whom the album is dedicated. All of these artists got some taste of music stardom early in their lives before rejecting that premise altogether and dedicating themselves to the notions that moved them: craft, process, and perilous experimentation. Blumberg asserts that even for the creator, a song can be whatever you need it to be in the moment, a vessel for self-exploration. On&On shows that he’s wholly enmeshed his songwriting and improvisation in a way that feels unique to him.
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