Clint Heidorn – Atwater (Ashes Ashes)
In the nascent years of most artists’ development, the tendency is to define one’s aesthetic through direct homage to predecessors. Some subsequently refine their sound into something more individual, some act as a passable tribute, and some remain mired in mediocrity. But it’s extremely heartening when an artist’s initial offerings can possess an assured unwillingness to remain blatantly beholden to their influences. Such is the case with Atwater, the debut release from Clint Heidorn, an album that is laden with familiar aesthetic signifiers and sonic reference points, but none so direct that they would align the album too squarely with any other artist’s work.
Clint Heidorn – Atwater (Ashes Ashes)
In the nascent years of most artists’ development, the tendency is to define one’s aesthetic through direct homage to predecessors. Some subsequently refine their sound into something more individual, some act as a passable tribute, and some remain mired in mediocrity. But it’s extremely heartening when an artist’s initial offerings can possess an assured unwillingness to remain blatantly beholden to their influences. Such is the case with Atwater, the debut release from Clint Heidorn, an album that is laden with familiar aesthetic signifiers and sonic reference points, but none so direct that they would align the album too squarely with any other artist’s work.
There’s a strong rustic quality to much of the album, a loose-limbed evocation of open spaces that’s not exactly folk music in the sense it’s normally used, seeming more like several centuries worth of half-remembered traditional songs being extracted, note by protracted ambling note, from each of the contributing musicians. This isn’t to say that the album is tied to any sense of narrow historicity or geographical regionalism either – more a drawing together of disparate strands of the traditional and the progressive. Which in turn isn’t to suggest that Atwater is overly cerebral, as such a suggestion would undermine the songs’ emotional gravity. It’s difficult to say the extent to which Atwater is improvised or composed in advance, as there seem to be some recurring ideas, and some passages in which the musicians depart on instrumental flights of fancy. If it relies more heavily on the former, Heidorn and company do an excellent job of maintaining a looseness that complements the songs’ structure. If it leans more towards the latter, the musicians do an excellent job maintaining a mood through subdued and mutually supportive interplay.
But regardless of the process, it’s a very human album. I realize that doesn’t sound like much of a compliment, but in an era where everything can be synthesized, digitized, and pitch-corrected, it’s refreshing to hear an album of people sitting together in a room and creating. From the music itself to the hand-stained packaging with pieces of wood attached, the album seems like a whole entity, one not made by mass production for mass consumption, but instead a small, quiet murmur, a whisper in a world of screams. It’s not a new sound specifically, more a cobbling together of timeless elements that isn’t readily analogous to much that’s currently around.
