A Little Light Against the Darkness
In the fall of 2020, amid the COVID distancing and lockdowns, we spent a lot of time around our fire pit in the backyard because that's what you did when you had nowhere to go and no one to see.
We had our little portable speaker and we'd listen to music and stare at the embers and stare at the stars and wonder at the absurdity and horror and shame of it all, the games played in empty stadiums, the grandparents unseen for the better part of a year, the men on airplanes wearing women's underwear on their faces, the president stoking the flames of what would become a full-blown insurrection. Things felt unsettled and awful because, at the time and also in hindsight, they were unsettled and awful.
It was around that fire that I fell in love with the album New Vanitas by William Tyler, a guitarist whose earlier albums of Americana-infused instrumentals seemed scientifically engineered to soundtrack your Sunday drive through the country. I had been a fan of Tyler's for years, but with New Vanitas, released in September 2020, Tyler steered his compositions into a level of abstraction that was particularly appropriate for that disorienting moment. It's one of those albums that really demands listening to it in its entirety, an apocalyptic wash of reverb, feedback and static punctuated by serene stretches of unadorned playing. It was an album I didn't know I needed delivered exactly when I needed it.
William Tyler
It's been five years since New Vanitas, and Tyler has remained busy. I've enjoyed everything he's released, including this year's Time Indefinite. But I got a little extra excited when I learned that he and Kieran Hebden planned to release a full album following their 2023 mini collaboration. Hebden is more commonly known as Four Tet and makes dance music with acoustic and analog turns that never let you forget there is a human behind the controls and with an appeal that stretches all the way to people who have no intention of ever going near a dance floor if they can help it.
41 Longfield Street Late '80s arrives eight months into Trump II, when the daily exercise of staring into the maw of eternal darkness has become a bit of a drag. If you had told me five years ago over that fire pit that this is where we'd be, I wouldn't have believed you. In other words, I could use a pick-me-up, and this Hebden-Tyler album is helping.
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It's a welcome reminder that artists are still creating, and also of the beauty that can result from the collaboration of people who seemingly have little in common. Does the world need an eleven-minute, electro-acoustic instrumental cover of Lyle Lovett's "If I Had a Boat"? I don't know, but I sure enjoy listening to it, and the world's a little better for it.