James Blake - Klavierwerke EP
- Written by Russell Warfield
It sometimes feels as if you can’t move two clicks of the mouse these days without encountering someone throwing lavish amounts of hyperbolic praise at James Blake; so much so that it feels almost intimidating to have to offer one’s own meagre opinion on the matter. This becomes especially true when the musician in question operates within the ever-widening field of dubstep – a genre breaking new ground on an almost hourly basis, leaving semi-informed critics struggling to tread water. But thankfully James Blake explodes such superficial notions of zeitgeist, hipster posturing and genre distinctions. This is, quite simply, really good music, whatever meaningless post-insertgenrehere label you might feel the need to stick on it.
This, of course, comes as no surprise to those of us who heard his CMYK EP earlier in the year – the thinking person’s call to the dance floor. Klavierwerke is another glorious piece of work; an EP stuffed with one-off rhythm cracks, nuanced shifts in texture, and deconstructed expectations. What might be surprising though, is the musical distance between this EP and the last, despite the fact that they arrive only a few months apart. Klavierwerke, as opposed to its largely upbeat predecessor, is an often dark, sparse and down-tempo affair, backboned throughout by sombre piano chords (Yeah, he plays piano. Yeah, his talent seemingly knows no bounds. Yeah, he makes me want to kill myself too).
Blake’s use of silence throughout these four tracks is what one finds most striking on first listen. Almost paradoxically, he cultivates silence as if it were a sound in itself, using it to add extra layers of texture to his rich and vibrant pieces. He’s not so ham fisted or unimaginative as to just skip the track for a beat, and then throw in a drop or anything like that. His exquisite feel for build and release is far more subtle than that. Instead, these pauses act as luxurious and necessary caesuras, which allow the track – and the listener – to take two breaths before the sound ebbs back into your ears sporting a colourful rhythmic shift or a funkier bassline.
With his minimalist beats and disembodied vocal samples, comparisons to Burial are going to come from all angles for James Blake. And whilst the artists are ostensibly similar on paper, Blake’s music doesn’t convey (or even attempt to convey) the feelings of alienation and isolation in the same way that Burial’s does. It would be overstretching the point to suggest that Blake’s music is in any way welcoming you with open armed embrace, but it does beat with a warmer heart. Burial hits lower emotional lows than Blake; Blake hits higher emotional highs than Burial. They’re both unquestionably pioneers of the electronic scene, but, despite heavily overlapping in the middle, they’re operating at different ends of the spectrum.
For all of its lingering pauses and false endings, it’s Klavierwerke’s closing moments that create the tightest tension of all. The final track’s introductory refrain of three stony piano chords followed by a downward flourish is called upon again to close the track. There are two repetitions, then dung... dung... dung... – but no downward flourish. It’ can’t end this way! You ache for it to be another elongated silence, you ache for Blake’s sonic waves to crash back into your ears, but the record is over. It’s absolutely devastating, and it leaves you pining – even more than you already would have been – for Blake to pick up exactly where he left off with whatever rapturous successor Klavierwerke is going to get.