The malleability of contemporary electronic music continues to surprise me. Every time I think that the genre has followed a trend into a stylistic dead end, a new batch of artists rise to the challenge of charting new paths. These transformations are especially potent when artists reinvent themselves with dexterity and authenticity in a short time frame.
And I’m here for it. I enjoy hearing these sonic sorcerers work their magic and thrill my senses. They somehow find fascinating methods to bend technology to their whims as they recreate the wheel in stirring new ways.
This proves especially true with Marcel Sletten.
When I reviewed Vicious Kisses just last year, I raved about his predilection for “dense sound collages of overlapping synths and the sparsest of beats with a patient curiosity.” On his new album, Irish Words and a Bottle of Myrrh, he fuses ambient electro with poppy edges and caustic textures to deliver a deliciously disorienting listening experience. This new Primordial Void release still overflows with an abundance of rich synth pads that entrance your ears. He marries them with layers of off-kilter melodic phrases and haunting sound effects that threaten to overwhelm you. But just like the incoming tide, it stops just short of your feet in a way that both excites and calms you.
Sletten displays such creative uses of keyboards, programming, and synths. The album features a remarkable percussiveness, even as it actively eschews traditional drum patterns. He isn’t interested in crafting straightforward compositions centered around a comfortable melodic idea. Instead, much like Brian Eno, Holly Herndon, and Nicolas Jaar, he happily flirts with a variety of concepts in hopes of both entertaining and challenging the listener.
The album leaps out of the gate with “Myth.”
It delivers stone-cold ‘80s dark wave goodness, right down to the Depeche Mode drum loop. On “Primordial God,” crackles of overdriven synth flood your ears battle with a distended vocal sample and banks of phaser sound effects while waves of dreamy pads serve as the connective tissue. With “Sassafrass,” our ears are graced with undulating melodic phrases dance with each other atop a mellow, andante tempo to create a perfect post-midnight chilled-out mood.
My favorite tune on the album is “Void of Light,” as it encapsulates Sletten’s entire aesthetic with adroit ease. Clocking in just under seven minutes in length, it’s a delicious slow burn. A distorted low end throbs with brooding angst while swathes of grating industrial noise threaten to overtake your senses. “Normaltown Blues” is the sonic flip side to that track. Fairy-like tendrils of melody from the high end of the keyboard bounce around to set the tone. Halfway through, the script is inverted to reveal gently buzzing chord phrases that create the effect of sitting in traffic while the world passes you by.
Across 16 songs and 54 minutes, Irish Words and a Bottle of Myrrh perpetually enthralled my senses.
I couldn’t decide if Marcel Sletten was aiming for a “getting off work at 5 pm” mood or a “going home after a long night of clubbing” ambiance. What could feel haphazard and random makes sense if you consume the album as a complete thought. The songs ebb and flow with understated grace, even as they leaves you feeling woozy, hazy, and punch-drunk.
Ultimately, the low-key genius of this project lies in its subtle ability to compel your attention without demanding it. It embraces the uncomfortable while also communicating the sensation that everything will be alright as soon as you can get home to relax. Sletten somehow knows exactly when to alter the mood for maximum effect, whether it’s pushing the pop envelope, executing an unexpected technical maneuver, or pulling back to simply vibe out.
This music requires your complete focus even as it puts you on edge. It’s exactly what I want from electronic music in the 2020s.