Mountains
Choral
(Thrill Jockey)
and
Pan•American
White Bird Release
(Kranky)
With ambient music, a fine line distinguishes boring from glorious,
stasis from ecstasy, “eh, no” from Eno. Here are two examples of the
latter.
Mountains—New York’s Koen Holtkamp and Brendon
Anderegg—specialize in organic-sounding folk-drone excursions
invariably described as “pastoral.” Their third full-length,
Choral, begins with the 13-minute title track, which conjures a
new genre tag: Adirondacks ambient. Immediately, Mountains establish
their mastery of tranquilly fluctuating tones (strings and/or an
accordion, it’s quite like Pauline Oliveros) and soothing
tintinnabulation. The piece slowly expands to take in pleasurably
moaning vocals and keyboard cascades, forming a rapturous web of bliss.
“Map Table” couples contemplative acoustic folk guitar with chilly
ambience, evoking a Basho/Basinski collab. On “Telescope,” a dewy
electric guitar enchants amid stardusted drones. Like the best
drone-based music, it opens a portal to the eternal. “Melodica”
wistfully emits 12 minutes of cirruslike ions, augmented by shakers and
bells. “Sheets Two” trembles and twinkles prettily toward the “Exit”
sign. Peace out.
Pan•American—Labradford guitarist Mark
Nelson’s sample/computer-
oriented solo project—has
been exploring low-pulsed composition for 11 years. White Bird
Release isn’t a significant detour from Pan•American’s
previous five albums. “There Can Be No Thought of Finishing” opens the
disc with Nelson’s familiar soothing whisper and spangly guitar
filigree, which gets mutated into keening oscillations, then dispersed
into sonorous vapor. “For ‘Aiming at the Stars'” and “In a Letter to H.
G. Wells, 1932″ feature three additional musicians on drums, vibes, and
basses, but they offer no real boost in rhythmic thrust. The tracks are
gentle instrumental meditations that could be Tortoise at their
mellowest, although the latter gradually swells into Gas-like ambient
grandeur.
Ultimately, White Bird Release finds Nelson continuing his
quest to freeze time through shivery drones, sighing quavers, and an
icy-jointed form of ambient dub. Like all Pan•American releases,
the new one surreptitiously swathes you in peaceful, easy feelings,
which only a fool would reject in the stressful 21st century. 
