Pitchfork

In this, the age of the laptop, mobility and fluidity have become watchwords of the modern electronic composer. An idea is only as valid as the speed with which it can be documented and processed. The art of collage and cut-up have been present for a great deal longer in the literary and visual arts world; it's only been with the recent advancement of computer technology and sound destroying/rebuilding software plugins that music has been so democratized. The last tethers to the recording studios of yore have been severed, and the musician is free to draw inspiration from sources all around him-- the terrestrially mundane can be elevated to the celestially sublime; all it takes is imagination and familiarity with one's favorite software.

Nathan Michel is counted among the increasing number of these electronic alchemists. Though somewhat obscured by his higher profile compatriots at Tigerbeat6, he's shown a remarkable penchant for daring yet highly listenable cut-and-paste. There is, of course, the typical madcap grabs at popular music, as the ghosts of club funk and the knowledge/acceptance of IDM form the skeleton of Michel's abstracted architecture. But what separates this recording from most of his contemporaries' efforts is his genuine sense of wide-eyed wonder, a childlike fascination with each new musical shape and juxtaposition that drifts by as the album unfolds. There's a palpable feeling of discovery on each track, as though Michel himself were delighted by every gurgle, pop and coo.

Recently, musicians operating within this genre have been increasingly unable to resist adding sung vocals, often to weak and or/embarrassing result. Nathan Michel is again an exception; his vocals occupy the same relative space as any of the other delicate carnival attractions he's displayed. I get the sense that he's less concerned with why he should be suggesting these moods and textures, and more appropriately with how they sound in context. This golden rule, which should be the common denominator of electronic exploration, is often forgotten or temporarily ignored, in favor of progress and novelty.

"Magellan Fields" is a perfect example of the spontaneity and fearlessness this album evokes. Slightly detuned acoustic guitars are cut and re-assembled (a la The Books) to form a comfortable nesting place for a gorgeous, unprocessed electric guitar solo. It's a nice juxtaposition, but more importantly, it's refreshing to hear this familiar voice in a modern electronic recording. The landscape is shifted, the redundant and conventional is suddenly made fresh again, and expectation is turned on its ear.

Electronic music is possibly on the verge of a serious progression. The old classics are just that: wonderful historical landmarks in the pantheon of a music that demands progress and motion, even in stillness. The tools are there, and composers like Michel are taking full advantage of them. For those interested in bearing witness to such developments, Dear Bicycle is a gorgeous documentation of the real-life thrills that can occur when the rules of musical convention cease to apply.