Art of Alfalfa (Think Online review on Above Us, A Clear Summer Sky)
text by Chris Chew
Some Wikipedia entries are more trustworthy than others. ‘Alfalfa’ would be one of them. While it’s fair to assume that there are people who find immense pleasure in scribbling textual graffiti over entries about George Bush, evolution and apple pie, alfalfa is hardly contentious enough to lure the vandal. It poses no threat to anyone’s worldview, and inserting some blatant untruth (e.g., “Alfalfa can cure herpes”) isn’t likely to threaten anyone beyond the occasional aspiring horticulturalist.
In an oddly apt sense, Muxu is like a Wikipedia entry for alfalfa. And it’s not just because Muxu, in Mandarin, means alfalfa. Consider the parallels between flora and fellow. Both are inoffensive. Both are seasonally transcendent, staying in bloom despite varying conditions. Both are quietly tenacious, bearing a turgid inner strength that defies the outward frailty. And both are fed to chunky cattle as temporary respite before the butcher’s knife smothers any hint of freedom from the farmland.
And yet alfalfa is hardly the only nature-themed metaphor that Muxu elicits. On the debut album Above Us, A Clear Summer Sky, this instrumental ambient electronica duo of Euseng and Liang (the latter also the guitarist for post-rock act Citizens of Ice-Cream) run the gamut of the forest’s dominant palettes. The gush of pads, strings and random twinkles channels images of cobalt blue rivers, muted orange afternoons and dusty brown otters and raccoons, all dwelling in seamless, symbiotic harmony. Pianos and acoustic guitars alternate melodic duties, and the fusion of elements results in an enchanting chronicle of one person’s voyage from dawn to dusk.
The unnamed protagonist in Above Us has a pretty stellar morning. ‘At Dawn’ paints its gorgeous sunrise with gentle maraca rattles and patiently sustained synth twinkles, upon which ivory strokes lift the heavy eyes. ‘Sunlight Through the Windowpane’ continues the morning sparkle with the subdued buoyancy of trots and whistles, and it is here that we get glimpses of Muxu’s knack for balancing minimalism. The duo aren’t penny-counting misers, and they aren’t afraid to insert the odd keyboard effect into the overall sparseness.
The afternoon picks up, as do the BPMs and associated textures. ‘Journey to the City’ is an exercise in escapism, providing momentary retreat from careening Wiras, while ‘Is That You’ revisits the honeymoon montages of those mid-1980s romance movies we swore never to talk about. At times, the incessant use of those same chord movements teeters into humdrum, but the irritation might be more attributed to the inability of citydwellers to cope with the placid repetitions of rural living.
And that, perhaps, is the album’s base song and dance: that these nature pangs being evoked are less a state of realisation and more one of yearning. The brutalised soul needs that disconcerting quiet, but lacks the experience to manage it. ‘Mockingbird with a Pie (An Evening)’ interjects the playground dalliance with what sounds like a vibrating mobile phone, followed by a good 30 seconds of silence and the subsequent resurgence of a melody line that exhales weariness. Responsibility has beckoned, and the merry-go-round must be forsaken.
In quick succession, the day tumbles into a grey-hued despondence. ‘Saw You in the Nightfog’ and ‘Rerun’ are the album’s only two minor-dominated tracks, and both end abruptly, dangling and unresolved—appropriate indicators of the nagging uncertainty of tomorrow that threatens to jeopardise a good night’s sleep. And yet, the day is not a lousy day—not while there are a few hours left. Album closer ‘Counting the Sheeps’ whispers its lullaby via a lone violin, transmitting loneliness on one level, and starry-night solitude on another.
In this sense then, Muxu is marginally less malleable than real alfalfa. Those who live in a perpetual state of Terebithia, for example, might consider Beneath Us a meaningless soundtrack, a perpetual whinge over some incongruent existence. But for folks undergoing like-minded repression, the music resonates like the bronze gong it isn’t. When life resembles the barren white space between parentheses, albums like this remove the binoculars and grant us broader perspective to a lifelong equation. Tomorrow might not be better, and might even get worse. But at least it will be equally fleeting as today.
think online
Some Wikipedia entries are more trustworthy than others. ‘Alfalfa’ would be one of them. While it’s fair to assume that there are people who find immense pleasure in scribbling textual graffiti over entries about George Bush, evolution and apple pie, alfalfa is hardly contentious enough to lure the vandal. It poses no threat to anyone’s worldview, and inserting some blatant untruth (e.g., “Alfalfa can cure herpes”) isn’t likely to threaten anyone beyond the occasional aspiring horticulturalist.
In an oddly apt sense, Muxu is like a Wikipedia entry for alfalfa. And it’s not just because Muxu, in Mandarin, means alfalfa. Consider the parallels between flora and fellow. Both are inoffensive. Both are seasonally transcendent, staying in bloom despite varying conditions. Both are quietly tenacious, bearing a turgid inner strength that defies the outward frailty. And both are fed to chunky cattle as temporary respite before the butcher’s knife smothers any hint of freedom from the farmland.
And yet alfalfa is hardly the only nature-themed metaphor that Muxu elicits. On the debut album Above Us, A Clear Summer Sky, this instrumental ambient electronica duo of Euseng and Liang (the latter also the guitarist for post-rock act Citizens of Ice-Cream) run the gamut of the forest’s dominant palettes. The gush of pads, strings and random twinkles channels images of cobalt blue rivers, muted orange afternoons and dusty brown otters and raccoons, all dwelling in seamless, symbiotic harmony. Pianos and acoustic guitars alternate melodic duties, and the fusion of elements results in an enchanting chronicle of one person’s voyage from dawn to dusk.
The unnamed protagonist in Above Us has a pretty stellar morning. ‘At Dawn’ paints its gorgeous sunrise with gentle maraca rattles and patiently sustained synth twinkles, upon which ivory strokes lift the heavy eyes. ‘Sunlight Through the Windowpane’ continues the morning sparkle with the subdued buoyancy of trots and whistles, and it is here that we get glimpses of Muxu’s knack for balancing minimalism. The duo aren’t penny-counting misers, and they aren’t afraid to insert the odd keyboard effect into the overall sparseness.
The afternoon picks up, as do the BPMs and associated textures. ‘Journey to the City’ is an exercise in escapism, providing momentary retreat from careening Wiras, while ‘Is That You’ revisits the honeymoon montages of those mid-1980s romance movies we swore never to talk about. At times, the incessant use of those same chord movements teeters into humdrum, but the irritation might be more attributed to the inability of citydwellers to cope with the placid repetitions of rural living.
And that, perhaps, is the album’s base song and dance: that these nature pangs being evoked are less a state of realisation and more one of yearning. The brutalised soul needs that disconcerting quiet, but lacks the experience to manage it. ‘Mockingbird with a Pie (An Evening)’ interjects the playground dalliance with what sounds like a vibrating mobile phone, followed by a good 30 seconds of silence and the subsequent resurgence of a melody line that exhales weariness. Responsibility has beckoned, and the merry-go-round must be forsaken.
In quick succession, the day tumbles into a grey-hued despondence. ‘Saw You in the Nightfog’ and ‘Rerun’ are the album’s only two minor-dominated tracks, and both end abruptly, dangling and unresolved—appropriate indicators of the nagging uncertainty of tomorrow that threatens to jeopardise a good night’s sleep. And yet, the day is not a lousy day—not while there are a few hours left. Album closer ‘Counting the Sheeps’ whispers its lullaby via a lone violin, transmitting loneliness on one level, and starry-night solitude on another.
In this sense then, Muxu is marginally less malleable than real alfalfa. Those who live in a perpetual state of Terebithia, for example, might consider Beneath Us a meaningless soundtrack, a perpetual whinge over some incongruent existence. But for folks undergoing like-minded repression, the music resonates like the bronze gong it isn’t. When life resembles the barren white space between parentheses, albums like this remove the binoculars and grant us broader perspective to a lifelong equation. Tomorrow might not be better, and might even get worse. But at least it will be equally fleeting as today.
think online
posted by 阿e at 2:52 PM
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