I must be perfectly honest, No Home of the Mind is my first exposure to David Moore and his ever evolving minimalist ensemble. He’s been right under my nose for years, making beautiful music unbeknownst to me. Rarely do I come at a review of an album that’s waist deep in an artist’s career without having heard anything prior to it. Sure, I can do my homework, make it sound like I’ve heard the albums, even scour the different streaming outlets at my disposal in an attempt to cram as much older Bing & Ruth material into my brain before embarking on this review. I could do that. I’ve done it a handful of times before (albeit, to mixed results). But now, as I sit here and my head becomes flooded with clusters of beautiful piano in the shape of starling murmurations, I’m suddenly halted and my mind goes blank.
As not only a writer but voracious reader of reviews, I have always found that the best commentaries are the ones that are not only well researched, but subtly reveal the writer’s passion for a specific type of music. And if they can relate this passion to a reader’s general understanding in a way that will make them excited about hearing the music, well, that can bring greatness out of a good review. If you agree with me then I’m sorry for what I can only describe this time around as ‘a different approach.’ I’ve decided to walk in blind, having only the music to guide me, so please, expect no revelations from here on in.
Let’s look at it this way, perhaps there is some music in the world that beckons this approach, shining all the brighter when taken at face value, when stripped entirely of the contextualizations of time and place – even something as seemly arbitrary as album art can provide context, as the vague, smeared colour motif of Bing & Ruth’s latest proves. We are then faced with the question: Could the music on No Home of the Mind benefit most from nothing but it’s own existence and an audience to hear it? It’s impossible to say for sure, but what I can say is that going in with this little information is like reverting back to childhood. Oddly, it feels great, and from the moment I hit play the room comes alive with the album’s sounds. I become awash with an adolescent excitement about only having discovered this now and think, maybe I’m on to something.
Bing & Ruth – No Home of the Mind
Let’s return to the starlings. When these birds fly in flocks (called murmurations) they stick very closely together, often forming impressive cone or ribbon like swarms that bend and twist in the sky without breaking apart. The effect is something like watching mercury flow through a clear cylinder, and anyone who has experienced the sight of a large murmuration will likely tell you that it is nothing short of mesmerizing, a true wonder in nature.
The starling draws a rather easy analogy back to No Home of the Mind, especially in its opening piece, “Starwood Choker.” String drones – I’m guessing cello originated –accompany rapidly played piano that propel through to the track’s close. Like many of the movements on the album, the various instruments seem to possess such a close relationship to one another that at times their individual sounds become indistinguishable. There are moments too, as on “Form Takes,” when one wouldn’t be too far off to think it the ensemble’s mandate to hammer away for the sake of cataclysm. However, these frenzied moments are seldom without reward, for the pieces never truly lose their underlying shape, often blossoming into something unexpected and majestic.
Bing & Ruth are equally as effective when quieter. More accurately, the ensemble is adept at balancing the loud with the quiet, to the extent that No Home of the Mind strikes an uncanny buoyancy. Pieces like “As Much as Possible” and “To All It” are centred primarily around a somber piano, while the remaining ensemble’s job is to texturize the pieces, providing shifts in hue rather than changes in colour. A closer listen to “To All It” reveals a sensibility closely linked to that of Adam Wiltzie (1/2 of Stars of the Lid, A Winged Victory for the Sullen), where, to the ensembles credit, a piano and some wheezing strings possess enough emotional weight to make me think that this music could somehow move mountains.
As the years tick past and more and more work that sounds like No Home of the Mind is produced, the trickier it becomes to classify and quantify the varying shades of ambient. That’s not to say that all music should be quantifiable, or have purpose for that matter, but Bing & Ruth seem poised to bring ambient to an unsuspecting generation of listeners. It could very well be part of their goal. Considering Moore’s pop take on Charlemagne Palestine and La Monte Young era minimalism – namely digestible song lengths and a modernized sheen – No Home of the Mind feels like it could very well be the tipping point.