I feel like the phrase “shimmering walls of noise” gets used a lot. What does this really mean, anyway? What makes certain music “shimmering” yet also hefty enough to qualify as a “wall of noise”? And is this necessarily a compliment, or simply a descriptor? Like “soundscape” and “hazy,” it’s one of those phrases thrown around when discussing drone music that the reader is assumed to understand and interpret as a good thing. When this happens often enough with a particular phrase, it runs the risk of losing its meaning, and I’m surely guilty of using and abusing these terms myself. The risk is especially pertinent when it comes to the shoegazing side of drone—you know, crackling bursts of noise, feedback and static, buried melodies, that sort of thing—and nobody does shoegazing drone quite like Jefre Cantu-Ledesma, whose 2010 album Love Is A Stream remains a spellbinding ambient work that walks the line between gritty and pretty without committing solely to either one.
I say all this to preface the following observation: Visiting This World, the latest album from Cantu-Ledesma, is indeed composed of shimmering walls of noise. That’s really the best way I can describe tracks like “The Radiant Tree,” which opens the album with all the surreal enormity of a UFO landing in your backyard. Oozing, glitchy electronic squelches drape dissonant curtains over surprisingly reflective synth pads; the effect is akin to hearing a chorus of crickets drown out the distant hum of some overflowing river or a low-flying airplane. And it’s absolutely lovely; Ledesma uses this harshness not to obscure the fragile melodic tones within but rather to contrast with them. This juxtaposition may not be apparent upon a cursory listen, but over time it reveals itself and makes both aspects of his music all the more touching.
The title track does something similar, though it’s more upfront with its gorgeous center; here, the static is less enveloping and more decorative, like the frayed edges of a beautiful carpet. In fact, the subtle harmonies on display could be positively New Age in a different, cleaner context; not that this would in itself be a bad thing, but Ledesma isn’t interested in such tonal simplicity, as evidenced by the jarring transition into the more punishing “Pale-Pink.” The melodic drones aren’t much different, but the static surrounding them grow and recede with tidal regularity. It would be too easy for Ledesma to use this dissonance as a crutch, but instead he employs it in such a way that at once sullies and complements the glassier backing tones. How is this possible? How can a sound be so discordant and yet so clearly part of a greater musical whole?
Shimmering walls of noise, my friends. These seven tracks are caked with aural mud but glisten all the same; they’re at once sinister and inviting, lulling the listener into a kind of hyperaware catatonia that has the remarkable effect of making the noisy tumult actually soothing in its omnipresence. As such, the most unsettling moment on Visiting This World isn’t the noisiest bit or the loudest but rather the most tranquil. “Night Ashes” seems quiet — too quiet, to parrot another cliche — as well as strangely empty. Bits of static remain, but the song as a whole resonates with sublime quietude, like the silence after a heavy round of gunfire. I don’t know how Ledesma actually records this music, and finding out would seem to spoil the mystery. I’m content to observe from a distance, letting his sonic alchemy wash over my ears and overwhelm my consciousness. These sheets of sound, these shimmering monoliths of cacophonous drone are truly something special, and it would be a shame to pass them up because of their initial seeming ugliness. Beneath this ugly visage, you’ll find melody, exquisiteness, and the soul of an artist who knows exactly what he’s doing. Don’t let this one fly under your radar.
