feedback [ barry jones ]

My friend, Noah Black, wrote a beautiful review of this great album.  He kindly agreed to let me post it here.  Enjoy. 

While they may be electronic musicians, Boards of Canada’s music is unlike the kind of sound that you hear being pumped out of massive sound systems at raves. Instead of heading for the overcrowded electronic genres like house or trance, Boards of Canada sets its sights on loftier goals, the ambient electronic, or intelligent dance music style. Instead of providing a driving bass line for people to dance to, ambient music sets up an atmosphere, often with long notes, lasting for minutes, that simply change in tone. As one drone fades out, another one takes its place. On top of this, there are electronically altered pianos and flutes, drum machine beats, both relaxed and intense, and often sampled voices from a wide variety of sources. The music is, in a sense, an Impressionist painting.

The band itself, Boards of Canada, is comprised of the brothers Michael Sandison and Marcus Eoin. The Scottish duo has been making music since their childhood, but first started releasing music as Boards of Canada in the early 90s. Their initial albums are extremely rare, as the band released albums themselves and gave the tapes, records, and CDs to their friends and family. The name, Boards of Canada, comes from the National Film Board of Canada. Boards of Canada cite the 16 mm educational films released in the 1980s as a huge influence on their music. The grainy static and unsteady camerawork gave the movies a sense of imperfection, but in this imperfection is a human element that Boards of Canada feels an affinity to. The varying levels and types of fuzz and static that are present on many tracks are the direct connection to that tradition. The duo also prefers to manipulate the sounds of traditional instruments instead of using entirely computer-generated sounds.

Duality is the theme of the ten-year-old Music Has the Right to Children, the first widely available Boards of Canada album. A tension between two disparate elements drives each song, and ultimately the album, forward. The children mentioned in the title appear throughout the album, often at times when their presence would seem at odds with the music. In “The Color of Fire” the distorted and stretched sound of a child repeating “I love you” is coupled with the tinkling sounds of a music box, but the entire piece has a foreboding mood. Instead of playing a familiar childhood melody, the notes of the once playful music box have been remixed and altered into mysterious and echoing tones that often fade into a background sound resembling mechanical vibrations. This contrast between the innocent lyrics and decidedly depressing instrumentals is just one element of the duality present in the album.

Music Has the Right to Children takes vocal samples from some unusual places, They range from Sesame Street to the “Defend your Constitutional Rights” speech that once played at the end of 70s pornography films. In “Telephasic Workshop,” the fricatives from someone saying a simple sentence are used to create the central beat of the song. The effect is both intriguing and disconcerting. It is easy to tell that the sounds come from human speech, but any meaning that once existed is long gone. In “Sixtyten”, the voice samples are once again used to create an atmosphere that is both enjoyable and uncomfortable to be in. While the voices are unintelligible, they all share a common air of distress, fright, or warning. The echoing electronic instrumental and a throbbing bass only add to this frantic feel. The rising pitch of the music and the increasing frequency of the samples continue to build throughout the track. The final ending, a simple fadeout, is both a relief and a disappointment. The fadeout provides a peaceful ending, but a climactic finish made of a veritable wall of sound would have been undeniably satisfying as well.

Depending on the track, the never-ending drone may take center stage, or it may be quickly overwhelmed by level after level of bass beat, drum machine, and sample. The varying samples and melodies, which often change both instrument and time signature in a split second, serve to both break up the monotony and disturb the pace of slower tracks. In “Pete Standing Alone”, the steady bass and deep drone contrast with natural samples of bird song and a running stream. Overlaying that are two altered instrumentals, one slow and reverb filled, and the other fast and with a pinch of vinyl-like static to give it a nostalgic taste. In “Open the Light,” the only constant is the slow and heavy bass. Keyboard, piano, and flute melodies dart fade in and out over a background drone that can’t seem to make up its mind.

While the majority of the instrumental music is edited electronically, the artists give the listener a few glimpses of the piano in its natural state. Over “Roygbiv’s” sinister background sound and edited drum machine beat, one can hear the subtle imperfections of a human playing the piano. One of the album’s best tracks is also its shortest. At one minute and thirty-two seconds in length, “Olson” feels like an uncompleted thought. It is an amazingly relaxed track. Like the duality on the rest of the album, this piece of electronic music aspires to be as natural as possible. The rough sonic texture of the background drone is obviously manufactured, but it draws the listener into gentle rise and fall. The synthesized piano evokes a calm mood with its minimalist play. Just when it seems that the song will go on forever, everything falls away, leaving only a lonely, old-fashioned piano to tap out a few simple chords in a seemingly empty space.

Whether it is the battling layers of sound, the familiar-yet-alien samples, or the clash between electronic and acoustic instruments, there is always some sort of tension in the songs on Music Has the Right to Children.  The tension goes deeper still. The way the band makes music contains a level of duality. New, high-tech equipment allows Boards of Canada to manufacture their nostalgic sounds. The new allows old imperfections to be replicated perfectly. Even the references to children, whether sampled or in track names, create a duality. What is the purpose having a sample of children’s laughter play over a melancholy or sinister melody? Is it a genuine nostalgic trip through ones’ childhood memories, or simply a haunting means of bringing up emotions? The album acts as a sort of abstract painting, where the listener can interpret the songs however they want to. One can either attempt to discover the artist’s intention, or impose one’s own thoughts and emotions on the music.