by James Blakely
Sirens is an album I first heard in its entirety without knowledge of what or who I was listening to. It is very rare that I purchase any piece of music at only one listen, but something about Sirens beckoned me forward and I had to own it. I knew I had heard something special, the masterful showcase of experimental music that is Sirens beckoned me forward. Nicolas Jaar is an experimental artist that has proven himself to be one of the leading fronts in electronic music – his 2011 album Space is Only Noise being regarded as one of the best of the past decade. Sirens, the follow up to 2015’s Pomegranates is an album of history, and is one of Jaar’s most politically charged yet – though this is not an obvious theme.
The album opener, “Killing Time” is an 11-minute piece, opening on the rustling of a flag and the sound of breaking glass. It brings itself forward and runs into the shadows as fast as it came, with Jaar using scarce composition, space, and negative sound to create an atmosphere that feels almost forbidden. It enacts feelings of loss, emptiness, and sorrow unlike any other on the album. The song’s lyrics, bare and often without meter, are dreamy, echoing, and enact the feeling of word rather than any meaning itself. “Killing time” acts as a setting piece – pushing the listener into Jaar’s own thoughts. The next song on the album, “The Governor”, takes Sirens into overdrive. It utilizes the very same space as “Killing Time”, but creates a dichotomy – leaving no room for the listener. It is fast, drilling, full of harsh smith and drum-breaks more familiar to house-music. Jaar takes a sample from a Charles Mingus song entitled “Myself When I’m Real” and makes it almost unrecognizable to the listener, pushing its levels and passing it underneath wild, grinding, woodwind instruments.
The intensity is lessened with“Leaves”, the weakest track on the album, and a cinematic opener to the second act. At its best, this track is a transition piece, with its composition borderline-nonexistent. There are moments of synth, moments of distorted electronic noise, and clear influence found in traditional Japanese music, but these lie as a backdrop to a recording of a young Jaar talking to his father. Entirely in Spanish, they discuss a statue being attacked by lions – I haven’t pieced this together yet.
The next track, entitled “No” draws heavy Latin influence, and is also entirely in Spanish. The vocals are the standout, much louder here than in any other song. There are rough synths that come out of nowhere, yet find their place in the composition’s growing sound almost seamlessly – like they should have been there all along. The core of “No” is the line “Ya dijimos no pero el si esta en todo”, or “We already said no but the yes is in everything”, another line I haven’t been able to figure out. On this line, the second act ends, and Jaar brings forth “Three Sides of Nazareth”, a song built around the line “I found my broken bones by the side of the road.” It is a piece that belongs in an 80s sci-fi, with grainy vocals, crashing tom-drum, and crescendos of synth and electronic noise utilized to create the illusion that something is coming, though it never does. “Three Sides of Nazareth” fades out through negative sound, yet again finding power in silence.
Sirens finale, is a quick resolution. Its instrumentation is pleasant, though comically dichotomous. “History Lesson” draws influence from soul music, 40’s and 50’s pop, and today’s indie. The lyrics are simple, but effective:
Chapter one: We fucked up.
Chapter two: We did it again, and again, and again, and again.
Chapter three: We didn’t say sorry.
Chapter four: We didn’t acknowledge.
Chapter five: We lied.
Chapter six: We’re done.
It ends in a flurry of synth, drum, and wailing guitar – a swirl of both confusion and inspiration. “History lesson” is the piece that ties Sirens together. The lyrics here give the listener an explanation for the cryptic nature of the album. It makes the listener want to go back and listen a little deeper for the words instead of the feelings – this was Jaar’s intention.
Together, as an album, Sirens is beautiful. It feels like everything and nothing all at once. The production is detailed, and the work of contrasts – loud/quiet, hard/soft, slow/fast – is striking. Sirens works just as a siren does, alarming us in one sense and enchanting us in another. Jaar brings to the table a level of depth and maturity I haven’t often seen from the world of electronic music, and is able to remain fresh while doing so. I’d recommend it.
