Golden Retriever

Occupied with the Unspoken

Website:	Label Profile
Label:	Thrill Jockey
Writer:	Darren Bibby

How liberating limitations can be. Golden Retriever is Jonathan Sielaff on Bass Clarinet and Matt Carlson on analogue modular synth. Imagine what that sounds like. Hold that thought, then forget it. 'Occupied with the Unspoken' was played live, then manipulated, mixed and abridged. It is fucking boss.

Grasp 'Serene Velocity' now and add it to your compilations, playlists and 2am party sets. It sounds like a jelly going to hospital. Noises rocket in and out, sounds are chewed up and spat out, fragments bounce against each other. And it's all highly melodic. Jellies are silly things, but this is anything but silly. I get the sense we're not dealing with your typical musician here: there is a joyous playfulness at work, but not in that regressive, childish way that makes so may experimental acts so bloody annoying. 'Canopy' does not seek to embrace the inner idiot; it unfolds around me, drones mapping out the view, that single reed a spiritual dildo to the pineal gland; distorting, shaping this ecstatic unfurling world. Meanwhile, analogue birds divebomb, twittering round your head. It drives a man to pour out such hyperbollocks.

If you look at the Soundloud sausage of 'Eudaimonia', it tapers slightly at the front end. That's because after three minutes a huge bass drone comes in like the UFO on 'Close Encounters', blocking out the skyline to bring us enlightenment and destroy fear. This drone breaks and a giant, imposing yet friendly melody erupts. 'Winter Light' is more understated; there are less bumps and bangs, and the clarinet is given freer reign to dictate mood in a more traditional manner as the synth bubbles away on the surface of the dronescape. It's the more spacious moment the album needs to round it off neatly.

The great cricket writer Neville Cardus said “There ought to be some other means of reckoning quality in this the best and loveliest of games; the scoreboard is an ass.” 'Occupied with the Unspoken' did something to the chemicals in my brain that is beyond mere comparative point scoring. But if I must: