Cepia - Cepia

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  • Electronic music so often focuses on texture and rhythm at the expense of melody, or at least sidelines it, so when presented with something that so obviously makes melody its chief concern, the effect is oddly disarming. My first reaction to Cepia's second album, following his debut Natura Morta on Ghostly International, was one of confusion. In some sections, its emphasis on center-stage catchy melodies lends it an almost simplistic feel. Along with generally brief tracks and an overarching preference for straightforward structures, there's something attractively childlike about Huntley Miller's self-titled album. All of these tendencies are amplified in the album's opener, "Untitled III," a soft lullaby with an uncomfortably predictable melody. But those are first impressions, impressions that partly arose because of the album's rather restrictive source material (or lack thereof). Huntley Miller made every single sound on the album himself: pure synth, no samples. The result is a somewhat antiseptic and pastel record, a gently blurred IDM vision that obscures borders and rounds off corners, all pale shades of off-white. The closest analogue I can think of is recent Autechre, particularly the softer moments of Oversteps and Quaristice, but comparisons like that are missing the point of Miller's intent. The 31 minutes of Cepia are tightly packed, with textures and ideas reappearing self-referentially throughout, endowing the small package with a hefty weight. More interesting is Miller's inspiration: he claims that 1970s classic rock lay at the heart of this record, rather than your typical electronic music touchstones, which helps to shed some light on the record's vacuum-sealed sound. There's something about the dry beats and naked separation that drags up images of shag-carpeted studios and analogue tape: think Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, or as Miller himself will tell you, Neil Young's Harvest. A recent mix for Self-Titled Magazine provides concrete glimpses of these influences: when placed alongside Cat Stevens' warm and inviting songcraft, for example, "Untitled III" suddenly seems a whole lot more interesting. This all makes for an album that appears facile and surface-level but in reality plumbs impressive depths. Peek between the beats and you'll find shimmering synths that flick on and off like effects pedals ("Ithaca") or tremble like globs of mercury ("Hootenanny"). The album doesn't so much shift genres or styles as subtly tweak and mutate its surfaces to fit whatever mold necessary. When it goes ambient ("Public Address"), it's with the same slurred vocabulary that its most driving and decisive moments are expressed. In the end, Cepia is a gorgeous and nostalgic little record that seems to exist solely in its own blissful state of paradise. Even its anxious moments sound put-on, or streaked with an exuberant ecstasy: the mournful album highlight "Me and My Gin" extracts as much grinning pleasure as wracked pain from its unforgettable cyclical melody.
  • Tracklist
      01. Untitled III 02. Ithaca 03. Hootenanny 04. Hype Man 05. Year to Year 06. Public Address 07. Incurvatus in se 08. Me And My Gin 09. You Don't Know What It Means To Win 10. Cord
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