With Triecade, Steven R. Smith marks 30 years of mostly solitary music-making. Formerly a member of Thuja and Mirza (both ensembles associated with the Jewelled Antler Collective), the Los Angeles-based multi-instrumentalist issued his first solo cassette in 1995. While he’s recorded under several guises (Ulaan Khol/Janthina/Markhor/Passerine and Hala Strana) as well as his own name and released music on pretty much every format available, his essential practice has been quite consistent. Smith is purely a recording artist who shuns the stage in favor of his home studio, where he makes music at his own pace. While the project names might signal a particular vibe, ranging from the harshness of a gale at midnight to sepia-toned reminiscence, all of his work activates vivid mind’s-eye action, and it generally comes packaged to suit.
In that last respect, Triecade stays the course. The sleeve and enclosed prints reproduce 19th-century floral images that set a stage for revery before you even set stylus to groove. Smith is in one-man-band mode throughout, layering understated, tom-forward drumming, purposefully unhurried strumming, multi-hued electric and bass guitars, and stark melodies and robust textures articulated by keyboards that hold no allegiance to the tyranny of zeros and ones. With its simple piano theme and undercurrent of reverb, “One Rung Ladder” feels like time passing slowly; the bass-forward theme and churning guitar on the following tune, “Paint Lines,” suggests the consternation that comes from waking up to the realization that while you’ve been cruising, the rest of the world has not been snoozing.
Perhaps reflecting the perseverance necessary to keep a one-person cottage industry going so long, most of the album’s eight pieces convey a sense of motion, as though they’re all incidental music in a movie in your mind. Smith makes sure to situate some references to fellow psychic soundtrackers; in particular, there’s the lilting guitar on the final track, “Start Over,” which is a respectful tip of the hat to Popol Vuh. But that title marks the point where filmic metaphors strain to convey what Smith is doing. He’s obviously in this game for the long haul, and each fade-out signals a pause in the production, not an ending. [Worstward]
—Bill Meyer
