How have certain words denoting means of food preparation become so connected with altered states of consciousness? Perhaps it’s all down to the acknowledgment that a transformative process has taken place. Whether you’re baked or fried, you’re not the same as you were a short while ago. Might Australian multi-instrumentalist Oren Ambarchi have had that in mind when he named his latest set of long-form music Cooked?
It’s certainly the result of judicious preparation, with careful seasoning and an awareness of the synergistic effects of opposing flavors. For most of their length, both of the album’s side-long pieces are relays of pleasing sonorities. Johan Berthling’s springy bass, James Rushford and Eiko Ishibashi’s plush keyboards, and Ambarchi’s trademarked Leslie-cabinet guitar all feel like they would reliably catch you and hold you up if you and they participated in some trust-building group exercise. But since too much niceness might make you snooze, Ambarchi has squeezed irregular glops of Konrad Sprenger’s gritty, synthesized over the otherwise inviting first half of “Hidden Tableau” and also spikes “Sleight Of Hand” with wooly guitar noise.
Ambarchi also knows that when course follows course, sequencing matters and triggered memories can seduce. “Sleight Of Hand” plays out like a series of layered transformations and references. The cumulative distortion on Ambarchi’s guitar and density of Rushford’s electric piano chords introduce intensity and abstraction gradually, until it hits you 10 minutes in that you’ve been hearing his personal take on the evolution of Miles Davis’ 1970s electric sound. And Ambarchi understands that a flicker of difference can cast a glow on everything that’s come before; tucked away in the late minutes of “Sleight Of Hand” is Isak Hedtjärn’s playfully virtuosic whistling. Yes, Cooked is a work of intoxication. [Drag City]
—Bill Meyer
