Brian Eno – Lux
Warp: 2012
Brian Eno is one highly evolved, futuristic dude. The prolific British composer and producer has been at it since the early 1970s, with his influence felt (knowingly or otherwise) by anybody who’s used a synthesizer or tape delay in the studio. His credits are a producer are unassailable- literally hundreds of records spanning several decades, with thoughtful, arty classics like Talking Heads’ Remain In Light and David Bowie’s storied ‘Berlin Trilogy’, as well as dabbling in massive pop success with a slew of early U2 records.
Consistently ahead of his time, Eno’s work as a solo artist, while less commercially splashy, is hugely influential as well- the guy more or less singlehandedly created ambient music. His new solo record, Lux, finds him further exploring his ambient canon on storied British electronic label Warp.
Four compositions spanning over an hour, Lux is an elegant, minimal album, mining a concise palette of sound more or less to its logical conclusion. Gentle single piano notes are the most percussive, propulsive thing going on here, with plucked strings and ghostly echoes fleshing them out. Negative space and tension are running the show throughout, for an absolutely chilling result.
When it comes to creating a mood, Eno is the undisputed grand champion, and the atmosphere he creates on Lux is absolutely breathtaking. A touch melancholy, though too vague to be described as sad, the atmospherics on Lux could play well in any number of scenarios, dependent on the listener’s state of mind and frame of reference- for me, it would be perfect in the lobby of a serene, luxurious hotel, someone else might hear it and imagine a contemporary art gallery (this project has its roots in art installations) and there’s going to be one joker in every crowd referencing an elevator or dentist’s office.
The thing that set’s Eno’s ambient work apart from New Age-y ‘whale sounds’ albums and easy-listening garbage is that, while soothing and unobtrusive as background music, it’s crafted with an attention to detail that rewards the listener upon close inspection. Neither as self-consciously avant-garde as Philip Glass’ nouveau-classical noise nor as overly complex as some of Eno’s earlier ambient experiments (particularly 1975’s Discreet Music, as well as his collaborations with Robert Fripp), Lux is an austere, pretty suite content to while away in the background of your life. Its status as background music, though, is entirely voluntary, as Lux defies logic by remaining interesting and compelling over an absurdly long runtime.
3.5 out of 5