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What would electronic music sound like if it didn't come from drum machines and synthesizers, but instead from the Earth itself? The notion of organic electronic music might sound silly, but the Brooklyn duo High Places, consisting of singer Mary Pearson and multi-instrumentalist Robert Barber, defy any sort of conventional categorization. Indie rock? Nope. Dance music? Getting warmer. New Age? Sort of.
Each song on High Places' self-titled debut album, released Sept. 23, follows a similar formula. The songs are very rhythm-based, with Barber providing intricate layers of African-inspired percussion, utilizing a mix of electronic beats, shakers, and a variety of homemade instruments, like coffee cans and wind chimes. Despite this musical melting pot, the songs never sound cluttered, but effectively use space and silence. Some songs have minor melodies played from samples or on toy keyboards, but for the most part, the only melodic component is Pearson's voice.
Pearson's lyrics almost invariably deal with the relationship between nature and humanity—nary a song goes by without a reference to trees, or the sea, or both. Her voice isn't impressive from a technical standpoint, as she has almost no range to speak of. But her vocals are perpetually cloaked in a cloud of echo and reverb, which make them fit into the songs perfectly. No one apart from a chorale teacher would think of her voice as lacking, given the context.
High Places' sound could, very simply, be summed up as vaguely tribal percussion with weird electronic noises and dreamy, echo-y vocals. And that description would be accurate for every song here. But High Places are masters at yielding different results with minor changes to the formula. Despite her lack of range, Pearson manages to go from joyous with childlike innocence on “The Storm,” to mysterious and foreboding on “Namer.” Subtle variations in beat change moods of song considerably—the consistent, pounding drums on “Gold Coin” makes it the most likely song on the record to be heard at a dance party, while the start/stop structure of album closer “From Stardust to Sentience” gives off a beautifully ethereal vibe. Clocking in at barely 30 minutes, the album is over quickly. But that's just enough time to leave the listener with a lasting impression—and brief enough to keep their formula from getting old. If this duo can find a way to keep their sound fresh, they'll be going to high places, indeed.
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