What’s that you say? You’ve always wondered what it would sound like if Anamanaguchi, Susumu Hirasawa, Ronnie Martin (Joy Electric), and Enjoy Your Rabbit-era Sufjan got together and made a chiptune gospel album? Well, wonder no more and download a copy of Jay Tholen’s Control Me.

Put simply, these twelve tracks don’t seem like they should work. They ought to be drowning in their own precociousness, choking on their own bleeps and bloops, etc. However, the album works quite admirably given its humble origins and nature.

Musically, it’s a consistently fascinating listen, a kaleidoscope of sounds channelled directly from that old NES you stashed somewhere in the attic long ago. But Tholen weaves in other instruments as well: the aforementioned ukulele, flute, kazoo, and even a glockenspiel or two for good measure. The electronic sounds burst forth with wild abandon while the traditional instrumentation adds a rougher, warmer aspect, as do Tholen’s wavering vocals. Meanwhile, samples from older Christian gospel LPs add a layer of kitsch that’s more nostalgic than snarky. It’s a fascinating mixture, and it goes down some surprising paths, e.g., the pseudo-reggae stylings of “Altars,” the title track’s baroque flourishes, “Curtains”’ Donkey Kong-sized breakdown.

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Raise your hand if you saw this coming, because I sure didn’t. Earlier this month, Sufjan Stevens announced an October/November tour—an announcement that I admittedly didn’t pay much attention to because he’s not really coming anywhere close to my neck of the woods (and I just don’t have much time for concertgoing these days). And what’s more, I’d become a little Sufjan’d out, particularly after the indulgent BQE.

And then Asthmatic Kitty broke the news: a nearly hour-long EP of brand new material that was free for the listening (and that could be had for a nominal fee). The promise of new music from the man was too much to pass up—the old Sufjan fan inside of me dies hard, I guess—and so I hoofed it on over to Bandcamp to check out All Delighted People. And suffice to say, I’m hanging my head in shame, for I should not have let my faith in the man slip. (If that makes me sound like a fanboy, then so be it.)

At first blush, All Delighted People seems like classic Sufjan. It’s sprawling and epic, musically and thematically, but quite poignant and intimate at the same time. However, careful listening will reveal subtle breaks from the Sufjan releases of yore. For starters, the production is thinner in places, even brittle. Sufjan’s inimitable arrangements are compressed and more surface-level, which means the EP sounds more “in your face”, relatively speaking. Which seems apt because musically speaking, this is some of the most adventurous music that Sufjan has put to tape yet.

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Clientele albums have always been full of ghosts—ghosts of childhood, of past relationships and lovers, and so on—as well as a sense of the impermanence of this mortal coil. And Bonfires On The Heath continues on that spectral track—indeed, it wouldn’t be the Clientele if the songs weren’t somewhat unsettling amidst the sublime pop beauty. But this time around, the Clientele’s songs feel even more crowded than usual, more unsettling, more impermanent.

While Alasdair MacLean still sings about past lovers and childhood, he also taps into imagery that is more ancient and otherworldly, referencing the passing of time, old traditions and rituals, and other things that feel far removed from the urban climes that often serve as the setting for his songs. This time around, it feels like MacLean and his bandmates are journeying deeper into the old country, deeper into the undergrowth, farther out into the rural landscapes.

As a result, Bonfires On The Heath is probably the most primal Clientele album to date. That’s not to say that the music is ever anything less than elegant and refined. But it is spookier and more ephemeral than ever before.

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For the last 15 years, Ronnie Martin has been obsessed with writing the perfect synth-pop song. Actually, it’s been longer than that, if you include his work in Dance House Children and other pre-Joy Electric projects. But ever since 1994’s Melody, the man’s obsession has become especially pronounced.

This is most clearly seen in his production methods: throughout Joy Electric’s history, Martin has continually refined his craft, paring his music down to the barest, most necessary elements (the most recent Joy Electric albums, such as The Ministry Of Archers and The Otherly Opus, have used little more than his voice and a Moog).

This devotion is certainly laudable, but it’s easy to imagine how limiting such self-imposed restrictions could become. Which probably explains the numerous side-projects that Martin has become involved with in recent years—e.g., Shepherd, The Brothers Martin, The Foxglove Hunt, and now, Ronald Of Orange. But unlike those other projects, Ronald Of Orange is essentially a one-man operation. But it’s still an attempt to explore new music avenues not allowed by Joy Electric’s particular aesthetic.

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