I’ll come right out and say it: I’m not a big fan of remixes. I understand the need and desire to pay some homage to music that you find inspiring and beautiful. And given our society’s predilection for recontextualizing and reiterating pop culture in general, remixing sort of seems to be the post-modern de rigueur thing to do. But maybe I subscribe too heavily to the auteur idea for artists in general, that the vision put forth by the original artist is the authoritative one—that it’s canon, if you will—and that other versions are, therefore, pretenders to the throne.

That’s one huge generalization, of course, and I don’t mean to whitewash all remixes in existence, nor do I intend to dismiss those with mad remixing skills. But again, generally speaking, if I have to choose between picking up an album of remixes, and getting an album of brand new material—either by the remixer(s) or the remixee(s)—new material will win out almost every time. I yearn for something new, something fresh, something original—and remixes just never quite leave me satisfied beyond the initial piquing of curiosity.

Which brings us to In Sea Remixes, a collection of remixes of Aarktica’s In Sea. And in addition to my normal dislike of remixes, I was especially anxious regarding this particular collection, for two reasons.

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Let’s get the obvious out of the way first, shall we? Yes, Milhaven are immediately comparable to Mogwai and Explosions In The Sky. But such is the curse of post-rock bands who employ slowburning climaxes and quiet/loud dynamics within their 7 to 8 minute long instrumental epics. That being said, I’m not inclined to write the band off as mere rip-offs, though the similarities to the aforementioned bands do make it somewhat difficult to differentiate Milhaven’s songs. (In other words, you might find yourself humming a guitar line from this album, only to realize that it was, in fact, “Greet Death”.)

But I can’t deny that once Milhaven gets going, with guitars that grow more chaotic with each iteration and rhythms that gain more momentum and urgency with each go-around, it’s hard not to just drop the cynicism and rock out alongside them—or at least, rock back and forth in your office chair while the band unleashes a sonic thunderstorm inside your headphones. Such is the power of good post-rock, I suppose, no matter how many bands might employ the same aesthetic. (Hey, it works for punk rock, right?)

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Crepusculum (aka Fred Baty) released his debut, The Sky Diaries EP, back in 2006. It was a pretty enough release, blending deft and intricate acoustic guitar compositions with electronics and field recordings. If nothing else, it was evidence that Baty was someone to keep an eye on. And with Sing On In Silhouettes, Baty’s second release on 12rec and his first full-length, he has delivered in spades.

Simply put, Sing On In Silhouettes is a much more confident and mature release than The Sky Diaries EP. Not only are the songs more involved and complex, but Baty’s arrangements and songwriting display a considerable grace and organic restraint. On songs like “A Fledgling Firework” and “Early Days”, it sounds less like Baty labored over them in some studio, but rather, let the songs develop and evolve naturally—always a hallmark of a talented musician (and it’s especially impressive considering Baty’s young age).

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Originally known as Either/Or, the Phantom Channel label has released a number of solid ambient/atmospheric releases in the last year or so (which should really come as no surprise seeing as how their namesake is a Labradford song). And Lamenter continues the trend; their most recent release is a half-hour excursion into melancholy, emotional drones and atmospheres courtesy of guitarist Clayton McEvoy.

Taking cues from such luminaries as Stars of the Lid and Flying Saucer Attack, McEvoy coaxes all manner of infinitely reverbed and deeply entrancing sounds from his guitar (and, I would imagine, a sizable array of effects pedals). I can imagine some levelling the criticism that Lamenter‘s five songs blur together, that the spectral, otherworldly sounds of one song simply merge with those of the next. That’s often a criticism leveled at atmospherica such as this, but it’s one I find rather spurious and all too easy to make, especially in this case.

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