Oneohtrix Point Never's new album, Tranquilizer, is an exercise in sonic unease. The sound designer Daniel Lopatin has long been fascinated by the concept of the "hyperreal world music," where people experience more of the world without leaving their homes. This theme is echoed in his latest work, which features sounds from a cache of pre-packaged sample CDs that were uploaded to the Internet Archive before being deleted.
The album's use of these sample CDs adds an air of fragility and impermanence to its soundscapes. The samples themselves are often intended for ambient or new age music, but Lopatin's handling imbues them with a sense of disorientation and unease. For example, the track "Residue" opens with the sound of the ocean, Pink Floyd-esque guitar chords, and breathy vocals, before introducing 90s ambient signifiers like windchime-like tones and Satie-esque piano figures.
What's striking about Tranquilizer is its ability to conjure a sense of restlessness, even when its source material suggests otherwise. The album's title, "Tranquilizer," seems like an ironic choice, given the way it stirs up feelings of agitation and unease. At times, the record feels like a slow-burning fire that gradually intensifies, with tracks like "Bumpy" featuring jarringly out-of-time patterns or abruptly changing moods.
The overall effect is one of sonic kaleidoscoping, where sounds blur together in a dizzying display of texture and timbre. The album never settles into a single tempo or mood, instead hurtling through its 70-minute runtime with an energy that's both exhausting and exhilarating.
In short, Tranquilizer feels like the perfect companion for our hyper-connected, anxiety-ridden age โ an album that demands your full attention, refusing to let you drift by. It's not a relaxing listen, per se, but it's certainly one that will keep you on your toes, and eager for more.
The album's use of these sample CDs adds an air of fragility and impermanence to its soundscapes. The samples themselves are often intended for ambient or new age music, but Lopatin's handling imbues them with a sense of disorientation and unease. For example, the track "Residue" opens with the sound of the ocean, Pink Floyd-esque guitar chords, and breathy vocals, before introducing 90s ambient signifiers like windchime-like tones and Satie-esque piano figures.
What's striking about Tranquilizer is its ability to conjure a sense of restlessness, even when its source material suggests otherwise. The album's title, "Tranquilizer," seems like an ironic choice, given the way it stirs up feelings of agitation and unease. At times, the record feels like a slow-burning fire that gradually intensifies, with tracks like "Bumpy" featuring jarringly out-of-time patterns or abruptly changing moods.
The overall effect is one of sonic kaleidoscoping, where sounds blur together in a dizzying display of texture and timbre. The album never settles into a single tempo or mood, instead hurtling through its 70-minute runtime with an energy that's both exhausting and exhilarating.
In short, Tranquilizer feels like the perfect companion for our hyper-connected, anxiety-ridden age โ an album that demands your full attention, refusing to let you drift by. It's not a relaxing listen, per se, but it's certainly one that will keep you on your toes, and eager for more.