Nicolas Jaar 'Cenizas' review | Rising from the ashes
Back in 2011, Nicolas Jaar catapulted himself into the limelight. Although no stranger to producing music, it was the release of ‘Space Is Only Noise’ which gained critical acclaim far and wide. At a time where dance music was densely populated by the new definition of deep house and an ever-growing presence of tech house, Jaar’s 13-track debut album was a breath of fresh air.
For many at the time, Jaar was a mysterious individual, creating mysterious music. Unifying jazz, blues and obscurely-cut samples with smooth house and melodics, many were left wondering about the mindset of the then 20 year old Chilean artist. But take into account the diversity of his upbringing - citing composer Erik Satie and jazz musician Mulatu Astatke as his influences, with Villalobos' ‘Thé Au Harem D'Archimède’ as his first owned record - and the influence is as clear as day.
With nine years passed, Jaar is back with his newest offering. Prior to the release, he placed a personal statement on his website, explaining that before the album’s creation, he had abstained from previous vices such as cigarettes and alcohol. He quarantined himself for months to get to know himself better and help eliminate any built-up negativity, and ultimately create music which reflected himself. 'Cenizas', which translates into 'ashes', has seen Jaar produce his most emotionally volatile and circumstance-questioning release yet.
In true Jaar style, ‘Vanish’ is a slow paced and gently-layered track, patiently letting elements build upon each other to ease us in. Soft, like Summer rain, organ chords echo around, whilst oboe monotones allow some depth to sink in. As time passes by, a multitude of chords in an abundance of octaves pursue. There's this delicately natural feel, and if one were to close their eyes, you’d almost feel as if you were in Church. Soon enough, high-pitched vocals gently creep through, even though too muffled to understand. On a first listen, there’s an aura of holiness to ‘Vanish’: through the chords, but more so with the angelic vocals cascaded towards the close.
So smooth is the transition between ‘Vanish’, that it’s easy to overlook ‘Menysid’ as being the next track. It’s intriguingly alluring right from the beginning, as soft priest-like hums pace forward, picking up profound strength as time follows. Yet again, there’s a religious atmosphere created. Although beatless, an underlying framework presses pastel chords to whimper along, where broken skittles bounce through into a natural pulsation. As the background gains more confidence, we encounter a fresh rhythm; holographic whirls gravitate themselves to a 4-to-the-floor shape, and an eerie mist of harmonics allow a futuristic edge.
Now the third track in, ‘Cenizas’ evokes a slightly different feel to its predecessors. Instantly the atmospherics are lighter and softer. Timid, yet almost gloomy chords waver between the white space, whilst the somber vocals execute delicately to the centre of attention. It’s a vocal track over anything, but it’s important to note the significance of the understandable voices for the first time. It indicates that Jaar’s feelings expressed can be heard clearly now and he is confident in expressing himself. Metaphorically, he’s rising from the ashes.
Pushing in the direction of jazz, with a capriccio approach to its arrangement, ‘Agosto’ is a track which showcases Nicolas’ true musical passion. Admittedly, it’s a little out of place from the rest of the album so far, but it’s refreshing that Jaar isn’t afraid to go off-kilter. As piano keys sprinkle themselves, a bassoon smoulders away in a freewheeling formation and allowing soft chimes to pitch themselves in once every often. Towards the end, ‘Agosto’ becomes rebellious, where a bellowing trumpet yells and synthesized reeds quiver downwards at an undeniable pace, playing havoc with the once uniformed pattern set beforehand.
‘Gocce’, which follows, helps bring the feel of the album back into familiar ground, although its ambience sits better alongside ‘Vanish’ and ‘Menysid’. Has Jaar really made any progress in his mind at all? Wooden barrel scraps tick away to let howls preside around. Sharp piano keys run themselves astray, becoming more frantic as the scraps too become more energetic. Completely loose and wild, ‘Gocce’ conjures up a feeling of frantic thoughts pacing wildly: this is a track where negativity is being released in true creative style.
‘Cenizas’’ focus really falls on ‘Mud’ - it’s the stand-out track of the album. Opening, a slow fade in leads into a moderately-paced drumbeat, where the perfectly-poised and hazy vocals borrow themselves to a tribal soundscape, backed by the composed doldrums to evoke a feeling of a war chant - one where Jaar is beating the conscience inside his head. It’s the track of enlightenment and it’s truly beautiful, where layers of melody are all sophisticatedly placed together for a cohesive and forward approach. The bassline, slightly underpowered, leads the chant towards the end, as mumbling drones and splashes of cymbals play along nicely. A short but sweet breakdown ignites an emotionally charged finish, peppered with a divine harp to conclude.
If anything, ‘Vaciar’ is an interlude. Totaling in at 2.18 minutes, it doesn’t give or take much, but it is a beautiful connecting piece, allowing us to fully grasp the transition between ‘Mud’ and ‘Sunder’. A simple production sees deviously hypnotic horns sway, a feeling of them dragging their feet on the ground. As the chords extend, a lonely shriek makes itself known, before the grumbling returns - this time more menacing and moody. ‘Sunder’, which flows effortlessly from ‘Vaciar’, brings a new style to ‘Cenizas’. Jaar ditches the instrumentals and opts for a synthesized sound. Like sunder, the analogue canvas and monologue used are split apart, rotating around each other softly. Soon, a tensed jolt changes the direction and we are welcomed to a flowing speech. Although seemingly aloof, the solid repetition of phrases such as ‘is there blood on the court’ and ‘do we need to be still’, indicate this real sense of Jaar feeling much more in control of his mind.
Tender and dignified, ‘Hello, Chain’ is nothing short of heavenly. Angelic-sounding voices work in a perpetuum mobile order, echoing the track name whilst pearly chords complement the harmonic voices. After a short silence, the track reprises: majestic as ever, a choir of male voices sing, exalted with tight execution. The second half brings more character, envisaged by the tenor voices intertwined with the rainfall chords and velvety organ effects. Indeed it’s ethereal, but what makes it seem more so is the juxtaposition with ‘Sunder’. On one hand, the previous deals with the dark, whilst the current conjures a saintly approach. For Jaar, it provides a gateway to what’s been going on inside his head - that from the darkness, there is light.
Now with the intensity over, Jaar is much more at ease. He has experienced the darkness and has abandoned that shadowed territory. The album’s tenth track, ‘Rubble’, dips back into his passion for jazz. Being the second track of its type on the album, there’s an established feeling of confidence. Right from the beginning, a solo saxophone takes the limelight, seductively tumbling away. Running free like the wind, its energy encounters pace thanks to a delicate piano in the back. There’s profound beauty in the emotions of the brass, as it peaks with high notes, although screeching uncomfortably towards the end.
Soft piano roll onto the next track, ‘Garden’. Through the repetition of the dainty harmony, there’s an overwhelming sense of tranquility. A well-mannered melody which more or less remains unaccompanied for five minutes, it gives us time to step back and trace our thoughts. As it concludes, ‘Garden’ welcomes trickles of high-pitched keys for a rather mesmerizing touch. Soft, like Summer sun.
‘Xerox’ seems to be one last attempt of craziness before ‘Cenizas’ draws to a close. Whilst it may be a cluster of chaotic-ness, Jaar brings together all the soundscapes which have served in the album. Opening up to unstoppable computer valves, stifled hums play alongside the piano. Jazz adds flavour; dreary glitches paddle through to the mix. As all the classical instruments and voices are abruptly cut off, only the processed abnormalities are left to guide us through.
‘Cenizas’ is given a finale it deserves. For an album so perplexing, ‘Faith made of Silk’ strikes the right balance. Propped in place by the stirring percussion, butter-soft chords beam across the structure to formulate the harmony. Jaar’s spaced out vocals suit the higher-pitched harmony. Abstract as ever, there’s a focused repetition of ‘look around not ahead’. Perhaps it’s just Jaar reflecting on himself and some words of wisdom for us. A sudden interject of radiant whirs transform the last minute, pursuing an uplifting energy and letting us know a new chapter is beginning.
One of the most striking things about ‘Cenizas’ is the absence of samples. It is a core element of Nicolas Jaar - even with his other aliases. But it’s refreshing, combined with the classic instrumental vibe, which again seems out of character. Throughout, we are given a masterclass in captivating an audience. Layer by layer, a story is built which rolls from one track to the next, whilst seemingly creating a different perspective when played out individually.
‘Cenizas’ covers a whole notion of different themes, and can be interpreted differently between each listener. But that’s the beauty of Jaar’s genius, he underdresses, leaving your mind to fill in the gaps and take what you will. Like Da Vinci once said, “simplicity is the ultimate sophistication”.
Jaar also did a live mix showcasing tracks from 'Cenizas' amongst other tracks two weeks ago.
Cenizas was released on Other People on 27th March 2020