Hard to believe that the man who once numbered as one of drum 'n' bass's finest as Omni Trio has mothballed his excoriating rhythm machines in favor of the minimalist orchestrated muse revealed on Written on Water. What is believable, however — and not debatable — is the depth of Haigh's sophisticated abilities. Yes, beats may be verboten here but if there is one salient factor to be gleaned from listening to this utterly gorgeous piece of sonic art it's that Haigh hasn't abandoned his remarkably astute feel for texture and nuance.
Packaged in Crouton's customary letter-pressed, die-cut envelope, the front cover depicting an elegantly framed image of isolated, rolling ocean, Written on Water does indeed conjure images of marked loneliness, solitude, contemplation, yet it never descends into blatant melancholia. You'd think Haigh's choice of instrumentation — primarily piano, embroidered throughout by a painterly application of discretely charmed electronics — would act as a limiter rather than a liberator, but the opposite is in fact true. More evidently, Haigh's channeled a number of his contemporaries (Steve Reich and Susumu Yokota spring instantly to mind) to give these pieces authoritative heft. To wit, the opening "Over Land" balances a strident set of multi-tracked Reichian keyboard tropes over heavenly synth choirs and a decidedly persistent xylophonic line to brilliant effect, eclipsing its earthbound signifiers as it takes euphoric flight.
Pieces such as "Interior Device" and "Persistence of Memory" are reverb-soaked and placid-etched in the finest Harold Budd-ian tradition, Haigh making the most of great pregnant pauses where the gasps of silence become as powerfully resonant as the decaying motifs of the ivories he tickles. "Ten Form", and its companion piece "Eight Form", work those insistent xylophones and cooing synths again in a beguiling counterpoint worthy of synthesist David Borden's similar conductions with Mother Mallard. Haigh's palette is no less lovely for wear, and lest you think he's touching ages either new or classic, relax: Written on Water, or on the soft womb contours of his studio, doesn't detract from the wholly immersive natures of Haigh's latent compositional moxie.
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