2016, man. From the election of a fascist demagogue to the most powerful office on earth to the rise of said demagogue’s antagonistic neo-Nazi supporters to the death of seemingly every beloved public figure, the year we just exited was often downright brutal, and it took a remarkably heavy toll on most of us. As always, we’re trying to optimistically hype up the new year as a fresh start, a chance to begin again – and yet, the future ahead still seems more uncertain than ever before.
Leave it to an artist as pragmatic and inventive as Brian Eno, Earth’s long-reigning ambient musician-producer laureate, to create a record that perfectly emulates that uncertainty while doubling as a meditation on both the good and the bad of the past year. Released on the very threshold of 2017, Reflection is an epic ambient journey in the form of a continuous, 54-minute track that exhibits the balance of light and dark 2016 was for much of the world.
The track begins in familiar territory, with serene, lightly buzzing notes pulsating over hazy, dark tones that whir and swirl beneath, gradually gaining prominence. As the track flows forward, the foreboding background hum repeatedly threatens to pull the listener under, only to be disrupted by a series of light vibraphone (?) hits here, an icy synth there. Eno sustains this mood for the next hour while mostly managing to capture the listener’s attention throughout. In several places, the hum itself enters the forefront, cycling back and forth between one earbud and the other. 2016 definitely felt like this at many points, with overwhelming darkness blotting out every trace of light. At other times, Eno’s signature ambient noises layer on top of one another to create a peculiar, lush tapestry of sound – the few precious moments in which we were able to gain for ourselves some semblance of peace. All in all, the track doesn’t sound drastically different from Eno’s other ambient work, but it does serve as yet another powerful testament to his genius as a producer and his ability to use repetition and a meditative atmosphere to create hypnotic, arresting worlds of sound.
Throughout his long, remarkable career, Eno has proven himself to be nothing if not a futuristic thinker, making Reflection’s apparent fixation on space hardly surprising. The track is laden with interstellar noise – metallic clangs, blurred rumbles that sound like rocket launches, UFO-like buzzes and beeps. One receives the mental image of an astronaut floating through the vast silence far above the Earth, looking down at the disarming serenity of the planet. Is Eno telling us not to worry – that none of this shit matters because we’re all literally floating through space on an enormous blue rock – that our chronic self-importance as a species means nothing in the scheme of the expansive universe aboard which we just happen to be temporary passengers? Maybe, maybe not; but the idea is certainly appealing.
And yet, for all of its astronomical underpinnings, the album itself bears a distinctly personal feel. Most of his groundbreaking ambient work in the 1970s and 80s saw him collaborating with such gifted instrumentalists as Harold Budd, Laraaji, Jon Hassell, and Daniel Lanois; however, the credits for Reflection list Eno as sole performer and producer. This is his meditation – his introspective look back at his life, particularly its most recent twelve months.
Ultimately, it’s difficult to discern from this record what Eno’s vision for our future might be. But if the supreme serenity of the ambient bloops and bleeps that seep through Reflection’s omnipresently grim synth backdrop is any indication, he appears to see faint flickers of light in the dark. The painful memory of the past is far from gone, but there is hope, however dim, for the days to come.
Like Eno’s best ambient compositions, Reflection is a minimalistic yet enticing soundscape that works as background music but also makes for a deeply rewarding close-listen. It’s one of the most inspired and darkly beautiful pieces of music he’s released in a while– and it couldn’t have come along at a better, more appropriate time. (8.5/10)