- Following her lauded 2021 debut, the London composer returns with a cohesive, minimalistic record that can feel hindered by its own constraints.
- When harpist Nala Sinephro released her debut album, Space 1.8, in 2021, it heralded a remarkable new voice in ambient jazz. Blending luscious harp glissando with synth pad murmurs and whispering horn, the 45-minute suite of improvisations touched on everything from Alice Coltrane's spiritualism to Floating Points' modular experimentation, producing distinctive sonic spaces filled with meditative ambience and bright, melodic light.
Recorded in London as the late summer heat began to cool in 2018, Space 1.8 featured many of the city's young jazz luminaries. Acting as a composer as much as an instrumentalist, Sinephro often took a backseat as Nubya Garcia serenaded us with cascading melodies or Ezra Collective's James Mollison came forward with his rich alto sax. The album ultimately showcased a fresh side to the young London jazz scene's typical bombast, prioritising elongated space between the notes over rapid-fire instrumentation.
Returning with Endlessness, Sinephro continues her improvised journey through hushed tones with a more ambient-leaning effort. Reuniting with old band members Mollison, Garcia and Lyle Barton on keys, she also enlisted trumpeter Sheila Maurice-Grey and Orchestrate's 21 string players, producing another continuous 45 minutes of fluttering harp, mellifluous horns and understated strings. Where Space 1.8 hit multiple changes in tempo and orchestration, moving from tight-knit trio compositions to expansive, ensemble-led swells of crescendo, Endlessness is a far more cohesive prospect. Sometimes, to its own detriment.
Composed around the continual loop of her synth's arpeggio function, Sinephro's ten tracks are rigidly rooted in the triplet rhythms of this melodic motif, ascending in waves to create a through-line that is, in turns, soothing or maddeningly repetitive. Sinephro has stated that her work is an exercise in simplicity, which she defines as "the possibility of pressing one note with a shit-ton of intention," she revealed to Pitchfork in 2022. On Endlessness, this minimalistic intent reaches its fullest expression.
The arpeggio's effect begins as a hypnotic, opening with a bubbling synth line on "Continuum 1," as Mollison's saxophone repeats a fluttering counterpoint melody. Black Midi drummer Morgan Simpson brings his post-punk chops to a lively cymbal pattern, undulating between Sinephro's plucked strings to create a seven-minute trip that consistently builds until rescinding into quietude. As we progress into "Continuum 2," the arpeggio slows and Barton's crisp piano phrasing replaces the languorous melodies, while Maurice-Grey's flugelhorn solo provides yearning emotion over wheezing synths and Garcia's dolorous sax. It's a welcome addition of feeling before the electronic arpeggio takes over once more.
Early on, this lack of dynamic variation takes its toll. It's a fine line to tread between ambience and lethargy within the conceptual constraints of Endlessness. As the album progresses, Sinephro orchestrates tunes that are so subtle in their differences it can be hard to pick them apart. Tracks bleed into one another as the softly sweeping strings of "Continuum 3" merge with the background vocals and swelling synth pad of "Continuum 4." There is little here to give us a sense of action. As we continue into "Continuum 5," strokes along the harp strings and whispered saxophone carry on to play like a jam where the musicians gently meander until reaching a sleepy close.
Of course, this repetition is the point of a record titled Endlessness, yet it feels like a central motif seemingly existing for its own sake. In a famously repetitive genre like techno, for example, the snare drum's arrival seven minutes into a 12-minute track from a producer like Shinichi Atobe can feel like a joyous slap to the face. On Endlessness, little unexpected arrives. Here, we are carried by a linear tempo, gently floating through tripping arpeggios and interweaving melodic lines. Sinephro doesn't demand our attention like on Space 1.8; instead, it's optimal background music to play during a meditative state, roaming in and out of view.
We could draw on the movingly repetitious refrain of Floating Points and Pharoah Sanders' 2021 release Promises as a touchstone for centring a seven-note melody. Yet, on Promises, it was Sanders' declarative saxophone tone and warbling voice that gave emotional depth to the project, keeping listeners attentive to unscripted changes. On Endlessness, there isn't much expressive feeling to latch onto. There are brief flashes of vitality: on "Continuum 10," Natcyet Wakili produces a burst of energy as his free-flow drumming hammers through the speeding synth refrain, while on "Continuum 6," Garcia begins to power through long, keening notes to reach the punchy and clear sax tone she is known for. But as we approach the peak of a full-throated moment of raw, explosive passion, the track fades once more into the metallic harshness of the arpeggio, reminding us of its omnipresence.
For some, this gentle, perpetual undulation might be the ideal listening experience, and it certainly fulfils Sinephro's ambition to explore minimalist production. While she has largely resisted being boxed into ambient or jazz, if we're to take Endlessness as an ambient album, it's an artful addition to the genre, subtly harnessing the imaginative power of strings, allowing the listener to self-reflect in its consistency. But Endlessness can also be considered jazz due to Sinephro and her band's virtuosic improvisations. In the latter medium, which is premised on the freedom of instinctual self-expression, creating music that leaves us to zone out can feel like an affront. Despite Endlessness' stirring moments, Sinephro's slow drift into silence is a challenging one.
Tracklist01. Continuum 1
02. Continuum 2
03. Continuum 3
04. Continuum 4
05. Continuum 5
06. Continuum 6
07. Continuum 7
08. Continuum 8
09. Continuum 9
10. Continuum 10