The title of Radere‘s latest album can be read in at least two ways: aggressive statement or tender promise. This dual nature is likely intentional, as it comes into play immediately in the album’s opening track. At first, the ambient clouds drift around, as if bemused – but then a storm cloud of fuzz descends like feeding locusts. This danger then becomes the central focus, the sound in which all else evolves: chord clusters and tones, the different colors of composition. This in turn hearkens back to the mountainous theme that inspired the album. A day on a mountain can start off sunny and calm, sun glinting from snow, hearty smiles and clapped backs all around. Then suddenly a squall, white-out conditions, panicked expressions, holding on for dear life. In the same way as the louder drones make the ambient tones quiet, so does nature’s fury impose its voice on the boastful claims of erstwhile summiteers, the proudness of ambition, the babble of daily conversation. I’ll make you quiet, says the wind, and it does.
While the album never again reaches the peak of its opening track, it offers different emotions to take its place: a pensive sadness on “… So I Left”, capped by a solid minute of cackling crows; whether feeding colony or scavenging horde, only the composer knows for sure. The closing piece recovers a bit of the initial drama, as if an explorer, freshly released from the hospital, has mustered the courage to tackle the summit again. As Radere stares up at the Rocky Mountains that surround his home, we hope that he too will venture once more into the dangerous breach. (Richard Allen)