Memory and romanticism are too easily bound. In fact, memory is hardly reliable, and as we’ve all likely come to learn it is also objective and flawed. In this light, the bleary, soft-focus atmospheres evoked by Aris Kindt feel like a timely vessel, a more sure-footed than half-sighted missive for memory’s duality. Swann and Odette, as a sonic arena for ontological introspection, sees John Stroud’s “post-structuralist pop” qualifier—you can find this in the liner notes—as most of the way there. I’m not convinced it was supposed to be read so literally, but listening to this on repeat for hours, as I am currently doing, one can’t help but slip into the abstract, to begin teasing metaphysical notions of a post-structuralist self.
Memory is intrinsic to the mind’s ability to process music. Each time we sit down with the same section of music, we add another piece to its sonic picture. Music also acts as a memory trigger, transporting us back to a singular location and time: a smoke-filled garage in autumn, or a pebble beach just as the setting sun shrouds everything in twilight. One won’t soon forget the time and place they first heard Swann and Odette. (Adrian Dziewanski)