The album begins with a single, soft crunch in the woods, followed by a second of silence and a plunge into “Sudden Peril.” The listener is already under assault: no time to breathe, only to run, and to try to figure out one’s bearings on the way. It doesn’t help that the map to the Oscillating Forest is printed on the cover, as the topography is always moving, and there are too many creatures in this forest to afford the chance to decipher Caitlin Mkhasibe’s markings. “Sudden Peril” could be a single; it’s a nice tidy 3:41. But like much of the album it’s decidedly non-linear. The Australian band chose “Bush Wallaby” instead at 4:11, the time (perhaps coincidentally) a code for information (“What’s the 411?”). This piece has a more discernible trajectory, and an unusual, flashing video, but it’s still not making the ARIA Top 50. Nor will the 3:14 “Trinket Forest” (too soft) or the 3:18 “Lamprey Strings” (too hard); and in terms of radio, nothing here is “just right.” But that’s certainly okay with Tangled Thoughts of Leaving, who on this release have finally grown into their name.
Back in 2008, under their original lineup, Tangled Thoughts of Leaving was known as a post-rock band, rising alongside sleepmakeswaves. And while they still embrace the tag, they have moved steadily away from structure toward improvisation, to the extent that this album would be just as comfortable in our Experimental category. Oscillating Forest is a difficult album until one gives into it, like owning the thought of being lost. Segments of clear composition alternate with wild improvised passages. Whenever one seems to find one’s bearings, the ground shifts. But there’s also method in the madness. The set is structured as one long jam session, and feels live, down to the extended finale.
Quoting Beauty and the Beast, the band calls their fantasy “a tale as old as time.” What waits in the Australian bush? “Twin Snakes in the Curvature” pulses with the sounds of unseen creatures, the melodies like those of a snake charmer, the drums tribal and precise; until of course, they diverge. The piano is a grounding force, a momentary refuge, like a shady hutch, until something comes out of the hutch and the resting traveler bolts upright. Even the most straightforward track, “Lake Orb Altar,” tilts sideways in the center. The cross in new drummer Gracie Smith’s ear is right side up; the crosses in the LP art are upside down. No position is fixed. The smoke and splatter vinyl extend the obfuscation to the visual realm; one wonders if the band had considered releasing an album with a non-geometrical, unplayable groove.
The whole album builds to the 11-minute title track, which like the finale of a rock concert one doesn’t want to end extends its solos and indulgences, giving the crowd the excess they crave. It seems to be over at the halfway point, but then it’s not. In the second half, pounding repetition provides the way out of the forest, a trail mark that one may follow to safety. The largest chords appear here, along with the most recognizable traces of the post-rock band Tangled Thoughts of Leaving once was. This is an album deserving of a tour: a band reinvigorated, cut loose of any leftover expectations, simply playing whatever they want to play. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 