Blue Element has a lot in common with Chris Watson’s water-based collection Planet Ocean, and one large difference: Steffan Cordts‘ album is an uninterrupted mix. For those who adore the pure, unadorned sound of the ocean, above and below, this has already been a banner year.
Cordts’ locations span Germany and Austria: “North Sea, Lake Constance, Pomeranian Lagoon, Main River, Baltic Sea.” One of the pleasures of listening is that the artist creates a narrative, almost like an extended song. Without the use of instruments; the sea creates its own non-stop symphony, and Cordts presents an album-length slice.
First there is the quiet trickle, the flow of soft water, and a soft (natural) background drone; then the first, tentative splashes, as if these waves were shy and had to be coaxed to touch the shore. The sounds are comforting, almost hollow, like a tunnel’s intake of air. Over time, the water grows increasingly confident, the hum dropping out at times to expose more intimate noises. At exactly the nine-minute mark, a startling entry as a large bird rattles its wings; gentler birds are soon heard in its wake, and the ocean is no longer alone.
With multiple characters in play, one begins to think of beaches and shores, although none are in the cover image. Lapping sounds, larger than those before, begin to proliferate. And then in the fifteenth minute a gradual softness, a subtle shift in locations. One admires the minimal editing. Even when newer sounds enter, the old remain: the field recording version of a DJ mix.
Ax expected, the second half is even more active. Fast waves race up a shoreline and recede back. Cold water flows with a sound akin to smooth plastic blocks. A few minutes later, we seem to be in an alcove, all whirling and splashing as bubbles rise to the surface and pop. Additional layers are added, increasing the drama. And then our friends, the birds, return. Or has the field recordist traveled to a different shore, with different birds? Their voices seem to support this hypothesis.
The closing quarter is a long recession, offering softer timbres and a feeling of safety. The density laps back to its humble beginnings, personifying a voyage and a return. Like the cover image, the ocean’s natural music conveys a vast blue calm. In the end, a quiet rain, the blue above joined to the blue below. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 