Eleven years have passed since The Summoner was released, long enough for us to wonder if we’d ever hear from Kreng again. Over the past decade, the artist has been composing for theatre and cinema, which is a perfect pivot given his penchant for dark and moody atmospheres. Works for Abattoir Férme 2007 – 2011 appeared on our very first collection of Music for Haunted Houses, and everything Kreng composes sounds like October.
Wormhole represents a slight shift towards sci-fi, with the tagline, “What does a trip toward another world sound like?” We prefer this to “In space, no one can hear you play,” but the first Alien is a clear reference point. The album unfolds like a film score, building tension and unease until the closing tracks, when the tension topples into terror. Because this is Kreng, we know from the opening notes that this trip, no matter how benign its origins or objectives, will eventually go off the rails.
Glowing drones appear at first, like the passing of starships. One can already imagine the sleek hull, dotted by collisions with asteroids. The first light dissonance takes only a minute to surface, followed by darker strings and a sense of foreboding. When the piano notes appear, slow and sparse, one realizes that Kreng’s signature sound remains intact. But there are newer sounds as well: the hull creak of “Nachtzweet,” accompanied by crustacean skitterings and sonar pings, chased by chimes and a series of theremin-like strings that sound unsettlingly human.
In the cinema of our minds, we imagine the crew in cryogenic sleep, unaware of the lurking dangers that may be growing within and without. A single-cell organism has penetrated the hull and is slowly splitting, again and again, shedding its skin with each mutation. The ship has been knocked ever-so-slightly off course, or the calculations were off by a decimal point; either way, it is headed for that wormhole, signaled by the drums and staccato strings of “Marilyn’s Milk,” which fail to wake those who sleep – especially one whose chamber has prematurely cracked. To this crew member, “To Yield” arrives as an elegy, a moment of mourning before the action begins.
“Entropy” showcases a looped choir, representing the wonder of seeing vistas no one before has ever viewed. The saxophone puts the listener at ease; maybe this won’t end badly after all? This track will end up being the final respite, the stops of “Vacuum” more disturbing than the starts. Toward the end, the strings begin to swirl and amass like multiplying tentacles, building to the pulsating theme of “Donker,” the album’s most direct and declarative work. Were there to be a trailer, the segment beginning at 2:08 would be the score. A cymbal crash at 4:16 heightens the drama to an almost unbearable level, repeated sparingly as the chaos ensues.
After this, the density subsides again. The camera pans over the empty bridge, then down to the control room, framing the outstretched hand of an astronaut who has died only inches from the valve that would have saved the lives of the crew. Ghostly voices signal the passage to the great beyond. And then everything is sucked into the wormhole: the voices, the bodies, the ship and finally the music itself, leaving no evidence but the memory of an echo. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 