Jon Hopkins – ‘Ritual’ album review: a world of pure emancipation
THE SKINNY: One man’s long droning note, is another’s symphony. To address this record from a non-specialised perspective is to recognise that there will be people who’ll hear Ritual and think Jon Hopkins has fallen soundly asleep on his sequencer. And there will also be people enraptured by the minutia of poetry in each wavering note, who’ll marvel over how the mind can draw so much from such minimalism.
Others will flit between those two polls, trapped, as it were, between embracing the cheese board or staying true to the good old knickerbocker glory. In other words, the rewards of Hopkins‘ seventh solo album, are an acquired taste. But that is not to say they are more muted and neutral. The sophistication of experimenting with what you can extract from a single sustained sound, steadily builds across the eight-part movement to moments of euphoria and moments of dread.
Characterised by hypnotic drum loops, pitch-driven ascension and the occasional choral vocal hum, the record is Hopkins at perhaps his most compositionally footloose. The album is liberated from a sense of purpose beyond creativity itself. Thusly, anything unleashed is largely by subconscious chance. So, it’s rather typical and human, that there is a definite arc to proceedings. Hopkins might not have even known the journey himself, but we’re all passengers on it with our own vistas.
Or, to bring back the hypothetical fellow who doesn’t ‘get it’, perhaps its just so vague and quite obviously pitched a as gentle sigh that builds towards a beat and back to a slightly more awed sigh, that the ‘ritual’ of the album is self-evident and the corroborations come from our bored, feverish mind, inventing something more interesting. The firm retort to this, however, is that it really does make you feel. Though the parts might be simple, they swell internally – thanks to some very clever engineering – to a sonic symphony unearthed within.
For fans of: Settling down with a Pinotage on a Friday to have some good ‘nodding’ chat.
A concluding comment from an anti-Oasis reunion purist: “Now, this is real music! One long sustained note, none of that bloody chorus and joy nonsense.”
Rituals track by track:
‘part i’: It’s a long steady exhale, like the sigh you release when you exit the office doors on a Friday, having just done a murder in the elevator. There’s nothing to it, but its as dense tungsten bowling ball. [3.5/5]
‘part ii’: Musical elements now enter the mix. With just a mild hum and the odd bass note, Hopkins showcases his uncanny ability to drum up at least a murmuring of euphoria from nothing much. [4/5]
‘part iii’: As the swell continues, we see sounds more often associated with the avant-garde enter the mix. The lusciousness is permeated by the odd clash. Theremin waverings and warbles add an ethereality to the delicate blend. [3.5/5]
‘parti iv’: The journey takes on a more brooding tone. This will no doubt soundtrack the moment before the big moment on the inevitable return of the crime drama Luther. [3.5/5]
‘part v’: As the drone builds there is a sense of ascent. Intricate drums loops add drama. Amid the rising tension there is a sense of fear and greater imagery that builds. It’s not the most pleasent place to be, but it’s captivating. [3.5/5]
‘part vi’: The heady mix has perhaps been repetitious for too long at this stage. The anxiety in the whizzing build is borderline uncomfortable, and you yearn for something a touch more tranquil. Alas, that still means that the minimalism has you keenly engaged. [3/5]
‘part vii’: And now the becalmed sustained synthesiser returns. The imagery turns to smooth seas, odd mists and all things hazy. It is arguably in Hopkins’ micro-management of these quieter moments that he is at his best. [4/5]
‘part viii’: The twinkling of mobile-like piano breaks through the steady hum. A night drive rolls forth. The journey has been a pleasing one. We’ve made it to the end, and as the song asserts, nothing is lost, and all is well. [4.5/5]
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