It takes something very special to stop
a room full of sweaty weirdos dead in their tracks. Scott
Seckington's Sedan possesses the uncanny
ability to compose hypnotic, robust, heavy, piano arrangements that
sit somewhere between horror film and chamber music.
It's hard to describe.
The chord
choices are subtle and unsettling, but it's also oddly affirming.
Like a lot of things, you get out of it what you bring to it, and
there's definitely some ambient, negative poetics going on in here,
but I don't think you can simply classify it as something ominous or
as some sad, spiral into darkness. Maybe limbo. Maybe purgatory. But
Scott's compositions never feel like he's resigned himself to the
descent. There's some awesome fight going on in here, some raw energy
that's herded and corralled, molded into a series of tiny explosions
that, ultimately, burn away that despondent nightmare of existence.
It's the type of music I hear when I read Melville or Kafka or
Beckett. Sure there's the ubiquitous existential crisis swirling
through it, but it never succumbs to its own bleakness.
There's joy
in nothingness -- an unbridled curiosity and imaginative landscape
continually reinventing itself.
Dance on the dead man's ashes and all
that.
Sit back to this one
