With each new release, the superlative praise for Colin Stetson's work and abilities cements his position as a singular voice in experimental music. His monumental approach to unlocking new possibilities with the saxophone has also opened doors for collaborations with artists across widely disparate genres. From gun-slinging with Tom Waits, TV on the Radio, Bon Iver and BADBADNOTGOOD, to taking a place with a metal outfit like Ex Eye or "drone jazzcore" ensemble Void Patrol, to tackling classical themes by Gorecki and soundtracks for Ari Aster's Hereditary, there seems to be no limit to where Stetson's music can be applied.
Last year's triumphant When we were that what wept for the sea featured an appropriate spaciousness, open to the skies and waters, and welcoming details from collaborators on vocals and Scottish smallpipes to add a romantic undertone to Stetson's trademark play. In contrast The love it took to leave you lives in an enclosed space, at times hushed and confessional, brutal and battle-ready at others. The album was recorded over a week in Montreal's Darling Foundry, an art centre that once served as a metalworking facility and a space where, through Stetson, art and metal collide. The rigor of his "first take, no overdubs or loops" policy is upheld, but the brick, concrete and steel of the space unlock a reverberant energy that summons noisy spirits into these songs. With each track, Stetson's preparatory intake of breath in your ear is the cue to ready yourself for another new and intense experience.
From the introductory title track, there's a feeling of coiling tension, a muscular flex that soon enough bursts free, propelling Stetson (and us) headlong into a celebration of heartache and its many resolutions. These emotions are often expressed in deeply elemental and mythical tones. "The Six" unleashes a throaty, feral wail describing a wound that lives within the whirlwind structure of notes that Stetson pushes through his saxophone. These repeated animalistic assaults are balanced by instances of grace and beauty that are no less powerful.
Beyond the mastery of breath and other physical demands that Stetson embraces, his ability as an engineer and gatherer of sound is astonishing. A cornerstone of many of his pieces is the percussive and plosive energy he generates, an industrial-age thresher separating eruptive notes from brass casings. "To think we knew from fear" is the heavy, limping march of an era struggling to find its way into the future. These skills are fully alive at the heart of the album, "Strike your forge and grin," which serves as an extended summary of its musical theses. Over its 20 minutes, the song's journey through loss, searching, anger, acceptance and redemption is so well articulated it could serve as a self-help text.
Working things out emotionally, physically and intellectually has always been a feature of Colin Stetson's art. His ability to combine the meditative frequencies of noisy maximalism with inward minimalism into new and startling shapes never disappoints, but The love it took to leave you is a new peak, a climb as difficult as it is healing.