Floridian smooth jazz reboot artist Tristan Whitehill (aka Euglossine) is known for crafting genre-fluid electronic tunes that fit somewhere between the fusion lite of Pat Metheny and the hyper-intense gleam of late '80s videogame music. His stylistically promiscuous music has slithered its way into the rosters of a number of equally adventurous small-run tape labels: Beer on the Rug, Housecraft, Phinery, Moss Archive and Hausu Mountain.
Whitehill's perennial home is Orange Milk Records, who specialize in non-specialization. The only consistency to be found in their catalogue is a sense of the interesting, the exploratory and the boisterous. Euglossine fits right in amidst the deviants, the virtuosos and the cracked geniuses that grace the label's docket.
Psaronius is a new direction for Whitehill; these tracks have veered away from the minimal prog rock stylings of past releases, instead arching in a more abstract direction. There is an immediate sense of the push-pull of the analogue and digital at play, as if there's a wrestling match going on between computer music and electroacoustic composition.
Yet, as Whitehall has done on previous efforts, his soundscapes describe environments. There are flora and fauna being catalogued, and soil samples being taken. Rocks are being overturned and mysterious insects are slithering out from beneath them. Barring the occasional glitch in the matrix, the sense of the organic hasn't completely evaporated from Euglossine's sound. His jelly-like structures have merely been slathered in a delicious coating of experimentation.
(Orange Milk)Whitehill's perennial home is Orange Milk Records, who specialize in non-specialization. The only consistency to be found in their catalogue is a sense of the interesting, the exploratory and the boisterous. Euglossine fits right in amidst the deviants, the virtuosos and the cracked geniuses that grace the label's docket.
Psaronius is a new direction for Whitehill; these tracks have veered away from the minimal prog rock stylings of past releases, instead arching in a more abstract direction. There is an immediate sense of the push-pull of the analogue and digital at play, as if there's a wrestling match going on between computer music and electroacoustic composition.
Yet, as Whitehall has done on previous efforts, his soundscapes describe environments. There are flora and fauna being catalogued, and soil samples being taken. Rocks are being overturned and mysterious insects are slithering out from beneath them. Barring the occasional glitch in the matrix, the sense of the organic hasn't completely evaporated from Euglossine's sound. His jelly-like structures have merely been slathered in a delicious coating of experimentation.
