Ethernet — Opus 2

Ethernet is an interesting choice of name for a musical project in the 2010s when the technology itself is on the verge of obsolescence. It features a built-in oxymoron: after all, the upper regions of space are thin and intangible, so how can one catch it in a net? Perhaps this is what Tim Gray is attempting to do here, and something about the slightly dissonant, warm tone of opener “Monarch” recalls the airy shoegaze ambience that launched artists like M83 and Ulrich Schnauss. The deep and enveloping sound is kept alive by a slight pulse, and as it continues it gains a soulfulness that even hearkens back to the early new age electronics of the Future Sound of London. The delicate but not quite memorable melody strolls up and down the keyboard haphazardly, lending itself to the perfect soundtrack for sunrise laziness.

But on Opus 2, Ethernet’s second outing for Kranky, the sun never really rises. Recorded throughout the depths of winter, Ethernet’s extended textures are deliberately oriented toward introversion and self-hypnosis. So while the album’s initial pulse continues into “Correction,” the atmosphere turns considerably more chilly and stagnant, shifting into the motionless textures from Eno’s Fractal Zoom era—i.e. the least-regarded point of his career due to the work’s inability to connect with listeners. “Cubed Suns” goes even darker, replacing any hint of openness with a claustrophobic, tenor rumbling that attempts to obscure the synthesized ice sculptures beneath it. The depth of this music is breathtaking, but such subterranean work perversely recalls the beauty of a mausoleum and may not be meditative for everybody.

By the overlong “Dog Star,” Ethernet’s self-confinement to formula is evident: a slow pulse to keep the momentum steady; cold, cosmic atmospheres to isolate the listener; and glacial half-melodies that create an illusion of development as the songs progress. Each track is beautiful in its own right and the overall power of the work is appreciable, but Opus 2 veers dangerously close to the point where frosty music simply alienates itself.

The final tracks help guide the proceedings out of the internal abyss. While “Dodecahedron” begins with the record’s darkest, most ominous passage, the extra reverb behind its pulse almost gives it an alien swing. Thus it becomes the sound of life created by accident, a direction upon which Ethernet might wish to stumble again. Meanwhile, the transcendent finale “Pleroma” lets the melodic elements move to the forefront, reducing the anemic rhythm to an almost inaudible static. While not exactly ethereal, it leaves behind the suffocative quality that dominates the rest of the album.