Lawrence English — Cruel Optimism

Lawrence English is a well renowned sound artist living in Brisbane, his releases span 12 years and are many and various. Some are issued on his own Room40 label, however he’s had the likes of Touch and 12k play host to his musical output. Moving between Ambient, drone and experimental electronica on Cruel Optimism Lawrence is aided and abetted with contributions from Mats Gustafsson, Mary Rapp and Tony Buck, Norman Westberg to name a few.

Cruel Optimism is, somewhat surprisingly, a protect album. The threat of futures that are bearing down upon us: Trump; Brexit; Syria; etc,. all contribute to the creation of this 10 track album. Cruel Optimism is a record that considers power (present and absent). It meditates on how power consumes, augments and ultimately shapes two subsequent human conditions: obsession and fragility.

Opening with “Hard Rain” Cruel Optimism slams it’s plackard straight in your face and screams blue murder into your open mouth, there’s no gentle intro, no being taken by the hand, this is a wall of noise that just keeps turning in on itself as the occasional bass note is plucked from the ether. This is a whirlwind in sonic form, and from this point of entry you are wrapped in this album unable to leave it’s pull.

Each piece on this album evolve over their allotted time, “The Quietest Shore” begins where Hard Rain left off, but soon becomes a fragment of it’s own self as each element - from the noise to the piano - disappear into the sands. As “Hammering The Screw” re-enegises the listener and reminds them, this is a protest album, bloody well hear me! Before “Crow” draws out a long hollow breath and leaves it’s rattle hanging in the air until you get the point.

“Requiem For A Reaper Pillar Of Cloud” is the soft, calming voice of reason. Standing at the back and logically undoing the horror set before it. You are bathed in its pacifying stance, and understand the suffering and pain you are witnessing.

This whole album has the overtone of being angry, empty and desolate. Angry at the world, angry at the general inability of people to change what they see. Desolate and empty with the feelings of helplessness – be it from the perspective of a victim, or the perspective of an onlooker paralysed with fear. However, even in this sense there is an optimism. And I feel Lawrence pitches this album perfectly because of this. It’s a cross roads, a turnpike, the cruel optimism of a future, and the hope it might actually be a bright future once we get through the darkness.

As Lawrence himself says, this is “from me to you and onward from there”.