With his latest album, “Canary,” Sebastian Reynolds casts a spellbinding aura, where ominous drones collide with pulsating rhythms, leaving audiences torn between the urge to dance and the inclination to seek refuge.
Driven by his admiration for bands like Liars, Public Service Broadcasting, and Radiohead, Reynolds weaves an electrifying tapestry in tracks like “Cascade,” offering a tantalizing preview of what awaits in his new full-length opus. “Canary” paints a vivid sonic landscape, fraught with tense, dystopian drones that resonate with a civilization on the brink. His compositional approach draws inspiration from luminaries such as Susumu Yokota, Luigi Nono, Olivier Messiaen, and Karlheinz Stockhausen.
Once more, Reynolds gracefully straddles the realms of modern classical composition and retro-futuristic production. This time, his creative journey delves into profound themes, including the tragedy of stillbirth, the profound loss of parents, the enigmatic nature of consciousness, the intricate relationship between mind and body, the fragmentation of our collective psyche, and the emergence of machine intelligence.
Throughout his musical narrative, references to figures like John F. Kennedy, Carl Jung, and Robert Monroe’s influential work, “Journeys Out of the Body,” punctuate Reynolds’ contemplations. Contemporary voices such as Sam Harris, Lex Friedman, and Navy SEAL Jocko Willink both guide and disorient the listener, contributing to the rich tapestry of his compositions. As always, Reynolds remains committed to infusing his art with profound meaning, deftly melding programmed and organic sounds.
Notably, Reynolds has collaborated with esteemed German classical/expressionist musicians and composers like Anne Müller (Erased Tapes) and Alex Stolze (Bodi Bill) through their Solo Collective project. He has also worked with Mike Bannard at The Aviary and engaged in commissions for Neon Dance. His recent endeavors include captivating works such as “Puzzle Creature,” “Prehension Blooms,” the Thai-inspired “Mahajanaka Dance Drama,” and “Manuals for Living and Dying.” Currently, he is embarking on a film commission for Oxford University. Reynolds’ music has garnered extensive support across the BBC’s networks and enjoys recognition beyond. He hails from Oxford, where he honed his craft during his formative years, contributing to the UK cult acts Braindead Collective and Keyboard Choir.
We had the privilege of sitting down with Sebastian to discuss his newly released album, “Canary,” which is now available for listeners to immerse themselves in.
“Fetus” is described as a “modern classical dreamscape for a disrupted mindstate.” Could you elaborate on the creative process behind crafting this unique blend of sound and emotion?
For many of my works, Fetus included, I don’t necessarily have a very clear style in mind for a track that I want to make. The spark can come more spontaneously than that, I’ll get an idea that’s more led by sound or musical or production ideas. Following a project that I did with British Council and Neon Dance with some Thai musicians and a dancer I ended up owning a Thai tuned percussion instrument, the Gong Circle, and I was playing around with recording some samples from it then manipulating it in the Kaoss Pad and in Ableton live. I then added the vocal samples, the piano loops, then the cello came last. I originally played the cello part on a synth cello, and my friend Jonathan Ouin from the band Stornoway beautifully replayed the parts on real cello. The emotional layer of the piece really did come through subconsciously.
The single “Fetus” carries a sense of spaciousness and inspiration from film composers like Hans Zimmer and Jóhann Jóhannsson. How do you translate cinematic qualities into your music while maintaining your own distinct electronic style?
With Fetus the making process was very spontaneous and unplanned, I didn’t sit down and think ‘I’m going to make a piece in the style of Hans Zimmer’, it’s much more intuitive. I think it was quite late on in the process that I could see some similarities in Zimmer and Jóhannsson’s works. I loved the Dune soundtrack, and Jóhannsson’s score for Arrival with those super creepy vocal cut ups were definitely floating in my internal ether. The dilemma of originality and novelty vs being part of a tradition or lineage is a strange one. Because of the explosion in new musical styles, techniques, technologies etc in the 20th and 21st century, we’re much more sensitive to not wanting to be overly derivative. Is there something distinctive about my music compared to these others? I hope so!
The composition of “Fetus” is connected to a deeply personal experience. Can you share more about how the emotions surrounding your son’s passing influenced the creation of this piece and its role in paying tribute to him?
Sadly I’ve experienced and born witness to a few tragedies and traumatic experiences in my life, so I guess I’m more adapted to managing this kind of process, and to use it for healing and catharsis. I think what’s hard to manage sometimes is when music is inspired by painful, personal experiences and being able to have a thick skin if it feels like the track or album or whatever doesn’t get the kinds of responses both from critics and audiences that one would have hoped for. Just because a piece is born of sorrow it doesn’t mean the punters are any more obligated to like it or buy it etc. Good to keep that in mind, a great piece of art should ultimately stand up divorced from the story of it’s creator and/or the creation process.
The video for “Fetus” is set to release soon. How do visual elements enhance the storytelling of your music, and what can listeners expect from the video in terms of visual representation?
There’s a theme to the videos that we are releasing from Canary, about being overwhelmed by emotion and psychological states, and how that feels when experienced in a group. The first video for Cascade took the ‘I’m too high in a club’ situation and magnified it, for Fetus we’re back in the club, but with a cellist and more abstract, obscure images representing the passing away from normal, day to day consciousness and into the ether.
“Canary” explores a range of themes, from personal traumas to philosophical concepts. Could you delve into how you approach translating these intricate and diverse themes into your music’s sonic landscapes?
The process of producing the tracks for Canary happened over the course of a few years, and in the meantime I produced a lot of other material that didn’t draw on these same exact themes, and were very different sonically. It just so happened that I started to see a pattern emerging amongst a collection of tracks that seemed to hang together both in terms of sounds and thematically, and once the theme and vibe started to present itself I produced a couple more tracks to make it a complete suite.
The album draws inspiration from a diverse set of influences, including Susumu Yokota, Thom Yorke, and Stockhausen. How do you weave these influences into your music while maintaining a cohesive sonic identity?
For my own work I often have the luxury of working from the subconscious, and I’ll ultimately make decisions based on what feels right, rather than thinking too consciously about any particular musical reference and how I can or can’t fit it in with another element. I do also work to briefs for ad pitches, films etc, and then I am more conscious about trying to incorporate certain styles etc, but for Fetus it arose very naturally, and it was late in the process that I started to see similarities with some of my musical heros.
The incorporation of organic sounds alongside programmed elements is a hallmark of your work. How do you strike a balance between these two worlds to create a seamless musical experience?
From a technological perspective I’ve been using Ableton Live since it was first released, and of all the DAWs that I’ve used it seems to naturally lend itself to carving, sculpting and morphing sounds so that you can blur the lines between acoustic and non-acoustic, and you get a natural feeling for when the blend is sitting well.
The collaboration on “Fetus” involves various musicians and vocal samples. How does collaboration contribute to the layers and depth of your compositions, and what do you look for in collaborators to enhance your musical vision?
The collaborators for Fetus were cellist Jonathan Ouin and singer Sarah Tresidder. Often there’s a very pragmatic element to who I work with, I can’t play cello, so in this case I needed a cellist! And with the vocal samples, I had already recorded some singing with Sarah for another project, and I just took some little loops from what she’d done and it worked perfectly. I also work with a mix engineer and producer Mike Bannard, who mixed Fetus, and he mixes most of my work. I think the key to choosing collaborators is a mix of pure pragmatism, what are the gaps or weaknesses in one’s abilities, and what instrumentalists or technical music experts can fill these gaps? And of course if you know a few cellists then, knowing their styles, you might have a sense of which cellist would work particularly well for a given track.
“Canary” touches on deep emotional experiences and philosophical concepts. How do you hope listeners will connect with and interpret these themes in their own ways as they experience your music?
I want to stimulate discussion and thought, I’m not trying to provide any ideas, manifestos, or solutions to these huge issues. And I believe that personal salvation through religious and spiritual practise is possible.
Your focus on preserving meaning in your hybrid of programmed and organic sounds is evident. Could you share some insights into how you ensure that your music carries emotional depth while also embracing the electronic nature of your compositions?
It’s purely led by feeling, I think you can find plenty of music played by humans on acoustic instruments that is completely cold and bereft of emotion, and plenty of electronic music that has a huge amount of emotion and feeling, how can you tell the difference? The way it makes you feel!
