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Prisyn
Prisyn in Bloomington, MN
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Evan Patterson
has always kept the experimental side of
Jaye Jayle
's music at the margins -- until
Prisyn
. On
Patterson
's fourth album, the electronics and ominous atmospheres that updated the Americana traditions of
No Trail and Other Unholy Paths
in fascinating ways make up the dark heart of this album's shadowy collages. This change in approach came partly out of necessity:
's first
album made without his backing band since 2014's
It's Jayle Time!
,
grew out of demos he sketched on his phone while on tour, then sent to
Ben Chisholm
to embellish, and finished in the studio with longtime collaborator
Warren Christopher Gray
. Given its largely solitary creation, it's not surprising that
finds
musing on artificial constraints ranging from the addictive nature of technology to repressive cultural norms. On "Don't Blame the Rain," he tears into suffocating Southern conservatism over synths that sound like they're hurtling through space; on "From Louisville," creeping electronic textures meet hymnal lyrics in a striking expression of the dark side of traditions. Despite
's focus on confinement, its music is anything but restrained. The album's production and sound design are often stunning, particularly on the ghostly yearning of "I Need You," where horror movie strings, worming synth bass, and the decrepit plink of a piano evoke
The Downward Spiral
more than any of
's previous music. Though the rich songcraft of his earlier work is missed a little, he takes his storytelling gifts in directions that echo
's boundless experimentation. "The River Spree" could be a short story tracing
's surreal exploration of Berlin with sonics that ratchet up tension as they follow his path through the city streets, a bar, and parts unknown. His misadventures on the road make for some of the album's most striking moments. His dusty drawl sounds brilliantly wrong next to the smooth synths on "Making Friends," marking him as an outsider as he realizes, "now you know too much to let me go." Sounds and images alternately blur into each other and achieve a hyperreal clarity on "Guntime," a song based on a real-life incident where a car full of teenagers pointed an Uzi at the
tour van as they entered Paris. Even more audacious than
proves
's music can thrive as
lets tradition go by the wayside. ~ Heather Phares
has always kept the experimental side of
Jaye Jayle
's music at the margins -- until
Prisyn
. On
Patterson
's fourth album, the electronics and ominous atmospheres that updated the Americana traditions of
No Trail and Other Unholy Paths
in fascinating ways make up the dark heart of this album's shadowy collages. This change in approach came partly out of necessity:
's first
album made without his backing band since 2014's
It's Jayle Time!
,
grew out of demos he sketched on his phone while on tour, then sent to
Ben Chisholm
to embellish, and finished in the studio with longtime collaborator
Warren Christopher Gray
. Given its largely solitary creation, it's not surprising that
finds
musing on artificial constraints ranging from the addictive nature of technology to repressive cultural norms. On "Don't Blame the Rain," he tears into suffocating Southern conservatism over synths that sound like they're hurtling through space; on "From Louisville," creeping electronic textures meet hymnal lyrics in a striking expression of the dark side of traditions. Despite
's focus on confinement, its music is anything but restrained. The album's production and sound design are often stunning, particularly on the ghostly yearning of "I Need You," where horror movie strings, worming synth bass, and the decrepit plink of a piano evoke
The Downward Spiral
more than any of
's previous music. Though the rich songcraft of his earlier work is missed a little, he takes his storytelling gifts in directions that echo
's boundless experimentation. "The River Spree" could be a short story tracing
's surreal exploration of Berlin with sonics that ratchet up tension as they follow his path through the city streets, a bar, and parts unknown. His misadventures on the road make for some of the album's most striking moments. His dusty drawl sounds brilliantly wrong next to the smooth synths on "Making Friends," marking him as an outsider as he realizes, "now you know too much to let me go." Sounds and images alternately blur into each other and achieve a hyperreal clarity on "Guntime," a song based on a real-life incident where a car full of teenagers pointed an Uzi at the
tour van as they entered Paris. Even more audacious than
proves
's music can thrive as
lets tradition go by the wayside. ~ Heather Phares
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