Sanr | Kesif
Flaming Pines (DL)
It’s hard to fathom that this is a debut from a Turkish duo, Sanr have an incredibly seasoned sensibility, “inspired by word play as well as themes of loss and renewal.” To create this record they are wielding a Cura (a traditional Turkish instrument, from where they took their name) as well as a host of common (odd) items and utilities. On Dehliz they scrape and tickle the ear with a low yet pitchy sound along with metallic jangling, dragging – becoming more about the performative actions in space than anything else.
As Kesif moves forward the variables start to melange together in what, not at first, begins to gel into something of a low-grade drone, humming in clangor and echo. Something you may not hear from the perspective of Semih Tokkuzun’s lovely aerial cover shot that depicts the ellipse of the land from above, shapely like a void, a giant eye. The title track is incredibly subtle, creaking open with ambiguous presence. The impression of an enormous blanket wafting over the region comes to mind, shadows of unknown circumstance. It’s a gorgeous, all-encompassing ambient drone that oscillates voluminously and takes hold.
Elsewhere on the digital release there are cowering dark corners, muffled veneer, something far off the grid. Altuğ Kaptan and Devrim Kınlı deem most of the latter half here fairly close to their chests, as the previously exuberant outpouring penetrates inwardly. Smaller, slower actions for at its center, becoming quite an intimate listen, not unlike uncovering a child’s musicbox. A stillness dominates on Sircadil only disturbed by the most nominal chime-like accents. You can hear a pin drop until about half-way when a harmonic drone begins to sweep through, and each sound rises, glassy and oblique as they are. This all leads up to the stridulous, mining-like constriction of the closer, Tremor, which goes out in a crisp plume of dust.