Nils Frahm: Wintermusik

This record has seen the light of day a couple of times already; once as a Christmas present given by Frahm to his friends in 2007 and once in a limited CD release on the label Sonic Pieces back in, err, June of this year. Aussie label? Probably not, because Frahm is a pianist based in Berlin, and by virtue of its forthcoming re-release on vinyl and CD via Erased Tapes, it is the second record of his I have encountered. A few months ago I reviewed The Bells (here), a light and impassioned set of eleven improvisations recorded in a Berlin church by Peter Broderick.

For some his experimentation on that release might have been too restrained, falling within the borders of safe parameters established over half a century ago. Frahm favours melody, texture and emotive power over the vanity of the pioneer at all times, a skill which he exhibits again over the half an hour that this disc encompasses. But Wintermusik, as the similarly straight-talking title implies, is both less playful and less brooding than The Bells. It illuminates the life in its surrounding landscape by the glint of a low sun’s light on the frost which dresses everything in a stillness.

Within this conjured stasis he finds life captured and also captivating; Frahm makes the most of the winter’s opportunity for study and reflection, as if there were no other movement than the soft steps of the observer approaching a frozen puddle or the crest of a hill. So, as my imagination seems to testify, this is very much pastoral music to my ears. By the use of piano, celeste and reed organs he seems as comfortable in a post-minimalist classical fold as he does in Henry David Thoreau’s shack, listening to the ice crack on Walden Pond.

Gonzales’ much loved album Solo Piano has become such a touchstone for similar releases that it’s overuse might imply a wide swathe of young pianists sorely lacking in imagination. While ‘Ambre’ (the first of the three pieces on Wintermusik) recalls the more tranquil moments and the deft touch of Gonzales, the rest makes a notable departure. ‘Tristana’ softly cracks open the sky, like a wren emerging from a shell it has an immediate emotive pull, banishing anything else from the mind by it’s simple and quiet occurrence.

During its seventeen minutes the song holds my imagination. It does this with deep, plaintive utterances from the organ, seemingly replied to by the soft but insistent trills from the higher register. Minor key chord changes occur beneath the Celeste’s simple chimes, subtly avoiding manipulative cinematic-piano conventions. Within the midst of the piece it seems to dissolve, fading until the organ injects some vigour with accordion like motions. In the final five minutes Frahm takes the almost cosy dream and rattles it slightly, slowly introducing a more personal awareness of pain and struggle.

Under the seemingly wondrous face of ‘Nue’ there is a slightly eerie shimmer which develops into a melancholy. This piece takes my imagination back to the town and city, albeit somewhere which still pays homage to the magic of antiquity. Frahm skips over the piano and celeste like a child over cobblestones. With the organ he drapes the walls and dark corners with a pain the child cannot yet see. In the world that Frahm creates in my mind’s eye, there is contrast. Even on a record of such unified and contemplative stillness, there is action and transition.

What I like about his compositions and his playing is that it taps into something naïve and unashamedly emotive, while never seeming like a two dimensional imitation of an archetype. It seems to me that Frahm absorbs what he sees and how he sees it, imbuing his music with something more than a desire to be praised for his ability.