(In 200 Words, we highlight a new record we like a lot, via a 200-word review by Marc Masters and 200 words (or so) from the artist about whatever they choose.)
There’s not a lot of music I can think of that sounds like The Garment District. Check that: there’s actually quite a bit of music that sounds like parts of what The Garment District does, but I can’t think of anyone who puts it all together, and steers it down such weird paths, like Jennifer Baron. Her patient concoctions have definite rock and pop leanings, but everything inside is skewed, tilted, and curved - all pointed in directions that it feels like no one else would see or shoot for.
On Luminous Toxin, Baron gives herself a little more space to send out all those angles and tangents, and the result is perhaps her most outward-bound work – and most mesmerizing one. Her keyboard lines fill in melodies then bend away from them, stretching into territories shorter songs might only hint at. Some of this music was originally designed to accompany moving images, and you can hear how the rhythm of cuts and dissolves could take on extra drama when paired with Baron’s instrumental treks. But Luminous Toxin needs no illustrations to attract your mind’s eye – its sonic scenes are more than enough reason to stay in your seat.
It was springtime in Pittsburgh, when our city undergoes a drastic and dramatic metamorphosis in terms of topography, visuals, vibe—the entire psyche of this place is altered in highly visceral ways. Wildflowers and wild berries sprout along rivers and across city steps, green becomes the dominant hue, urban gardens take root in lots between row houses; an undeniable wanderlust takes hold. I was invited to compose and perform original music to accompany five locally produced short films as part of the SYNC’D series. I was handed a DVD-R containing five films, ranging from 3 ½ minutes to an epic 11 minutes. There was a shaky home movie resembling an early-1990s VHS tape copied one too many times—a boy’s fractured perspective exploring his childhood home; a hypnotic black and white panorama with tracking shots of the bridges, rivers and a city skyline—perhaps an homage to French New Wave; there was a break dancer on a basketball court; a clever video art project involving surreal rituals with everyday objects; a Herculean bike ride from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C. The project culminated on a sublime May night inside The New Bohemian—a former circa 1900 Czech Catholic Church that sits adjacent to the ornate 16th Street Bridge along the Allegheny River on Pittsburgh’s Northside, where we performed the original soundtracks I composed for the five films as they were screened for the public. I am very impacted by my surroundings—weather, ambient sounds, architecture and physical spaces, atmosphere, the company of others. The former church—which also houses art studios, a tattoo parlor and a makeshift brunch and juice bar—provided an evocative context for performing as sound and visuals coalesced for the first time. Folksy paintings on the church’s nave, stained glass windows and religious artifacts coexisted with amplifiers, thrift store art and duct tape.
Seasons passed and winter’s harsh hibernation set in as I contemplated the exciting invitation to release a record on Texas-based Kendra Steiner Editions. Winter’s singularity provided the cocoon I needed to focus. When I write and record music there is always a sort of duality that exists between what takes shape inside my head, what I hear and form when responding to my evolving collection of instruments, and a more structured approach to orchestrated arrangements that comes naturally to my creative process. During weeks of record sub-zero temperatures, ice forming on the inside of our sunroom windows, my husband out in Los Angeles for his mother’s surgery, winds howling and shaking our eaves, Luminous Toxin became a permanent artifact in sound. Embracing a temporary confinement, recording sessions at home co-existed with obsessively re-watching episodes of Rod Serling’s brilliant TV series, Night Gallery, as I became enthralled with its saturated colors, interstitial music, layered psychological themes, 1970s-era set designs and costumes, plot twists and heavy handed symbolism. This all became part of the backdrop for a record whose title refers to the final scene in Rudolph Mate’s 1950 film noir classic, DOA. Concepts for the album had been swirling around in my head for quite some time, allowing me to revisit some of the music I had composed for SYNC’D, begin brand new music, finalize demos already in progress, dive into using my newly acquired Roland JX-3P synthesizer, and pick up my bass guitar again.
It is a tremendous honor for me to release music on KSE—almost like a commissioned project—as I greatly admire the label’s staunch artist-centered approach to releasing limited-edition art in the form of sound and the written word. Here was a place I could start a record with a 9-minute song, incorporate the surreal sounds of my dog’s sleep patterns into my arrangements and develop original field recordings I make on a regular basis. Unencumbered by the limitations and ramifications imposed by lyrics and vocals, the album continues my interest in the intersection of melody, arrangements and texture with more freeform ambience, spontaneity and unpredictability. I hope that these sonic forces can coexist in the minds of listeners as Luminous Toxin makes its way to ears further out there and becomes something altogether new.
