Beginning soft and nearly inaudible, Matt München’s “Klaiverstrüke #39” opens with sparse and delicate notes, but quickly builds volume and momentum into a frenzied piano composition. The spontaneously composed 18-minute long piece plays out in moments of tranquility and furor (a wind blowing through a field of tall spring grass). The composition is delicate at times (a breeze daintily stirring only the tallest blades of grass), building force and fury (a violent wind turning the field below it into a tumultuous sea of green).
Following “#39” is München’s “Klaiverstrüke #16;” another spontaneous 18-minute composition. In contrast to the piece proceeding it, “#16” features foreboding drones and sharp echoes of metallic hiss. Uncertain and eerie, it hums on tangibly; a pressure change in the atmosphere moments before the first gusts of wind ushering in a savage summer storm. The unsettling serenity of reverberating drone charges the piece with a palpable sense of anticipation—a storm-cloud holding in its breath before unleashing gale force winds.
Perhaps lost somewhere amidst the sea of windblown grass blades, or carried away with the breeze is the composer and musician himself; having met those who run Crabe Records one evening in France by chance, recording with them on a whim late that same night, and seemingly disappearing without a trace afterwards.
More about: MATT MÜNCHEN
