Paris-born, Tokyo-domiciled Raphael Leray has one of the best Bandcamp
bios I’ve ever seen: “Raphael Leray is an experimental melodist, engineer, and
occasional illustrator….” That description flows with a deft lyricism that’s
surprising to find in an artist known mainly for wordless composition. If that
were me, I’d print up thousands of business cards with that on it. It’s too
good not to pass out to everyone I’d meet.
As a self-proclaimed “experimental melodicist,” there’s a lot to expect
in the music unleashed upon the world by one so described. You can’t just knock
out a pop tune with some warbly synthesizer and call it a day (I’m looking at
you … Weezer, I guess?). Leray’s got it covered, though, don’t you worry,
because his music doesn’t screw
around in the slightest. It’s intensely obvious that every single note and
pattern released on Solstitial Memories
was agonized over, the detail scrutinized to a micro degree. In some ways it’s
small, personal music, in that it feels insular and particular, a product of
one person made for consumption by individuals. But just as you’d find if you
bent your head to the ground and observed the great living activity there, if
you bend your ear closely to Solstitial
Memories, it reveals itself more clearly under examination.
That’s the magic of the tape. Every moment is a deep, clean breath, every
melody a hint of birdsong at sunrise. Even tracks with distinct percussive
elements like “Dance I” and “War” invite pure immersion that leaves you feeling
refreshed on the other side. I can’t get enough of it – I’ve literally listened
to it four times in a row while barely writing this review, because I keep
getting distracted by it, and my writing suffers. Sometimes I don’t write good,
and it’s because music invades my brain’s writing parts for its own insidious
purposes and makes me stupid. Of course, once the music’s off and I shake the
haze, I’m back to my good old self again, ready to shout rudely to anyone
within earshot how good Raphael Leray is. I get a lot of funny looks at the
supermarket.
So I’ll end by shouting at you readers instead, and spare the
incredulous onlookers I encounter in public. You won’t find a better entry
point to the Phinery aesthetic than Raphael Leray. His work – at times music
box–like, at others gloriously meditative – is cut-and-paste gorgeousness. It’s
probably hard to be this inventive and still have time to do other things. Like
print up business cards or shop for groceries. You know, the basics.
--Ryan Masteller
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