by Matty McPherson (@ghostplanetmatt)
The nomenclature “ambient” is a broad one these days in 2022. Even if it already over-flooded my inbox declaring a “new Bandcamp release from…”, it now appears in the latest advancements in jazz; it appears in Los Angeles parks as free concerts; hell, it appears out of thin air in conversations I’ve had, with stately talking point regarding its pleasing functionality. I’ve often dissociated from “ambient as utilitarian” argument over the past half year, as I find it to be a narrow view of a vast musical sphere that often brings language to the abstract: the haptics of our daily routines; the personalized senses of place and the memories tied to them; all as much as brooding, unreliable narration that unearths new insights–perhaps only to ourselves.
Nyokabi Kariuki’s Peace Places: Kenyan Memories is an EP that I have been thinking about in recent days, regarding the language of the abstract. Over the twenty eight minutes, you never hear a synthesizer. In its place there are voices harmonizing melodies, humming out a scripture of its own accord, communicating in languages that tie Kariuki’s six songs from anywhere between “A Walk Through [Her] Cũcũ’s Farm” to her friend “Naila’s Peace Place”. A range of airy silence steadies each piece, transitioning from one zone to another without much fervor. Field recordings intermingle with the mbira, kalimba, and gyil, all of which provide hushed bouts of plucking or percussive quips; they practically function as water drops pattering on a roof. These elements together make for a release that is beyond patient or utilitarian. This could well be ambient as an oral tradition.
Kariuki’s compositions excel in imposing these brevitous sanctuaries of sparse sound, then spotlighting bright snippets that seem to be beamed from one room over. It’s a rich tactic to convey Kariuki’s memories from throughout this pandemic, and often they shine to life so suddenly, vividly. The cavernous acoustics (that border on dub) of “Nguruomo, or Feeding Goats Mangos” are a canvas of a private routine, given communal chorus harmonies that teeter towards a free-style of pop that quickly brings us to a utopia of goats and their caretakers. “Galu”, another standout track, abstractly percolates its way to consciousness , as Kariuki repeats a mantra “I go down at six AM/to swim in the Indian Ocean”. Eventually, she holds a note from that phrase long enough to summon a communal melody line within a sudden visage of ambient free jazz that quickly shies away to let her swim in peace.
The snippets of what is suggested within these types of tracks is tantalizing, but it is fully realized on “Naila’s Peace Place”. Naila, an artist friend of Kariuki who designed the art for this EP, took videos and recordings of her “peace place”–a beach in Lamu, off the Kenyan coast–that which Kariuki inscribes and commemorates. For the track’s five minutes, dreamy atmospherics (brought forth by a quippy vibraphone) and ethereal vocals swirl in an ecstasy, creating a new sound for the time and place. It is a curious, ponderous sound–imaging just what such a space could entail–until the vocals are no longer echoed nor ethereal. Someone is asking Naila about this place, to which she responds, “It just doesn’t feel real” and leaves us pondering how a fourth wall–one between Kariuki’s sonic recreation and Naila’s own recollection–could be broken so subtly.