by Khagan Aslanov (@virgilcrude)
There was a good decades-long stretch there where it felt like Bill Orcutt was on a mission to obliterate music altogether. The Miami guitarist has long since stood in a tier all his own, as master desecrationist and premier architect of sonic violence, and his colossal body of work has by now coalesced into a veritable clinic in how his instrument can be broken into its absolute fractal parts, and then re-assembled into something distinctly uglier and more singular.
Yet, over the past few years, this lifelong dedication to raw hostility has begun softening around the edges into something that almost borders on grace. The mutated tape-looped gospel of 2024’s How to Rescue Things felt as strange as it sounded tender. And on last year’s Orcutt Shelley Miller, Orcutt dove into aspects of traditional melodicism so boldly; it almost felt like a crack-shot new college indie band was hitting the circuit. He’s never abandoned his more feral inclinations, of course. But all signs have been pointing that Bill Orcutt is ready to guide his listeners straight to the heart of the beast.
In other words, it all feels like Orcutt has spent years pacing in wide concentric circles, slowly making his way to cutting something as starkly beautiful as Almost Waking. And in astonishingly talented Guatemalan avant-cellist and vocalist Mabe Fratti, he’s found the perfect partner in this task. Fratti herself has spent her playing life building staggering aural transmutations, a striking mixture of dramatically free improvisation and distorted string drones.
On Almost Waking, it all converges spectacularly. Weaving abstract electric six-string work with rich acoustic bowing, this eight-track collection transforms adversarial, jagged improvisation into sheer elegant instinct.
It almost seems redundant to state how cohesive and telepathic the album sounds, despite being recorded remotely, and the record’s technical and stylistic range is immediately evident. On "Forced & Forced & Forced," Orcutt’s trademark, string-snapping pentatonic runs clash brilliantly with Fratti’s fragmented, abrasive bow-scraping. Conversely, "Steps of the Sun" and the title track feature closely intertwined phrasing – seamless harmonic interplay and complex dynamic shifts that plait the instruments into something that more closely resembles a sung duet.
Tracks where Fratti takes the vocal lead become fascinating foils to Orcutt's spiky playing. On "El Inicio es cuestión de suerte," her soaring, multi-tracked vocals loop nimbly over a repeated guitar lick, to create a spacious art-ballad. Later, "Todo puede ser error" Orcutt returns the favour by snaking his jangling solos around Fratti’s echoing incantations. And "Arise from Graves and Aspire" operates as a spatial study, letting sustained notes ring out into silence before launching into dense, peak-and-valley riffing.
It truly feels astounding to witness Fratti and Orcutt perform their balancing act, leading each other to new emotional zeniths. Their musical vocabularies, so alive and wildly distinct from one another, become one with such casual skill, it’s almost easy to miss the fact that you’ve been listening to one of the most beautiful albums of the year.