by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)
There’s a simple but somewhat devastating note attached to Helvetia’s latest album The Beach At The Edge Of The World that reads “Last Helvetia album!”. Exclamation mark aside, it’s a less than thrilling proposition to all who have immersed themselves in Jason Albertini’s music over the past eighteen years, but it’s also one that might not come to all as a surprise. It could seem as though Helvetia has been looking for a way to bring the project to a close, as Albertini has spent much of the past two years tirelessly emptying the archives. Since the release of 2021’s Essential Aliens, there’s been a steady avalanche of unfiltered digging, with releases coming warts and all, many of which arriving in multi-hour increments, self-released under the guise of albums, but acting more as archival dumps, drawn together seemingly by recording sessions, months or weeks spent using one particular tape machine or another, sometimes pristine, other times created with known malfunctions… because art doesn’t need to be perfect.
There’s gold in there (see Heuristic Hindsight Blues) for the attentive, and for the passive listener, those content to stream endlessly in need of background music, there’s been about seventeen hours of “new” Helvetia music released over two years. It all provides a hazy comfort, an escape into Albertini’s world. Helvetia has always excelled at creating their own celestial homespun landscape, and these particular releases, while mostly commercially inaccessible, are content to get lost in their own atmosphere, they offer expansive opportunity for escape. This isn’t to say that Albertini’s songwriting has lost focus, he remains a timeless enigma, crafting songs in a way that puts groove to dread. His creative impulses feel triumphant throughout The Beach At The Edge Of The World, a prime example of Helvetia at its absolute best. Whether you’ve spent the past two decades deeply in love with the project or you’ve just stumbled upon them in a Duster or Built to Spill related rabbit hole, the signature grace of the project’s sound has always been in Albertini’s production, warbling and fuzzy, lo-fi and unfiltered, but with a sonic clarity that allows every weird idea to shine in equal measure. It’s a sound unlike anything else, a warm hug from an estranged friend that may or may not be going through it.
There’s a unique energy present from the start of The Beach At The Edge Of The World, almost as though the weight of saying farewell has provided a sense of comfort to Albertini’s songs. The usual drip of languid composition is replaced on “Forget Me Now,” a song that gallops with a sense of twang. The main guitar pattern and insistent rhythm feels like a lost Meat Puppets song, one whose magnetic tape has warped over the years. The rhythm is sharp and steady, Albertini is bouncing along with an ease of repetition, but his guitars and the soft vocal melody keep things tangled as he awaits to be forgotten. From there, Helvetia spiral out into branches of their signature sound, slinking with sultry, crackling, soulful indie experimentations (“Beaches on the Moon”), dizzying stop/start charm and dejected mantras (“Without You”), and brilliant works of cosmic sputtering psych and noise-pop (“Lady Silence”). The nuance and instrumentation, from shakers and analog synths to detuned guitars, disjointed drums, and electronic interference, all build the Helvetia blueprint, matching subtly and complexity in a way that has always rewarded repeat listens.
That sense of the “light at the end of the tunnel” seems to carry through many of the songs, from the title track’s conversations with “the ghost of time” to the way that “Sticks and Hair” hangs on the line, “the end of all things,” giving the words space before and after, as if it’s meant to resonate the finality, there’s nothing left to say. It’s not all weight and gloom though, Helvetia invite you to dream, to let your mind wander toward the surreal. “Bullots” is warped and wonderful, eschewing immediacy to unravel in its own time, and unravel it does. There’s a lively progression to “Everybody Is Wrong And So Am I,” the isolation felt in the lyrics a shift in mood from the ultra-thick fuzz riff that bleeds through the song. It leads perfectly into the motorik-tinged lamentations of “Sabonis,” a song that pounds with an unearthly boogie. The feel of the record remains in flux from song to song, united in tone and production, the album undeniably cohesive from start to finish.
We can’t overstate the importance of Helvetia, a project that has been a constant favorite for well over a decade. The impact of its sound and style, the structure, finesse (as well as lack of finesse), has left a profound impression on what this era’s psychedelic music can be. Spaced-out yet emotionally and sonically raw, with guitars that surge in texture and intrusive bursts of anxious melody, Jason Albertini’s unassuming songs have always made for gentle ear candy, a constant in an ever changing landscape. We don’t know if this is truly the end of Helvetia, but if it is, our first reactions should be to offer a sincere thank you for the music. Thanks for countless records that we’ve come to appreciate as classics, thanks for an uncompromising vision, and a steadfast aesthetic that made listening to music feel akin to anti-gravity. We hope the decision brings peace to Jason Albertini, and that he’ll continue to create in some shape or form, under any name that feels like a fresh start. If he’s walking away though, he’s certainly left a catalog in his wake that feels open to timeless exploration. Long live Helvetia.