It’s amazing that all these infinitesimal articulations are heard so clearly, but this is a recording on which all the minutiae resound with great lucidity, and truly, the more listens you give Manafon, the more it reveals its complexity and brilliance. Here the singer is joined by discordant string quartet recordings – scratched and warped on Yoshihide’s turntable, while the most carefully poised of guitar and piano performances match-up against the imperious subtlety of Toshimaru Nakamura’s no-input mixing board static and Sachiko M’s intricate formation of cobweb-like sine waves. Indeed, Sylvian’s vocal inevitably takes the central role, offering a melodic route through an album of ostensible disorder, reaching its finest hour during Manafon’s centrepiece: ‘The Greatest Living Englishman’. This distinguished ensemble weave magic under Sylvian’s supervision, fabricating the finest and most ornate of sonic environments for the band leader’s rich, stately croak. Fennesz returns for Manafon, bringing his Polwechsel associates Burkhard Stangl and Werner Dafeldecker with him, while additionally, prepared guitar experimenter Keith Rowe appears, ranking alongside those other elder statesmen of British improvised music, John Tilbury and Evan Parker. The latter’s striking improvisational style seems to have impacted greatly on Sylvian’s approach to songsmithery, and traces of the jazz veteran’s spidering, chitinous playing are detectable in the dissonant twangs of Tetuzi Akiyama and Otomo Yoshihide. Guitarists have been of particular importance to David Sylvian albums over the past ten years or so Marc Ribot and Bill Frisell were among the key musicians contributing to 1999’s Dead Bees On A Cake, and for Blemish Sylvian struck up highly fruitful collaborations with Christian Fennesz and – perhaps most significantly – the late Derek Bailey. Assisting him to this end is a roster of great improvisatory talents, supplying Manafon with a beautifully rendered, supremely detailed backdrop of timbres, textures and vibrations. As with Scott Walker’s latter-day work, Sylvian’s music is far-removed from the chart-dwelling hits of his youth, instead taking on a ruthlessly cerebral and experimental agenda alongside Walker, recent years have seen Sylvian as one of the very few artists who could be said to have challenged what it means to write and produce a song. It’s been six years since the former Japan frontman released his masterful Blemish LP, and Manafon is its much anticipated follow-up. When David Sylvian makes a solo album, he really throws everything into it. Boomkat (21 september 2009) David Sylvian: Manafon author unknown The record has such a consistent tone it’s probably better to think of it as a sustained mood piece rather than a collection of individual tracks – it certainly strengthens its appeal if you don’t look for the new “Orpheus.” Fans wishing for a return of the high craft of his early work will be disappointed by Manafon, but folks intrigued by his current direction will appreciate his continued development. The results aren’t as explosive as one might expect – Sylvian keeps the accompaniment low, even sedate, letting his accessible vocal melodies carry the songs as if he’s afraid his buddies will wake the baby. Manafon finds Sylvian continuing down the improvisational path, but backed by a gaggle of musicians from the jazz, pop and electronic worlds, including guitarist KEITH ROWE, saxist EVAN PARKER, electronicist CHRISTIAN FENNESZ, pianist JOHN TILBURY, turntablist OTOMO YOSHIHIDE and more. That platter had Sylvian improvising alone with his guitar and keyboard, with guest guitarist DEREK BAILEY on a handful of tracks. On Manafon, experimental singer/songwriter DAVID SYLVIAN takes the next logical step up from his previous record Blemish. The Big Takeover (12 september 2009) David Sylvian: Manafon by Michael Toland
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