After a review I wrote a while back for a band called Arlo, I got a lot of heat from readers for supposedly "judging an album by its cover." Upon reading the review, any levelheaded individual would recognize that I only described the cover as a device to introduce my perception of the music. Any levelheaded individual could probably also deduce that these readers were hotheaded Arlo fans simply upset with the fact that I didn't like the album. After this debacle, I promised myself that I would never again use the cover of an album in any way to aid me in my descriptions of and comparisons to the music.

So, let's talk about the liner notes, instead.

I open the cardboard case to Mnant, by Re. The combination of title and nom de plume already promises a plethora of album possibilities within its concept. These guys must plan to be around for a while. Wishful thinking, I suppose. I peruse the liner notes: "Recorded and assembled... by Aden Evens & Ian Ilavsky." Not performed or played, just "recorded and assembled." This is obviously an electronic album. And of course, the song titles hint at this fact. Class, use any of these words in a sentence: "Scue," "Cipe," "Buke," "Volve," "Ject," "Gulate." They don't exactly exude authenticity.

Then it's no surprise that, upon pressing play, I get... buzzing. Buzzing in abundance. Buzzing at different frequencies and pulses and pitches, all layered on top of each other. Nothing particularly new so far, and it promises to become tedious if it goes on too long. Thankfully, after a couple of minutes, the sporadic buzzing gives way to light, airy drones, and temporally stretched string vibrations. Then, a rhythm introduces itself with a marimba and one of those super low-end basslines. But the rhythm ends seemingly as soon as it began, and silence lets in a quietly creeping hiss. Soon enough, in fades a dark, reverberating theme in a softly unsettling minor key. And even later, a pulsing beat lurks into the mix, building ever so gradually in intensity, although never coming close to exploding.

To recite the entire album's chain of connected sounds in this fashion would be no fun for anybody. But this sequence of events, occurring over the first 12 or so minutes of Mnant, represents the rest of the record rather appropriately. The album's twists are composed of the mixing of subtle electronic devices with organic instruments and rhythms. Beeps and blips are introduced just as readily as a hypnotic acoustic guitar pattern or a rhythm on a hand-drum. Re also keep a good sense of contrast between darker and lighter moods, never letting a disconcerting disposition pervade the sound more than the calming, peaceful ones.

It's this contrast that allows the album to sink so well into the background. If one forced Mnant to become the sole object of his or her attention, they'd quickly become bored and frustrated. This is not to say that there aren't moments of interest, but like any ambient record, those moments are often stretched out beyond immediate interest. In the end, the silence that follows a listen to this record seems nearly as eventful as the rest, and yet, although there are moments of pure silence embodied within...

Hmm. Let me put it this way. I was listening to Mnant for the first time yesterday, trying to decide whether I liked it. Someone asked me if I liked what I was listening to, and I said, "Well, it's not bad, but I'm not sure if it's my cup of tea yet." The quick-witted reply I received: "It sounds like a cup of tea." I laughed, of course. But then, like your everyday, over-analytical writer, I began to consider the accuracy of the statement. The experience of a cup of tea can be soothing-- not only drinking it, but preparing it, feeling the steam rise off of it, hearing the whistle of the teapot. In these terms, Mnant isn't necessarily the best or most distinctive tea you've ever had, and it doesn't require your undivided attention, but sometimes it's a good thing to have when you just need something to go along with your life.

-Spencer Owen