The parallel lives of high and low frequencies are always intriguing to follow, especially when an expert manipulator like Cordell Klier sketches their paths and defines their meanings through compositional choices and psychoacoustic experiments.
"Measure Here and Be Now" - a concise, rational album that nevertheless causes our speakers to diffuse vapours of hypnotizing aural substances - comprises four tracks feeding our desire of being wrapped by a protective cocoon of timbral indefinition, all the while making sure that the external world is still part of our transitory union with concrete beatitude, those rare serendipitous moments in which we believe to be invincible only to be knocked down, feet back on the ground, by the inevitable contact with daily cheapness.
But in the 41 minutes of this work there's not a single opening for the listeners to escape from a thorough dominance of beneficial radiance. Klier's music is like an iceberg, floating slowly, barely moving, progressively if undetectably melting. Its harmonic complexion tends to a sinister kind of pale, full of perplexing hints that leave us guessing the hypothetical place in which we were transported.
The few distortions and glitches, mostly appearing in the final track "Live", are there as a reminder of the harsh normality to which one's destined to return after having passed through invisible walls of indetermination and mystery. Bleak, cold emissions that succeed in kindling a soft-spoken awe.