Sound Liberation’s “Elegy” isn’t so much an album as it is an unbolting of several sonic cages, letting the inhabitants mingle, argue, and eventually, find a strange, compelling harmony. Gene Pritsker and his rotating ensemble are, as ever, on a crusade against the “segregation of sound vibration,” and here, their weapon of choice is grief, remembrance, and an absolutely defiant refusal to sit still stylistically.
The title track, “Elegy,” sets a certain somber table, yes, but then tracks like “Dealin’ With It” – a tribute, I hear, to Pritsker’s lost friends Sean Satin and David Gotay – knock over the cutlery with a blast of raw, living energy. It’s an interesting way to mourn, less about quiet contemplation and more about a vibrant, noisy wake. One minute, a hip-hop beat is driving the narrative, the next, a classical flourish appears, unannounced, like a surprisingly well-dressed ghost at a party.
Then there’s the opera, the funk, the jazz – it’s like channel surfing through a very eloquent, very heartbroken consciousness. For a fleeting moment, a particular blend of spoken word over a neo-soul groove reminded me of the specific, slightly damp scent of a second-hand bookstore I once visited in a downpour in Prague, filled with books in languages I couldn’t read but whose stories I felt I understood.
This album doesn’t just blend genres; it throws them into a particle accelerator. Sometimes you get pure gold, sometimes a fascinating new element, and sometimes, well, a delightful little explosion that leaves you wondering what just happened. It’s reflective, certainly, but it’s a reflection seen in a shattered mirror, each piece showing a different angle of the same, aching core.
Does “Elegy” soothe? Not always. Does it comfort? Perhaps in the way that knowing you’re not the only one feeling complex things can comfort. Mostly, it makes you listen. Really listen. And what, in these fleeting moments, is more vital than that?
