I’m sure the name “Glass House” is meant to invoke some notion of “transparency” — see-through drones passing through one another, reflective of a certain light or aura, etc… and yeah, that is for sure the vibe I’m getting all over this Headlands tape. But that word also sounds a bit too delicate for me, too passive. The duo of Ian Collier and Eric Brannon make ambient music that is truly activated. They are creators of their own luminescence; they are a source of heat, a generator of comforting calm and tumultuous tempests alike. Leaders of the proverbial pack (of drones) that manifests their own epic destiny before your very ears. And yes, there’s something to be said for the opposite — music made to be dying, constantly in a state of decay. But that stuff only makes compositions that actually compose into something greater all the more aurally substantial and spiritually viable. Let’s call it a breath of fresh air. Or many of them, for that matter, waves of round major chords breathing their warm breaths on the back of your neck, soon to become cooling winds that gently curl away from glowing embers. Glass House’s extending rays of synth are constantly searching for new horizons, new openings, looking for holes in the black blanket of space to peek through and bleed into the next gloriously open vista. And I’m hearing all this and feeling those hairs perk right up on my arm as Glass House swells itself into a mighty mountain of beauty… all on a cassette tape for crying out loud. For as pristine and perfect Headlands is, you have to wonder what other myopic wonders might be hidden in the quiet moments as well… something to look forward to when some bloody genius out there decides to release some vinyl for these guys. For now, headphones and a walkman for Headlands will still get you deep enough.
More about: Glass House
