The Australian composer weaves ambient music and banjo strums into a meditative record, one that gazes upon the natural world with whimsy and joy.
Andrew Tuttle might be Australian, but there’s a sun-drenched tint to his work that calls to mind the American West. Over the course of five releases, the banjo player and electronic producer has mastered a sound that melds gossamer synthesis with dusty organic tones. While his first albums occasionally leaned into familiar musical tropes, by the time 2020’s Alexandra and 2021’s A Cassowary Apart dropped, Tuttle’s work had become a beast of its own: Imagine grubby old outlaw country instrumentals, injected with an ample dose of new-age zen. Yet Tuttle has managed to keep a relatively low profile compared to many of his peers in the cosmic Americana scene. His latest album, Fleeting Adventure, showcases a newfound knack for creating musical worlds. It’s one of his most ambitious projects to date, pushing a well-honed formula into rugged yet fresh emotive terrain.
On paper, an ambient banjo record might sound absurd, pretentious, or maybe even a little silly. But in execution, Tuttle blends these disparate influences smoothly and cinematically. To flesh things out, Fleeting Adventure enlists a slew of seasoned post-country musicians—including Steve Gunn, Chuck Johnson, and Luke Schneider. The final product plays like an alternate version of the earthy soundtrack to director Wim Wenders’ heartfelt 1984 neo-Western film Paris, Texas. On “Correlation,” vast washes of pedal steel smear melancholic streaks atop Tuttle’s intricate plucking. “New Breakfast Habit” weaves subtle slide guitar flourishes and wispy electronics, recalling a muted winter sunrise over a pine tree-surrounded northern lake. “Freeway Flex” is more ethereal and reserved, centered on droning synthesis and fluttering, ephemeral string work. Avant-garde legend Lawrence English mixed Fleeting Adventure, and his impact on the record is palpable throughout, but especially on this airy track.
Fleeting Adventure is effective at world-building, but things aren’t always as temperate as advertised; some of the more contemplative pieces here are reminiscent of smoke, fog, or rain. With eyes closed, it’s easy to picture snowy mountainside campsites and glistening bodies of water. The chillier edges are especially apparent on the subdued closer “There’s Always A Crow,” as well as on the rustic “Next Week, Pending.” But no matter what climate it evokes, there’s a surreal hominess to Fleeting Adventure, like bluegrass musicians taking a shot at Steve Reich-esque minimalism. This singular weirdness is one of the album’s most charming qualities, locating it in the same world as recent instrumental folk standouts from artists like North Americans and Yasmin Williams.
Art often channels a preoccupation with looming devastation instead of hope or awe. In the realm of ambient music, several recent releases (such as Tewksbury’s Brutes, or the Anushka Chkheidze, Eto Gelashvili, Hayk Karoyi, Lillevan, and Robert Lippok collaboration Glacier Music II) have taken a direct approach at grappling with sociopolitical turmoil. But Fleeting Adventure does the opposite. It is the increasingly rare piece of environmentally inspired music that makes a point of distancing itself from collective uncertainty and dread. If those aforementioned records feel spiritually indebted to Andreas Malm’s cult radical text How to Blow Up a Pipeline, Fleeting Adventure more closely echoes the philosophical escapism of Henry David Thoreau. It navigates balmy highs and murky lows, but throughout its peaks and valleys, it radiates wonder and joy. Tuttle and his backing band reconnect with the naturalism of the energy around them, harnessing an ever-present whimsy. Sprawling and varied, Fleeting Adventure uses instrumental music as a way to convey imaginative transcendentalism.
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