Geotic, Mend
By Chris Polley
The singer or guitarist of a band can have a side project with a different name and a singer-songwriter can have a band with another name, and least commonly, and even a solo artist can have a separate name for a completely different musical endeavor, something other than what they’re primarily known for. It may feel off at first, as there is no line-up change, and especially when there are even arguable similarities between both musical outlets, but for electronic composer/producer Baths (aka Wes Wiesenfeld), the shift to the moniker Geotic for his latest batch of recordings featuring almost nothing but electric guitar is not only necessary, but symbolic and comforting. The name Baths brought forth the heralded debut Cerulean last year and fit beautifully: watery and playful fits of fancy for the computer age, full of joyful bleeps and curious bloops. Now getting a chance at exposure for his less flashy counterpart, Geotic, the pitter-patter and splashing is still there, but it’s closer to the soil – smaller, quieter, and made out of mud, not ceramic.
One of the biggest challenges a true solo musician (no backing players here) can face is developing a style without relying on a repetitive crutch or gimmick. And for someone who takes in hours upon hours of looping electric guitar music with unhealthy abandon, I feel it is my duty to assure you that Wiesenfeld isn’t using the technique as a form of twee novelty or friendly hook. In addition, on the other end of the spectrum, he’s not trying to wow or overwhelm with technical proficiency either, whether such a thing be judged via instrumental or sound design prowess, something I think did tend to plague Cerulean on its more adventurous and “hey look at me!” numbers. No, instead Mend seems to be a collection of songs that aims to conjure up memories and images heavenly and bittersweet, and it does so simply and successfully through the use of a particular aesthetic: the intertwining repetitions of high-on-the-fretboard squiggles and pulsing rhythmic low-end swells.
Such a barebones approach to songwriting really shouldn’t yield such expansive results, but it does, over and over again through the very last track. And really that’s what should be emphasized here: this isn’t your average ambient soundscaping nor is it a single masterful piece separated over multiple tracks. Both of these things have been done many times over to varying degrees of mastery. But Mend is very careful to excise most of its fat either before a piece outstays its welcome or before it attempts to transform into something more epic or grand than what it realizes it is. These are songs, through and through, and each links to the next while able to still stand on its own. They are meticulously yet effortlessly sculpted miniatures that propel at different speeds, throb with distinct levels of intensity, and pierce ever so slightly as they unravel, each with an atypical and unexpected soft jab at the heart.
This may all sound like something you can’t really hold in your hand, not unlike an ounce of H2O or dirt, because it prefers to instead sift right through your fingers, allowing you to feel that it’s there, but never really capable of keeping it close. It slips and traverses as you listen, and while you may not be humming along by the end, it could easily slink into your dreams or those moments of deserved ennui where there’s nothing quite like the beauty of a perfectly crafted mini-melody to get you through to the next moment in life. For those times in which you don’t quite feel like yourself, or you’re merely a different version of what most people know, consider this modest yet rewarding offering from a guy who feels the same way sometimes. He wants you to know it’s okay.