But Now I See: A Listen To Music For Containment Presented By Molécule

Once lost in a gnarled, dense forest, effervescent rays of light now stream through openings and gaps amid the nooks and crannies of the trees, guiding us, signifying an end, revealing a passage out. It took patience and an outpouring of sadness and sorrow to arrive at this new daybreak, where no one is quite convinced if things will ever be the same again, nor if they want them to be. For Parisian noise seizing techno explorer Molécule, who, in ordinary circumstances, ventures boldly to the freezing depths of the Atlantic Ocean, Greenland and beyond for his craft, having to stay still like a photograph shot on his epic travels, without choice, must have provided an unfamiliar reality.

Searching for a sense of freedom in vibrations, he gathered and curated 33 ambient works from 33 artists to present comprehensive collection, Music for Containment. All proceeds head to Fondation de France and the Restons solidaires face au virus (Let us stand in solidarity with the virus) campaign, where caregivers and vulnerable people in fragile situations or poverty due to the pandemic are a priority to receive psychological support from money raised.

Connectivity was paramount, and thankfulness for technology, unlocked from a rickety, forgotten box on the mantle, knowing how without it, isolation would have taken a harsher toll on our existence. Music stepped up. Creators took the time to breathe or satisfied an overwhelming urge to create. And let it be said, we endured an awful period, but there was a spectrum of emotions we encountered, not all of them dark, not all of them doom. Music for Containment echoes this as each participant paints an individualised scene with their notation.

Before fatigue and familiarity set in, there was a flash of frantic unsettlement where preparation sent people's minds into overdrive; Stay Safe by Alex Gopher releases the absurdness and a quickened heartbeat of the unknown, and subtle fear is expressed in Leg Town Palace from Thierry Arnold. Removal from normality followed by acceptance is dispensed in the brass and reverberating percussion of Jour 10 de confinement by Etienne Jaument and Exodus by Soundwalk Collective marches as a steady procession into fresh territory.

There is peace trickling out in many numbers, a cosiness by the fireside. 8PM from Rone may mark the beginning of night, a calm house, young children tucked safely in their beds, a tipple in hand as morphing synths communicate the thoughts of the day, running free over the landscape of the brain. Wittiness is exhibited in piano track Improvisation pour essayer un micro from Bertrand Burgalat; where there is no extravagant analysation needed for this sensual track, just a want to test out new equipment.

Bonding with nature once more was widespread in the human race and is audible in a selection of pieces about our master, the great ball of fire, and the ocean, including quirksome Mako's Sun Wave, mirroring the searing heat and swelter through uneasy effects. Mostly lyricless, words are untethered in the autotuned voice of Réveille-Moi by Petit Fantôme: an anthemic soother, the Hans Zimmeresque chill of Die Hexe from Rebeka Warrior, and Radiomentale's Sinking- 'It's so peaceful now, so peaceful', uttering of letting go, drowning in metaphorical water.

Wabi Sabi from Richard Francés transmits a Primal Scream freakish grace and Keeper of Art Molécule's Balancements du Qi is a continuous drone, face to the moon, a moment of meditative serenity. A sound book. This record is a sound book, and inside, we dive into chapters of Lockdown. Optimistic even in those places of despair; you can listen with gratitude for all we have digested this past year about ourselves, life and humanity.


Article by Beverley Knight