Bang On A Can
Music For Airports

There are albums that spend their time without leaving a trace.
Others that describe historical moments, standing in space and time as proud monuments of an era that once was.
A last, restricted sample can boast the merit of having changed the course of history.
"Music For Airports" by Brian Eno is part of this latter category.

Is it possible today to write something about the original "Music For Airports" ( 1978 ) that hasn't already yellowed on the pages of old music magazines?

We could compare it to the works of other "ambient explorers" (Cage, first of all) or take it as the culminating point of a journey that started from Satie.
But to what end, when it's enough to just perceive its flow in the air?
"Music for Airports" is not the usual music album, even the least attentive listener would notice: its 4 long tracks pour into the emotional sphere slowly as small waterfalls, opening a new listening approach to its audience.
Music created not to impose itself, but to contribute to everyday life, much like chairs, coasters, and dust particles.
Music that, in its peaceful flow, lifts the anchors that keep us grounded, providing a detached viewpoint on life and death. This is the great secret of this record. Detachment.

This edition in particular, is not Eno's original.
The performers call themselves "Bang on a Can" and have revisited Brian Eno's ambient masterpiece, originally performed with synthesizers and piano, by rewriting the score for cello, bass, piano, percussion, electric guitar, and clarinet.
The music does not change, the 4 compositions have been faithfully reproduced; it's the form that is more flexible, thus allowing live performances (and therefore enjoyment in environments other than the home, suitable for LP or CD recordings).

At this point, I don't want to dwell on a track-by-track description of this CD—it wouldn't make sense, the notes speak for themselves and each of them is a milestone, a caress on the cheek, and a stab to the heart.
Musicians with a capital "M" are like expert swordsmen: they make few and targeted strikes aimed at vital points.
Even if they say they are "non-musicians."