Eluvium
Talk Amongst the Trees

It is so beautiful to walk through the woods in spring, especially early in the morning. The mist only just reveals things, emotions are lubricated by fresh evanescent dew, the contours of things are liquid, temporary, and colors blend into dense chiaroscuro pools that take the imagination elsewhere.

Eluvium, from the Latin "flood"; under this very fitting moniker hides Matthew Cooper, one of the most interesting composers of the 2000s. His nebulous and minimal guitar work, drenched in loops and imperceptible variations, has the power to deform reality; the vaporous, ascending textures contaminate the senses, bringing them to a different plane of perception. In the grove, we touch fragrant chirps and taste blurred pastel breezes.

In the clearing covered with mist, milky, lumpy drones, like drops of solidified resin, trap larval memories; the pieces seem not to adhere to the law of gravity and the guitar continuum radiates faint expectations toward the horizon; weak sunbeams attempting to filter through the haze.

Sometimes I seem to hear a less impressionist and more classic, magmatic Montgomery; the composed canvases have the same mystery and materiality of Rothko at his most cryptic and subdued.

Walking, we discover the secrets of the woods one by one; subtle symphonic hints insinuate themselves into the interstices of the compositions and even when the atmosphere grows darker, Cooper keeps the helm firmly, tracing always coherent and safe routes.

But it’s in the long abstract poems that our artist gives his best; fertile micro-variations in crescendo slowly lift us into the air, guttural keyboards and minimal electronics counterpoint the sensations. The flood leaves precious silt on the shores of our dreams.

Follow me into the woods and you will discover how sweet it is to let go and disappear on the horizon; let go and disappear on the horizon; disappear on the horizon; on the horizon; horizo n; te.