The UK-based ensemble Apartment House has quickly become one of the most interesting classical ensembles out there, and their label Another Timbre one of the most interesting of it’s kind. Over the past few years, they’ve reworked some of the classics: 2019’s Quatuor pour la fin du temps paired Messiaen’s piece with a newer work by Linda Catlin Smith, while back in 2021 they went deep into John Cage on Number Pieces: over four CDs they tackled Cage’s long, almost ethereal compositions.
But what I appreciate most about Apartment House is one of the same things I like about the older Kronos Quartet records: how they’re also willing to explore new composers and introduce me to music I might never have heard otherwise.
Case in point: the new collection Naiads, a section of works by Martin Iddon, a UK-based composer who doubles as an academic at the University of Leeds. Iddon’s music has been performed by a handful of other groups (The Quiet Music Ensemble, Kairos Quartett) and written a couple of books about John Cage. Which seems fitting, as Cage seems like an influence on the music here.
The record opens with “Crinaeae”, a piece with a swaying and almost dizzying feeling. It’s hypnotic in how it seems to circle around itself, little bits of motion and sound that repeat. The strings make long creaking sounds, while little splashes of percussion and piano are like drops of water hitting the bottom of a wooden-hulled boat. At times its simple repetitions feel like something by Cage, but at others I’m reminded of Nurse With Wound’s 2003 piece “Salt Marie Celeste” and its use of ambient sounds to create a haunting, almost oppressive atmosphere.
Next is “Pegaeae,” where a string trio stretches out long tones like wood splinters in the air. The music builds a tense, uneasy ambience and the way the notes stretch out calls to mind that crashing chord in “A Day in the Life” or dive bombers in a World War Two film. The music builds into drones, almost buzzing at times. It’s very minimalist, even by the standards of the rest of Naiads, and harkens back to the Number Pieces record in the way it seems to hover above the listener.
“Limnades” meanwhile takes listeners back to the first piece. Opening with bits of piano against a droning string backdrop, it’s like listening to rain falling in a cave or the blips of a radar screen in a submarine. It builds to a rumble in the lower register, a steady pounding on the piano, while the plucked strings build tension. Originally written in 2015, Iddon’s notes for this piece suggest the music should “seem as if on the edge of silence,” and indeed it does: one almost has to strain to hear the music at times, and it almost demands concentration from listeners.
There’s also an uneasy feeling to “Potamiedes.” It opens with a swirl of sounds: strings rub against each other, while a piano gently plays in the background. After listening to the more ambient sounds earlier on this record, one suddenly feels surrounded, like you’re in a crowded elevator. It’s a good example of the kind of group interplay Iddon goes for in his pieces. In an interview, he explained how the musicians are operating independently, yet looking to each other for cues: there’s no score, just a set of parts that repeat and build off each other (he also explains this a little more in his notes to “Limnades”). I think it’s at work here: at times it sounds like the music’s at odds, at others like it’s in sync. Which is maybe why it occasionally has such an unsettling feeling.
The record winds to a close with “Eleionemae,” perhaps the most experimental piece here. It opens with dissonant sounds: gentle knocking and a breathy, almost buzzing sound. The sparse, almost hoarse sounds make one feel like they’re listening to an extended death rattle, or maybe the air leaking out of a spaceship. That said, it helps to refer to Iddon’s notes for this piece: it’s a series of motifs played with a quiet intensity, by performers who have their eyes closed. It’s interesting in how it demands close attention from both audience and performer.
Overall, Naiads isn’t exactly an easy listen or one that I think most people will be into. Between the unconventional playing arrangements and instrumentation, the way the music hovers above silence, and the demands it puts on its audience, Naiads is a fairly uncompromising record. But it’s also one I found interesting: the way the pieces sounded as a whole, the atmosphere each created, the way it made me hover over the speakers like it had a lesson to impart.
If you’re the kind of listener who doesn’t mind Varese, Cage or even Annie Gosfield’s mechanical soundscapes, I think there’s enough here to suggest a listen. I’m grateful that both Another Timbre and Apartment House are exploring new sounds from the avant-garde.