On the new single by Goldmund “Day In, Day Out” we hear Goldmund at his best. The track features “dusty timbres, diffuse synthesizer, and soaring string textures tinted by the muted glow of a cloudy analog sky above”. If you’ve heard Keith Kenniff’s (Goldmund, Helios, Mint Julep) work before you know that the Pennsylvania based artist wastes no time in painting an aural picture that feels just a tad age-warped and sepia toned. Goldmund puts these to great effect with “Day In, Day Out” perfectly orchestrating a soaring build of synthesized strings and vaguely human voices cutting through the low cloud cover. 

The sobering, hopeful “Day In, Day Out” calls to mind the cascading nature of mourning — the first tragedy, the loss itself, then the second one, the dissipation of the memory of the thing lost. 

The Time it Takes, his newest book of aural polaroids, is out October 16th via Western Vinyl. 


From the first murmurs of this track, The Time it Takes calls to mind the cascading nature of mourning. There’s the first tragedy, the loss itself, then the second one, the dissipation of the memory of the thing lost. We start out grieving for a loss directly; years later, sorrow reappears not only for that loss, but for the idea that its meaning is slipping away with each turn of the calendar page. An aged piano thumps gently just beyond an impassable moat of time, its operator’s presence is evidenced by the shuffling of pedals and the shifting of mechanisms, and seraphic choirs seep in from places unseen. It’s a miniature diagram of how the outer world transitions to the inner, and vice versa. “Memory Itself” follows suit with earthy textures that become slowly buried by celestial ones as the seconds pass. Kenniff’s kindling of piano is gradually set ablaze with synth, choir, and trilling strings provided by his equally emotive label-mate Christopher Tignor. The track is a crescendo that imparts an equal amount of dread and relief depending on the mood of the listener.

As if we needed convincing, Kenniff further proves his skill of crafting sound-design vignettes that are personal, private, and hushed, yet simultaneously grand, colossal, and profound. Nostalgia sometimes suffers the role of low hanging fruit for the marketing world, or worse, a symptom of the stunted development of a generation facing backward in a world that moves unrelentingly forward. But instead of engaging in reductive and culpable pastiche, Kenniff dispels any notions of nostalgia’s counter-productivity by using our collective memory as just another brush to paint with, thereby wresting his music from any linear cultural timeline. 

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