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Infinite Body, "Carve Out the Face of My God"
The dichotomy at work through Kyle Parker's exquisite new album rivals the highest peaks of heaven and the lowest valleys of Hades. Mixing a bit of congestion within his soaring pieces, Parker—under the pseudonym Infinite Body—produces an album that borrows just as much from his noisier past as it does from Classical and Baroque masters long forgotten amidst the digital age.
Carve Out the Face of My God isn't about technique or pomp but rather about precision. Each track is deep with rife, as Parker's noisier tendencies war with his elegant strokes. The album's opening salvo, "Dive," requires immediate obedience. The title not only suggests the musical choices of Parker throughout Carve, but provides a gentle command to the listener. Without giving yourself up to Parker's brand of homogeny, you are fighting your inner urges; those that compel you to dream of drowning in borderless seas and jumping into bottomless canyons. "Dive" begins with a singularly held note; trapped in white noise amber. Like the chrysalis frozen in centuries of molasses and mud, "Dive" is a moment of time fixed in Parker's own primordial goo. It takes patience to let "Dive" unravel but when Parker cracks its shell and watches it begin to rediscover movement, the noise subsidies and all that is left is a beauty only 18th century masters once touched.
The collision of classical aesthetics and modern technology is far from new but Carve Out the Face of My God approaches the crash in the aftermath, scavenging through the debris to find only the most useful and unexpectedly pristine. Parker finds the face of his god—whatever it may be—within this wreckage. Wisps of synthesizer waft above the mangled pile of machine and flesh, lifting Parker's vision into the heavens it promises to chisel. As one might imagine, the product is as uplifting as a godly epiphany. "What They Wanted to Be Useless" is a chorus of angelic background noises carefully lifted to the skies on a backbone of pipe organ. The metallic strikes of "Sunshine" act as the cleansing storm to wash away our robotic sins; those forged direct contact with bluetooth accessories and plastered atop regal entertainment centers overflowing with miles of loose cord and liquid crystal displays. Tucked submissively within these shouts to the gods are two-minute mantras to clear our minds and ease our hearts.
Parker's creations offer repentance for our ignorant mistakes, whatever they may be and to whomever needs our apology. It is from this idea that Parker's connections with Beethoven, Bach, and Handel are easy to find. These men of classic build crafted songs meant to divine truth from the actions of their god. It is here we find Kyle Parker, wrapped in the shroud of his own devotion to an idea far greater than any man could ever fathom. It is within this idea that we are found and offered musical salvation. Carve Out the Face of My God is a prayer for everyone to a being that will never answer and is likely to have never been. The willingness to say it anyway in front of anyone who will listen is what draws power into Carve, ultimately doling it out to those of us who submit to Parker's will. In music there is power and Parker has plunged his fingers into its heart.
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