GENTLE HEART | REVIEWS
My father’s family was originally Scotch-Irish, an ethnic group of Scots that settled in Ulster, Ireland and later emigrated Westward in droves. This is where my surname comes from. I quite literally have a Scotch Heart; my aortic valves stubbornly reach back before a time when “whiteness” meant something so ubiquitously insidious, before we had names for our aggressions but long after we started mapping and colonizing difference. Reflecting on this exodus that ultimately accounted for my present latitude is an exercise in imagining a time when “having heart” meant preserving one’s own values, hauling them around entrapped in a crest of flesh.
“It was a different time,” but it wasn’t really that different. We know now that people have been moving around for much longer than we had previously thought, trading innovations in geomancy and judgment. Jealousy had already been spotted in traces deep inside our hearts, given names, made disreputable, harnessed as a tool of oppression. Having a Jealous Heart has always meant being covetous of that which you do not have, and it’s a heart that grows as time reveals more and more of what is not ours. Growing older means standing down a longer horizon of unconquered land, and as time eventually corrupts vision, squinting at an asymptote that warps and shrinks regardless of moral vantage.
This is what nostalgia sounds like: a horizon sizzling and melting away, transubstantiating into knots of black plastic smoke; a steel string twanging in between notes of a dozen jumbled lullabies; a flugelhorn or a father’s voice beckoning across a field of soybeans; a heartstring buckling under its accumulated grime. A Jealous Heart weeps and grieves for rewind, but finding beauty in decay requires a Gentle Heart, one that keeps a steady pulse as a lonely child weeps inward, fearing a physics that dares allow for such dispassionate dissolution. A Gentle Heart appreciates a utopian’s sense of benevolent wonder, even as Utopia depreciates under barbaric eyes.
And yet, it’s any heart that’s beaten that resonates still — tuned as it were by pride, envy, and empathy — at this “Gentle Story,” one with no end but its beginnings, forever derailing off into nothingness with just enough push that its folds still smile when time ceases its absurd machinations. Play it again for good measure. - Tiny Mix Tapes - July 2017
Gentle Heart is a blissful closure to Mark Templeton‘s Heart trilogy. The soft and creamy loops are a return to paradise. These loops quickly overflow, close to being out of control but reigned in when things start to become too wild, and they still retain a sense of purpose and underlying intelligence. The loops blend into one another, splattering themselves over the music, at first spilling over into almost tropical phrases with what could be a lilting slice of Hawaii. Aloha!
Loops arrive on wafts of timid air, and the delicate snippets become jumbled up things in a jungle of delightful elements, constructing melodies out of deconstructed parts. Quivering like a bowl of neon jello, the album enjoys a high degree of smooth elegance, which is very hard to achieve (especially so when there’s a lot going on). As they daintily sidestep through these cluttered fields, the music is populated with warm wildflowers of sound.
Sometimes the bending notes stutter in and out, sounding for all the world like bright-but-dissolving major pentatonic licks or the blissfully broken melodies of country music, its notes diluted and softened by the constant presence of a light, background reverb. The music’s like a radio with tuning issues, occasionally lighting upon a clearer signal only for it to fuzz over a couple of seconds later. Electronic echoes, dashes and blips arrive in the foreground while a primary loop sits further back, acting as the stable anchor. It’s not so much experimental as it is extremely playful; its arrangements are so laid-back as to be inclined rather than reclined, and the textures are so soft it can only lean into an ambient-shaped atmosphere. Tiny segments are always being added to the original foundation, so despite the looping nature things are never stuck in a rut. As the pages close, the music continues on…and on…and on, riding through the prairie and off into the sunset. Gentle Heart is a perfect ending to this chapter. - A Closer Listen - June 2017
Preceded by Scotch Heart (2011) and Jealous Heart (2013), Gentle Heart, the concluding chapter in Mark Templeton's Heart trilogy, straddles multiple temporal realms in its coupling of decaying sound fragments with modern-day production techniques. It's a thoroughly contemporary music, on the one hand, music redolent of an era whereby the entire history of recorded music is ripe for plunder and re-presentation; as Gentle Heart's hauntological material plays, one could be forgiven for thinking someone must have granted Templeton access to the last half-century of the CBC's radio archives. It's also heavily tied to the past, its wobbly character making it sound like the kind of material one would hear after rescuing old reel-to-reel or cassette tapes from some damp, long-forgotten box in an attic or basement. While Gentle Heart carves out its own distinct niche within contemporary music practice, it nevertheless suggests kinship with fellow time travelers such as William Basinski, James Leyland Kirby (operating in his The Caretaker mode, specifically), and Philip Jeck.
Throughout the thirty-three-minute album (issued in a limited vinyl run of 300 copies), Templeton's shape-shifters stutter and hiccup; loops lurch, convulse, and tumble over themselves, straying from their paths before righting and re-aligning themselves. Electronic warbles and static drape themselves across heaving rhythm foundations, with an occasional fragment of acoustic piano or electric guitar separating itself from the cloudy mass to draw some momentary connection to recognizable instrument terrain. During “Horizontal Plane,” for example, a muted horn figure slowly emerges from a flickering mass to makes its presence felt, whereas synthetic bleeps and bloops of various alien kinds extricate themselves from the decidedly vocal-less churn of “Voices.”
Allusions to particular song forms occur by way of track title and compositional structure but refracted and distorted so severely that the reference is almost lost. In one of the more direct references, the dusty twang of a steel guitar in the first part of “Gentle Story” aligns the material to country music, while the relaxed splendour of the second part does much the same, even if the inclusion of synthesizer washes loosens the reins, so to speak. Had Templeton decided to add beats of some metronomic kind to the eleven tracks, the album might even begin to suggest an attempt on his part to breathe tentative new life into the glitch-ridden, clicks'n'cuts movements of a few decades ago. Modest in duration it might be, yet Gentle Heart never feels less than substantial. - textura - June 2017
The final part of electro-acoustic musician Mark Templeton’s ‘Heart trilogy’, arriving four years after the previous installment, “Gentle Heart” is a collection of short, wallowing atmospheres made up of slowly looping found sound patterns, distant indecipherable vocal noises, gentle sustained drone notes, tape effects and brief extracts of melodic elements.
It’s very languid and in parts rather muddy-sounding, as though underwater, giving the whole work a very lazy feel. Pieces like “Range Road” exemplify the lethargy- truly chilled-out, with a barely clockable tempo under 70bpm well in line with a sleeping heart rate. “One Last Encore” has a slightly less passive breathing rhythm, while other pieces like “Pond” are tempo-free ambiences.
“Valley” has a more distinct guitar (or guitar-like) melodic pattern at its core, but retriggered and gently twisted. “Voice” brings ramping digital bleeps and bloops to the fore before getting weirdly squelchy as it ends. Album closer “Gentle Story” has two parts, the first a very smooth and pure ambience with a familiar feeling of closure, the second initially a more blippy and bubbly number with a sliding bass tone that’s a less orthodox, but more fitting, way to wrap up.
At only 34 minutes it’s barely more than a mini-album, with most pieces curtailed at the three-minute mark, left static without the opportunity to evolve, but it’s a nicely immersive, sleep-friendly listen- as perhaps acknowledged in the title “Horiztonal Plane” [sic]. - Chain D.L.K. - June 2017