As far as personal projects go, they don’t get more personal than Jack Tatum’s work under his Wild Nothing guise. The music featured on his 2010 debut Gemini was never intended for anyone’s ears other than his own and the project only developed into an actual band once internet hype brought with it a demand for live shows. His sound has always been the product of his specific vision. 2012’s Nocturne dealt with a particular set of sounds and styles, and rigorously applied these limitations to his songs. The result was an album not only nostalgic of 80’s indie-pop but also felt like the sensation of nostalgia itself, its wistfulness intertwined with a lingering melancholy.

But with each successive release, Jack Tatum has invited more people into his parochial realm, and with Life of Pause, the addition of a producer and live drummer seems to mark the transition of Wild Nothing from being a conception that exists only inside Tatum’s head to belonging to the outside world. Tatum wanted the new record to have a looser feel, more like musicians playing together rather than a single bedroom artist laboriously working producing everything. He’s certainly achieved that in his sound, only it would occasionally do him good to kick a few people out of the imaginary recording booth.

Some moments on the album feel too dense with sound, as if Wild Nothing is overwhelmed with the newly introduced freedom he’s giving himself. ‘Adore’ is one of the album's best moments because it is also one of its most stripped back and uncluttered. Opening with a simple piano refrain playing single notes and strummed acoustic guitar chords, it moves with ease into a tightly knit, grooving bass line that drives the momentum for the remainder of the song. In fact it’s the bass lines that generally keep everything moving on Life of Pause, providing the record with buoyancy which stops it from becoming submerged under its own washed-out walls of sound.

The key reference points in the music is still there, the jangle guitars of Felt and 80’s indie and the dream pop of 4AD bands. The sounds expanded to include other things but we’re still very much in the same decade. Whether it’s the futurism of Japanese synth pop, or on the rhythm section especially, the appearance of funk and soul grooves replaces the more rigid and programmed feel of his first two records.

His vocals still maintain their now almost trademark reverb saturation and impalpable aura. In terms of melody the vocals often play second fiddle to the synths in carrying the songs; the melodies are smart but unassuming and remain for the most part another layer of texture in the dense sound-scape. Although there are some killer synth hooks, and they add moments of kinetic friction when everything is at a risk of becoming too soft or out of focus. ‘Lady Blue’ has the feel of sleek futuristic funk, while on ‘TV Queen’ the woodwind sounding synth is satisfyingly catchy whereas the rest of the record deals in subtlety and slightness.

While many of the songs make for pleasant listens on their own, some of them are perhaps a bit too long. When approached as a whole, the album is weary of leaving any vivid impressions or bold statements, nor does it convey any intense emotion. Wild Nothing’s music has an admiration for the form of the classic pop song. Many of these tracks are striving for that tradition but end being up buried under their own length and struggling to justify stretching out what could be done in three minutes over five.

Its delicate sensibility makes it difficult to remain fully engaged for its whole duration. But perhaps that’s the point. The opening xylophone arpeggio notes of ‘Reichpop’ bring to mind the work of minimalist modern composers. In particular Philip Glass’ ‘Koyaanisqatsi’, which sound tracked images of thriving movement and people moving through urban space like a harmonised eco system. “We are just above the earth / witnessing our birth”, Jack sings on ‘Alien’, and it has the same sense of distance but also wonderment. Life isn’t something experienced, but witnessed from the position of a passive receptor. This is the main sensation you’re left with: the sense of drifting through a landscape as an anonymous individual among many and allowing yourself to be carried by the ebbs and flow without offering any resistance. Life of Pause feels purposefully unobtrusive, content to take a back seat and allow itself to become integrated into your other sensory experiences. Tatum has said film music was a major influence on the album and maybe that’s the intention, to make music that informs and colours.
Louis Ormesher

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