Belong - Biography
Wafting, vaporously, from the suffocating heat of New Orleans, Louisiana, Belong shimmers like a mirage: vaguely discernible, yet always at the edge of an unreachable horizon. Collaborators Mike Jones and Turk Dietrich employ a singular and remarkably inscrutable studio technique to wholly liquefy source material into wave upon breaking wave of sound. Dietrich previously collaborated with Telefon Tel Aviv’s Joshua Eustis under the name Benelli; their remix of Nine Inch Nails’ “The Frail (version)” is found on the acclaimed NIN EP Things Falling Apart (2000 Nothing/Interscope). Eustis played a small part in the production of Belong’s debut release, in addition to playing slide guitar on the album’s title track.
That debut, October Language (2006 Carpark), is a masterpiece. It is a paradoxical fusion of crushing melancholia and shuddering euphoria, inexorably intertwined. With a touch of glitchiness, October Language can be broadly categorized alongside (the best) work of Christian Fennesz, but it is not created with laptops, and it is impossible to shake the thoroughly humid, organic feel of the thing. It is full of grit and decay, yet it also breathes. In relatively short form, the eight tracks can be construed to be wordless “songs,” and as such, they equal or surpass anything written by Kevin Shields and My Bloody Valentine; however as they unstoppably soar, the long-form minimalism of Tony Conrad seems an equally legitimate point of reference.
Comparisons are frequently made to William Basinski’s notorious “Disintegration Loops,” and both efforts speak to intimate loss experienced on an epic, collective, and horrific scale. And, as Basinski’s loops became intimately associated with 9/11, October Language is often interpreted as a suitable soundtrack for a city devastated by Hurricane Katrina. But while Basinski’s self-destructing loops are a one-way road to the void, Belong’s music is not only degenerative; it’s regenerative. In the middle of aural devastation, something poignant blossoms.
The opening track, “I Never Lose, Never Really,” is gorgeous. Beneath a surface layer of sonic ash and debris, a pealing chorus of sound roars to a howling climax, before abruptly dropping several octaves to a mournful, elegiac drone. “Red Velvet or Nothing” and “Remove the Inside” offer cocoons of gentle, Eno-esque ambience within range of spinning, electronica buzz saws. “Who Told You This Room Exists?” introduces a simple, affecting theme, then repeats it over and over; even as layers are added and reinforced, the entire piece slowly crumbles and collapses. Again and again, Belong demonstrates a deft ability to fuse delicacy and destruction. October Language is easily the best experimental record of 2006.
Dietrich and Jones are meticulous craftsmen. October Language took them two years to complete, and it was another two years before their next two releases were released, both vinyl-only EPs. The first, Colorloss Record (2008 St Ives), surprised many. In an impressively successful departure, instead of generating their own material, Dietrich and Jones reworked four previously recorded pop songs, including “Late Night” by Sid Barrett. The transformative flux is flawless, and all four songs have the same tone, tenor, and touching physicality of Belong’s previous efforts. An alternate version of the Barrett deconstruction is Belong’s only other CD appearance to date; called “Late Night (Drum Version),” it appears on the Japan-only CD compilation, Impala Eardrums: A Radium Sampler (2008 Contrarede/Radium/Table of the Elements).
A few months later, the group tried another approach, this time working with electric guitars as source material, for a contribution to Table of the Elements’ “Guitar Series Volume 3.” With Same Places (Slow Version) (2008 Table of the Elements), Belong evinces a sprawling terraformation: plate tectonics, wired for sound. Aural mountains melt into seas; icy barrens yield to breathing jungles of detail. The single, epic, title track may evoke decay and dissolution, but underfoot are tendrils of inexplicable joy.
In the end, by harnessing destruction as a compositional tool, yet making beautiful, haunting music, Belong speaks to our own human condition. It whispers in the hushed voices of loves lost and unrequited; in the murmurs of loves extinguished; and in the horrific, stark finalities of loves forever annihilated. Belong offers a glimpse at the final destination of all earthly loves and all human joys: oblivion. With excruciating, heartbreaking compassion, Belong sings a lullaby of obliteration.
