Get Ready For Oneo Fakind’s New Album The Coneologist

By Deuce

You should really ready yourself before venturing into the work of art known as The Coneologist, Oneo Fakind’s latest album. The material, its presentation and scope, is far from typical.

That much, however, is readily gleaned from the metadata about this project. Consider the title of this set, for instance. What exactly is a coniologist (one who studies coniology, the science of atmospheric—and likely interstellar—dust)? Why are some song titles in double digit word counts, i.e. “You’re not Choking, John, The World is Just This Vast”? Others, meanwhile, such as “Nostalgia for the Present”, are patently oxymoronic.

Thus, if you’ve conjectured this project is a work of contradictions, expanding boundaries, and of cosmic proportions, you should be just about ready to venture into the unknown. The LP is largely bereft of conventional vocals, consisting instead of a couple of electronic musicians fondling their tools and tossing in the occasional vocal sample. It’s “an act of sanity just to stop for a fraction of a second” the group—comprised of Matt Legge and Brett Cairns—forewarn listeners on the opening and titular track, and boy is that the case. Most of these tunes rarely stop with their aural enticements, from microscopically small synth vibrations to sweeping sounds of galactic proportions.

Nowhere is this dichotomy more readily apparent than on the aforementioned “John”. It exemplifies the duo’s propensity to present the vastness of outer space in sonic form. The intro delivers the brilliance, the unending silent songs that tempted phoenix, of that void as though filled by a quietly creeping starship, its crew just gandering at all the distant and near novas it’s passing. You can hear the starlight tunneling by with rapid emanations of sound, as well as the ripples of baby synths tingling back and forth to seemingly no end.

The creativity involved on this project is just about as boundless as its subject matter. Check the weird flamming of the snare on “Surfaces”, which is just enough offbeat in the first half of the bar to render the flamming on the second on beat. Or how about the teensiest coupling of snaps that serves as the snare on “The Coniologist”? It’s so small it seems like an afterthought, but was likely well planned in advance.

Such creativity doesn’t occur haphazardly or at the manipulations of fools. Just be sure you’re ready to encounter it, because The Coniologist is rife with such idiosyncracies.

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