CD Review: Rip Rowan’s 1974

by Todd Maternowski

Electronic music has come a long way since the pioneering days of Vangelis and Tangerine Dream, evolving into countless genres, sub-genres and sub-sub-genres. Unfortunately, the most prominent form of electronica should probably be called eardrumobliterata: in a quixotic effort to get booties bouncing and hips gyrating, dance clubs have resorted to supersonic sound assaults on unlucky clubgoers. In Rip Rowan's 1974, however, electronica is again more about nuance and expression, using musical shades of light and dark to create an intensely personal form of synthesized storytelling. A change of pace from the standard rock album, 1974 is best listened to at a lowered volume, allowing for a quiet and reflective musical experience.

A record named after the 70s has a good chance of being soaked in the overpowering pop-culture kitsch of the era: to Rowan's credit, this album steers clear of the sunny side of the 70s, choosing instead to tell a personal narrative of loss, sadness and triumph. This narrative is further explored over a backdrop of the current events of the time: Vietnam, Richard Nixon and even the oil shortage all serve to enhance the stories as they unfold. Without using (many) words, Rip Rowan has created a collage of a life via musical expression.

When Rip Rowan isn't working on his own music, he helps other artists achieve their maximum potential as a producer at Pleasantry Lane Studios

The tracks on the album seem to be in a chronological order: the opening track "Osteochondroma" begins innocently enough with standard catchy electronic beats with a pronounced 70s cop-show element. From there the album begins to get sentimental with track #3's "The First Train Trip Back to New York After the Breakup," which puts the kibosh on any semblance of VH1's "I Love the 70s" kitsch-worship: a beautiful piano solo over a melancholic bossa nova backbeat effectively conveys to the listener the aural picture of a freshly-wounded past romance. Painting these auditory pictures is a theme throughout the album, as Rowan expertly moves from one mood to another without coming across as gimmicky. For example, from tracks 8 through 11, Rowan begins with a swarthy Middle Eastern bellydance rhythm before flowing into a haunting, grating 1970s horror-schlock soundtrack in track 9's "The Long Room," complete with creaking doors and nightmarish half-sounds. Track ten, "Solace," is quietly triumphant, building to a slow crescendo before petering out to jet noises and the beginning of track #11, "Defeat," which devolves back into simplistic synth sounds that sound almost video game-esque. Each of these tracks flows into the next, allowing the listener's imagination to fill in the details of the narrative.

The album is punctuated by sound collages provided by Rowan's lifelong friend (and video editor for MTV's Road Rules) Byron Glickfeld, enhancing the music with a tinge of structure. For example, track #4 "Sony TC-800," which is the seemingly random sampling of edited clips, with that ever-satisfying sound of the tape deck's click and rewind noises, or track #7 "In God's Eyes," in which an elderly Korean War veteran tells the story of a child's view of war, both serve their purpose in solidly grounding the album in the year 1974 and putting the music around it into context. The sequence of tracks #14 through #16 use this amazingly well, beginning with #14's "Encinitas, California, September 17." The track's wave-like sound, distant droning and sharp tinkle of electro-rain waterfalls into "The Whole Campus," which starts off as laid-back and calming before slowly sliding into a stereotypical college conversation of pointless intellectualism, hinting at a college student's experience with coming out of a pharmaceutically-induced experience into the middle of a roommate's self-absorbed late night speechmaking. The sequence is capped by track #16 "Stay Away- Don't Go Below," which veers back into a dark, chaotic nightmarish sound.

The album's story flows back and forth from enjoyment to despair, before wrapping up on the final two tracks "Envelope," a mix of faintly Eastern sound with heavy synths, and finally "Sunset," which quietly ends the album on a swaying, underwater note that guides the listener into a reflective trance. Hearing 1974 is akin to re-living a slice of another human being's life, a strong and sentimental journey through a period where both global and personal events --many of them as relevant today as they were 32 years ago -- blend together to create a terrific album.