Quietus

***The thing about the last bar at the end of the universe, where Quietus continues to serve, is that it’s very, very far away. Thus the call, thus the reach in every Quietus record. But this time, with Volume Six, their fourth record from NYC’s acclaimed ever/never Records, amidst the expected shadowy wandering, the careful noise and the absence of noise, amidst the reaching, there is something almost romantic afoot. Rick Parker’s horns, this time left clean of wonderful bombast and effects, make a clear call. Bankowski’s lyrics, never not plaintive, continue to try to make difficult truths beautiful, but this time also seem to admit that great small gifts, great fleeting moments, are possible. The call of a blue whale, the light from an uncaring subway car, a stone held in the hand.