
Liminal
Brian Eno and Beatie Wolfe, Verve Records
On a sunny day in October, I found myself standing in a field in New Jersey, craning my head up towards a massive metal cornucopia. I was at the Holmdel Horn Antenna for what I can confidently say is the strangest album release I have ever attended. Next to me stood Nobel prizewinner Robert Wilson, an astronomer who redefined the universe â in 1964, he and his colleague Arno Allan Penzias discovered the cosmic microwave background (CMB), the faint radiation spread throughout the universe that is strong evidence to support the big bang theory.
Joining that radiation out in the universe were tracks from Liminal, the third in a series of albums from ambient music pioneer Brian Eno and conceptual artist and musician Beatie Wolfe. Wolfe and Eno describe this album as âdark matter musicâ, a fitting phrase for the half-melodic songs and non-songs that mystify but also draw you in. âItâs invoking the invisible thatâs all around us, thatâs binding everything together,â says Wolfe. Eno adds: âItâs this idea that the universe is full of stuff that we canât sense.â
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Wilson and his colleague Greg Wright reverse-engineered the Holmdel Horn, making the 16-tonne antenna into a transmitter instead of a receiver. We leaned over a signal modulator to test it, straining to hear Wolfeâs low voice through the tinny device. âBeatie has that lovely rich bass in her voice, so itâll be hard to hear,â says Wilson. But through the horn, the true recording would play out â even if it was silent from where I stood.
âThe beam width is around 1 degree, so if you do the trigonometry, by the time the signal gets beyond Earthâs orbit, it will weaken,â says Wilson. He says the albumâs signal will be strong enough to hear in low Earth orbit, but by the moon, it will be overwhelmed by the CMB.
Brian Eno says the album is evoking the idea that the universe is full of stuff that we can't sense
Wright and Wilson turn the horn to the sky, ready to send Liminal to the stars. This album paints a strange landscape, alternating between lush ambient tracks built from layers of synths and guitars, and songs that highlight Wolfeâs mournful vocals. Atmospheric is almost too small a word for how immersive it is. Listening brought on a feeling of endlessness, like slipping off the side of a boat into the ocean and drifting down, but in a freeing way.
After two album releases earlier this year, Luminal and Lateral, this instalment completes the trilogy. âThere are many times we listen back to something and really had no idea how we made it,â says Wolfe. âIncluding who actually made the noises,â says Eno. âItâs like if you have an interesting conversation with somebody â itâs hard to remember how it evolved or developed; you canât really reconstruct the flow.â
The album does feel conversational, drifting from a percussive and joyful urgency on a track called Procession to unsettling robotic lyrics spoken over a droning whirr on Laundry Room, and then to the immersive and deeply emotive Little Boy â Enoâs favourite track of the bunch.
âThe biggest thing in music in the last 70 or 80 years is the ability to create new sonic spaces that couldnât really exist, that are entirely fictional in a sense,â he says. âYou can have reverbs that are a year long if you want, or create a space like an infinitely large building⊠I think what weâre interested in is exploring these new spaces and seeing what itâs like to be inside them.â
It is easy to describe ambient music as âother-worldlyâ, but Liminal isnât quite that. The edges havenât been sanded off so much that you donât hear the humans â and the human imperfection â behind it. âIt really mattered that you understand that another human being made these things,â says Eno. âFunnily enough, this is one of the reasons that I think AI doesnât really work. Itâs always really impressive when you see something made by AI; you think it looks amazing. But when you find out itâs a machine that made it, it has a kind of emptiness to it.â
When I ask them if they think anyone out there in the universe might hear their music after blasting it into space, they surprise me by saying they donât much consider an audience when they are creating these pieces. âThe nice thing about this music is we really werenât thinking about anyone when we were making it. We made it because it was fun and exciting and felt new, these territories or feelings we were exploring,â says Wolfe.
Eno chimes in: âPlay is part of science just as itâs part of art. All of the scientists I know do what they do because theyâre fascinated by it. Itâs the same motivation. The reason is because you feel that youâre learning something deeply important.â
I think back to Wilson, standing in the room where he revolutionised our understanding of the timeline of the universe, grinning over a laptop while we talk about where the music is now. It is past the moon, on the way to the constellation Corona Borealis, spreading out to join the rest of the dark matter.