Drawing Restraint 9 is meant to be the soundtrack to the film of the same name, created by Mathew Barney (of Cremaster cycle notoriety). The film centers around a Japanese whaling ship, on which many highly symbolic and delightfully artful things happen, things far too involved and distracting to get into here without completely overshadowing the music at hand.
The opening track, “Gratitude,” is a haunting recitation by Will Oldham, dictating a letter of thanks to General MacArthur for lifting the moratorium on whaling that existed in post war Japan. Oldham phrases each line carefully as a tinny, toy-like melody pours out behind him. The language is poetic and emotional, surviving translation to convey the importance of the whaling tradition to the Japanese people. Taken in context, the delicate and respectful tone seems to clash with the hate and ferocity of the Pacific War. The letter, dated scarcely a year after the atomic bombs hastened the end of hostilities, is a solemn window into the reconstruction not just of a nation or a way of life, but of a deeper humanity and self-identity lost amidst the consuming fire of war.
The album also carries over some of the vocal and throat singing elements of Bjork’s last full length, Medulla, and “Pearl” is a gasping, groaning piece that demands your imagination identify the meaning behind indeterminate panting. Perhaps in the setting of the film, these tracks hold more objective meaning, but the album allows your mind to wander. The open ended nature of “Pearl” may be frustrating for some, but these pieces can speak to the natural rhythms of the body and lead to someplace curiously satisfying. “Hunter Vessel” and “Vessel Simenawa” are horn-punctuated slices of tension that conjure images of rough seas and tossed ships plunging headlong into a foreboding horizon or perhaps locked in battle with their massive prey.
The album makes liberal use of the Sho, a traditional Japanese instrument that produces reedy, organ-like sounds that soar and sweep across the edge of atonality. Employed by musician Mayumi Miyata, the instrument draws you inward with a warm vibrato before scraping across the bow like a chilly wave. Bjork showcases her own vocals on “Storm,” “Cetacea,” and “Bath,” keening like a fisherman’s widow or perhaps a ship’s figurehead come to life, crying out above the roar of the ocean.
The spaciousness of Drawing Restraint 9, the remoteness of the content as divorced from the film it is meant to accompany, along with the chilly, isolated feeling of the songs makes it a daunting piece of work. While listeners may benefit from the coupled imagery of the film, there is still something to be said for immersing oneself in uncharted water without aid. |