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About Geogaddi
Product description Spectral sophomore album from 2002! Sunburst folktronics 'n' disembodied samples by the Scottish cottage duo ... a reassuringly worthy successor to their watershed "Music Has The Right To Children" debut. Amazon.com Geogaddi, like Boards of Canada's 1998 debut album, Music Has the Right to Children, drifts its way into consciousness, rolling a fog of dark-hued psychedelia over slow-burning, lullaby melodies. Having led a reclusive existence in their Hexagon Sun studio, shunning interviews and live shows in an effort to escape the shrill, loud praise that accompanied Children's release, the enigmatic Scottish duo has stayed focused, creating another tour de force in the process. Geogaddi opens with no fanfare, with the bare hum of "Ready Lets Go" blossoming into the soporific, hypnotic chimes of "Music Is Math". But for the next 65 minutes, it's clear that while BOC move slow, they do so with the power of shifting glaciers. All their old influences--the noise-as-melody drone of , the brave futuristic synths of --remain, but more than anything, Geogaddi is about the vivid sense of warm melancholy that lingers when the music fades out. It's another slow-burner, but Geogaddi is as utterly essential as its predecessor. --Louis Pattison Review And so, with fear of IDM on the one hand and the potential for hype on the other, Boards of Canada debuted their sophomore album, Geogaddi, at the gorgeous Angel Orensanz, a converted synagogue that has sat in New York's Lower East Side for over 150 years. There were no promos and no advances. "We wanted it to be a religious experience," you can almost hear Board #1 explain without the slightest hint of irony, or maybe so much irony that it becomes post-ironic and thus utterly sincere. Boards of Canada are all about community, a card they played on the title track from last year's splendid In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country EP. Skip past the laughing infants and wavy schlieren and fix on that murky vocoder. Now unpack the words "Come out and live with a religious community in a beautiful place out in the country." Ah. So that's what they're talking about. This. A roomful of journalists and college-radio types, confirming their places on a guest list and preparing for that first beat. This is my community. We spied the neighborhood from the mezzanine and studied all the clashing bodies sitting where the pews should have been: a pair of serious men with sunken eyes, massaging their sockets and temples; a team of college radio kids spread like wounded angels on the floor space in front of the speakers; serious journalists everywhere scribbling and cribbing notes and muttering about song titles. It was a weird guest list, humanists attracted to Boards' playful sense of nostalgia ("1969") mixing with drum tweakers hailing Boards' Marley Marl kicks mixing with nerds turned on by precise, orchestrated skips and ticky-tack aesthetics ("Music Is Math"), all waiting for that holy communion. Dare we say it deserves the bandwidths of praise it will likely receive, and perhaps it's one of those unlikely Warp releases that manages to pair technical precision with an all-too-rare feeling of humanity. The synths? The tiny roils of conversation and grass, the childish snatches of pink? It's all a lot warmer and affecting than their classic 1998 debut Music Has the Right to Children, and at the risk of getting all David Koresh (see: sleeve art for Beautiful Country EP), there are moments that are simply heavenly. At a certain point, though, the only real thing to do was play hooky, so my +1 and I skipped across the street, resolved to revisit Boards after a primer of beers, smoke and a jukebox. "They should have at least hired strippers," she complained as we headed toward the nearest non-synagogue. We got back too late for the second playing, but no worries - the stony hipsters said it all, as though the utopian goodness of these otherwise cold, alien tunes was all they neede
