Yann Tiersen has long since abandoned the whimsical street corners of Paris for the salt-stung isolation of the Atlantic, and his 2025 double release, ‘Rathlin from a Distance / The Liquid Hour,’ marks the final shedding of his cinematic skin. Released on Mute Records, this record is a sonic cartography that maps both the internal silence of the sailor and the external roar of a world in crisis. By splitting the album into two distinct movements, Tiersen forces a confrontation between the individual soul and the collective struggle, suggesting that one cannot exist authentically without the other.
The first movement, ‘Rathlin from a Distance,’ operates in subtractive beauty. Composed of eight skeletal piano arrangements recorded during his 2023 sailing expedition, these pieces feel like geographical coordinates. From the rhythmic isolation of the Fastnet Lighthouse to the haunting echoes of the Caledonian Canal, the music captures the peculiar clarity of oceanic solitude. Unlike his earlier island-based recordings like ‘EUSA’ (2016) or ‘Kerber’ (2023), where natural field recordings and delicate modular processing softened the edges of his piano, these tracks are strikingly stark. There is a deliberate lack of ornamentation; the piano acts as a steady hand on the tiller, stripping away the clutter of modern identity to reveal a raw, foundational self.
In a jarring yet necessary shift, ‘The Liquid Hour’ erupts to shatter this fragile peace. The transition from acoustic minimalism to dense, maximalist electronics serves as a wake-up call to the political and ecological storms on the horizon. Here, Tiersen utilizes a vintage Ondioline, a rare 1930s electronic instrument, to create textures that are far more abrasive and assertive than the gentle ambient milieus found on ‘Kerber.’ Combined with tribal drum machine rhythms and the haunting vocals of Émilie Quinquis, these tracks transform personal voyage into a defiant social manifesto.
The contrast is profound: where his previous Ushant, France-based works sought harmony between the human and the environment, ‘The Liquid Hour’ uses electronic friction to mirror his rage against capitalist systems. This shift implies that while the sea offers a space for introspection, we cannot remain adrift forever; eventually, the shore demands our engagement and our resistance. It is an intelligent, restless, and deeply authentic record that captures the tension of our current era; the desire to disappear into the horizon and the moral obligation to turn the boat around and face the fire.
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