Vanishing Point

If emptiness is heaviness is Godliness, Birds of Prey’s third full-length LP is an immaculate conception from on high. The record luxuriates in the spaces between. What’s left out says as much as what made it in. Deep, droning, and dub wise, “Vanishing Point” cascades in elegance. Its reference points call towards the sample manipulation of American tape music and the downward gaze of amniotic British bass music. It charts its own path nonetheless, building its own space for drifting off to.

Unlike many peers operating in similar realms, Birds of Prey are a proper band, a foursome: Grant Aaron, Clay Wilson, Eric Holmes, and Camille Altay. Each are artists in their own right with a distinct practice. In Birds of Prey, their collaborations in studio take on a greater shape, whittled and edited into cosmic formlessness.

Although borne of improvisation, you may never know that in the listening. “Vanishing Point” is a tight, coherent work, the sound of a cadre of talented musicians locked in flow. Rippling tones become glacial melodies. Cavernous drums emerge barely from the ether. Rhythms interlock, interpolate. Patterns repeat and dissolve whence they came. There is untold potency in simplicity, and Birds of Prey make it known.