Burial: Tunes 2011 to 2019
Hyperdub

Burial and Untrue, the full-lengths William Bevan (aka Burial) respectively issued in 2006 and 2007, had such a tectonic impact, it hardly surprises the London electronic producer elected thereafter to issue a steady stream of twelve-inch releases rather than fashion a third album. The inaugural sets caused such a stir, with their visionary blend of garage, jungle, grime, and R&B, that concentrating on EPs had to have seemed the more palatable choice. Nothing quite like those albums had been heard before, especially when his productions captured the ambiance of late-night, rain-drenched London streets so seamlessly you felt immediately transported. Further to that, no one's crackle had ever sounded quite like Bevan's, the needle in his productions not just riding the vinyl surface but carving seeming trenches within it. Seventeen of the tracks previously heard on the EPs and twelve-inch releases have now been gathered for Tunes 2011 to 2019, a set that while comprehensive doesn't include everything Burial-related Bevan issued during that time, 2017's Rodent and collaborations with Four Tet and Zomby, for example, absent.

The sequencing isn't quite in reverse chronological order but close enough, the opening track a 2019 release and the last three from 2011's Street Halo EP. The digital version of the two-and-a-half-hour release is likely superfluous, given that Burial devotees probably have all the material already; a compelling argument can be made, however, for the double-CD presentation. Not only does it encourage a summative listen and thereby incur a fresh appreciation for material that otherwise might have been absorbed in bits and pieces, it also benefits the tracks when those that underwhelm as stand-alones acquire greater weight within a larger, connected mass. The opening tracks, for example, can seem like credible yet hardly game-changing ambient soundscapes when broached singly but in the context of the full release are effective in acting as an early stage in the sequence.

Smothered in gouged vinyl crackle, muffled rumblings, and intimations of desolate spaces, 2019's “State Forest” instantiates the established Burial sound so completely it risks edging into self-parody. “Beachfires” perpetuates the dark ambient style of the opener, the heavily textured sound design much the same but for a slightly denser presentation and a more haunting, cryptic tone, after which the inclusion of a voice motif in “Subtemple” portends tracks to come. As artful as the three settings are, however, they still play like lesser Burial, scene-setters at best.

It's with the advent of “Young Death” that we enter familiar territory, the presence of a tight house pulse, bass throb, and soulful vocal sample injecting the track with vitality; issued with it in 2016, “Nightmarket” also registers memorably when synthesizers sparkle across the darkened sky. The emotional heat rises considerably with “Hiders,” the first of three tracks from 2013's Rival Dealer EP. An anthemic keyboard riff announces a shift in Burial's style to a poppier melodic sound, which in the case of “Hiders” includes, a bit inexplicably, New Wave-styled ‘80s drumming.

The collection's major achievement arrives, however, with“Come Down To Us” a thirteen-minute masterpiece that towers over everything else on the set. Every gesture is meaningful here, every detail critical to the cumulative impact and message. Brilliantly paced and assembled, the piece registers as a deeply heartfelt expression of compassion for those who are lost, lonely, confused, and desperate, and with the lengthy inclusion near track's end of a transgendered individual's declaration of self-acceptance, it's easy to imagine “Come Down To Us” bringing solace to anyone wrestling with gender identity. Structurally, a clear trajectory can be discerned, with a key transition effecting a bridge between its halves: after opening with a plaintive voice uttering “Excuse me, I'm lost,” another emerges with “Who are you? Why don't you come to me” before the work's first incredible musical moment appears, a hypnotic, majestic keyboard-and-sitar melody whose slow drift provides a perfect base for the intermingling of voices, all of them offering comfort to souls seeking community and acceptance. “Don't be afraid to step into the unknown” someone says, the words a message of encouragement to those struggling to become who they are. Eventually a breakdown occurs, the transition into the second half signaling a key transformation as the music grows uplifting to reflect a sense of metamorphosis having been achieved. The repeated utterance, “You're not alone,” appears as if designed to affirm a sense of belonging that feels light years removed from the isolation expressed earlier. Bevan's expression of compassion proves to be incredibly moving, so much so that “Come Down To Us” will invariably hold up as a reminder of the greatness he occasionally achieved. Everything comes together magnificently here.

February 2020