Venice by Fennesz, 20 years later

Written by Bennett Sample

Edited by Becca Lewis

First delving into Venice by Fennesz set off my passion for finding my own tastes and preferences with sound and kick and starting my drive for new music discovery. I first heard of  his 2001 record Endless Summer on some list of notable ambient or drone albums. I dismissed it initially, as the waves of noise, glitch, and harsh transients put me off quite fast. 

Some time later, I listened to his follow up album, Venice, and while it has taken years for me to appreciate the album as much as I do now, looking back it was quite the turning point for me. Before I was blindly listening to Apple Music recommendations, not really caring about the background or complexities of the music or its creation. I would look at lists and compilations of albums or mixes and decide, quite frankly and quickly, whether they were something I deemed valuable or something I did not. This allowed me to enjoy a decent amount of albums from great artists, but I never dove deeply into the artists or their processes and philosophies. 

Something clicked with Venice though, it being one of the first albums I remember forming a real connection with. It was one of the first albums I found myself analyzing and thinking about even when I wasn't listening to it. Delving into Fennesz’s discography, influences, and the labels he was on made me realize there was so much more to explore in music, experimental or otherwise, and I view it as the major spark for my relationship with not only music, but art in general. 

The first track, “Rivers of Sand” sets the scene for the album, opening with channels of high frequency buzz sporadically breaking into some of the most memorable moments on the album, especially as they come to a crescendo around the 1:50 mark. Along with this, there are some mellow drones in the background and echoing icy guitar notes that sound as though they are coming through a distant amp.

Like most Fennesz albums, a guitar is used as the base of all the sound generation. The guitar was transformed into the waves of sound you hear using the MAX/MSP patch ppooll (formerly lloopp). There are cyclical aspects in a lot of the tracks, likely due to ppooll, and although not as glaringly obvious on “Before I Leave” or “Happy Audio” off Endless Summer, noticeable micro loops are the driving forces on a number of tracks like “City of Light”, “The Point of It All”, and especially “Château Rogue”. 

Some tracks are centered around the loops, and there is a distinct digital aspect to them, often notably spiking as they shift from start to end. “Château Rogue” might be the most obvious example, with the small loop of plucks echoing and bouncing around the stereo. In particular I remember listening to it for the first time and being jolted awake from the amplitude jump at 1:55. There are a decent amount of tracks like these throughout, “Transit” and “The Stone of Impermanence” especially incorporating them into the core of their tracks. “Circassian” might be the most accessible track, largely due to its noticeable but subdued noise frequencies and melancholy guitar loops soaked in reverb. 

The structure is quite straightforward as well, leading up to a cathartic release with its crescendo. There are also some noticeable groans in the low end that loom over the track, creating a sense of dread amplified by the hasty guitar playing and linear structure that makes the crescendo even more powerful. “The Other Face” is a paradigmatic Fennesz track, with buzzing high frequency noises and booming melodies briefly escaping from the layers of noise compressing them, all glued together and falling into the dense layer of reverb. 

“Transit” takes the boom factor up a notch, there are large cracks throughout the track that hit like thunder before dissolving and skipping into a short delay of noise. Brief guitar melodies intersperse the song, bringing it into a brief moment of safety before crashing down again. Most noticeable on this track though is the softly sung, approaching spoken word verses performed by David Syvian, most known for being the frontman of the 1970’s band Japan. Despite their soft delivery, the vocals absorb the energy of the track, grounding the chaos. 

The influence or echoes of pop music found in Fennesz’s music have been discussed at length, particularly with reviews of Endless Summer acknowledging the shared title of a Beach Boys compilation album, but the inclusion of the Japan frontman makes these comparisons feel more real, especially given the relationships Sylvian and his brother had with electronic music and composers like Ryuichi Sakamoto, who Fennesz collaborated with on their 2007 album, Cendre. 

“The Point of It All” serves as a key to the record. Even if it doesn't hit the climaxes like “Transit” or “The Stone of Impermanence”, it encapsulates the album’s motto perfectly. The track skips between a distorted guitar chorus, shimmering transients, and subtle waves of mid-frequency reverb before revealing its heart as a lo-fi guitar track. The revelation for this song came for me when I started paying attention to the bitcrushed noise in the high end that almost has the electronic qualities akin to a 909 playing hi-hats while being overloaded with voltage. The same loop plays throughout the track reacting to each element differently, holding the disarray of it all together. 

“Laguna” is an acoustic guitar track reflecting ideas of ocean waves crashing on a sunny beach. It is hopeful and bright, adding a reminiscent atmosphere as the album heads into its final act. The distinct mono processing on this track carries over into the following interlude, and into the final track, “The stone of impermanence”. “The stone of impermanence” starts off with an alarm, a repeating motto of the track, followed by a full frequency blast of distorted guitar, playing until the alarm begins again and another blast of guitar comes. The track continues on this path, but the guitar gradually weakens into soft warm swells of chords, until fading out as the album ends.

Despite the digital nature and the harsh, high pitched glitches throughout the album, the feeling of summer and waves lapping up against the side of a small boat is never lost. This idea is more noticeable at some points, like the climax of Circassian where the acoustic guitar is able to rise out of the waves of noise and drones that encapsulate a strong seabreeze, or the warm and fuzzy Laguna. The 20th anniversary CD includes a booklet that has passages written by Fennesz, the mastering engineer for the album Denis Bleckham, and the graphic designer for the album and label head of Touch, Jon Wozencroft. The booklet explains how the idea of Venice as a city floats around the album and is expanded on in the segment written by Fennesz, stating:

“The sound and acoustics of the city fascinated me. From my room, you could clearly hear conversations at night with the window open, but it was uncertain whether they came from the neighbouring house or several blocks away, as if the sound waves in Venice follow their own rules. It was during this time that the idea for Venice as an album title came to me, as a suggestive description of a dignified decline, decay, death, and rebirth.”

Denis Bleckham explains in his section that there is no textbook method to his mixing when working on a Fennesz album. He waits until the sound gives him a particular feeling inside, based on his experience working on his other albums, and the other tracks on the album. Since Venice, much of Fennesz’s works have been released on the British label Touch, founded by graphic designer Jon Wozencroft. Jon Wozencroft wrote in detail on the details of the album and the process and philosophy behind its cover design in a paragraph that I think sums up the album greatly. 

“I wanted to make it quite contemporary,  but at the same time ‘suspended’, so I chose this shot because it seemed to sum up the schizophrenia between the dream of Europe where small boats means holidays by the sea whereas for others, refugees and asylum seekers, small boats might mean escape to the promised land but also the danger of crossing and the fear upon arrival. Look closely, there is a scalpel on the boat.”

The 20th anniversary of this album (and its booklet) had me reflecting on much on my relationship with the album and its imagery. Unlike a lot of albums I listened to early in my journey towards music, Venice has never had a consistent image it invoked. It morphed along with my understanding of music, growth, and maturity. There are still aspects I have not wrapped my head around, and layers I am still finding on new listens. I don't think Venice will ever stop occupying my mind or serving as a core foundation of my music taste. My appreciation for the album is only reinforced the more I listen to it, read about it, or write about it.

Sources:

Venice by Fennesz

Venice 20th anniversary booklet by Christian Fennesz, Jon Wozencroft, Denis Blackham

Photos by Touch