For those of you who are unaware who this man is, he is the front man of Battles. And from now on, you should fully get the idea of that band out of your head. Because if Battles, and it’s collective members own external work, have demanded anything from themselves, it’s a challenge.
By all accounts, Tyondai Braxton’s solo work can seem enigmatic. His compositions have stemmed from his own history with music, starting with his father’s avant-garde jazz musicianships through to, yes, his own work with Battles. But his previous efforts have always seemed like a one-man artistic mission, an exercise in, well, self indulgence. A man sitting cross-legged strumming guitar chords and looping/effecting his vocals can become quite a chore for those with an uncleansed palette. ‘Central Market’, however, sees that love of loops and his own nous become fully realised, albeit with a little help from The Wordless Music Orchestra.

‘Opening Bell’ is a pretty apt title for the lead track of an album of such majestic leanings, and from the off the beautiful collision of sound that Braxton has the ability to create is flaunted. A playful piano sits in argument with its synthesised brethren, and this entwined sensibility runs it’s course throughout the track, before being sent to higher realms by it’s orchestra led counterparts. It’s crescendo culminates into ‘Uffe’s Workshop’, where the stabs of arpeggiated melodies rise and fall in tandem, like a constant stream of adrenalin waves rushing through your body, before the Reich baiting refrains of ‘The Duck and The Butcher’ bring you down into an anxious state of anticipation. All of this leaves you feeling staggered, bewildered, but completely enthralled and excited by its unpredictable nature. Like I said, don’t expect anything else.

As undoubted centre piece of the compositional work comes to an end in the form of ‘Platinum Rows’, the phantasmagorical imagery at play is rife and needing to be bookended. The payful side of matters now needs to come to a formative (and narrative) end, and so the album twists into it’s futuristic metamorphosis. All of a sudden, there are chords. There’s singing. Yes it may seem like Lostprophets have somehow invaded as ‘J. City’ changes tack into a pseudo-nu-metal ramble. Twist and turns in it’s distortion lead to the first real point of confusion within it’s repetitive barrier, before the drones of ‘Dead Strings’ ease you down into a placid state of disorientation and give you one final spin dry come the end. Where have I been taken? Where am I now? What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened? Mr. Braxton: mission, accomplished.

Referencing for such a contemporary and original opus is a really difficult thing to do; especially with a lack of knowledge of something comparatively far afield as ‘Central Market’. It’s contemporary classical musical with an accessible tweak, forgodssake, so all too often the elements of ‘haut couture’ can become too prevalent with such an artistic piece of work and make such work difficult to communicate with. ‘Pretentiousness’ is a word that could be haphazardly tossed its way. But Braxton has succeeded in translating his complex thought process into something thrilling, emotive and, ultimately, comprehensive. Instrumental music conjuring imagery is, also, something that has permeated a fair few of my reviews; it’s something I see covering a plain of the territory of such music. But this time, with ‘Central Market’, such aesthetic qualities do actually require a level of individual objectivity I cannot do justice to. It’s impressionist, it’s conceptual, but more than any artistic superlative, it’s fucking brilliant.

Open to interpretation is the turn of phrase that seems most applicable, but that interpretation, hopefully, will be nothing but positive. If there was any justice in the world (thank you Lemar!), then that challenge is something you should all head long into.

By William Grant