The latest solo release from the acclaimed and extremely prolific progressive / electronic musician Daniel Vincent (The Resonance Association), Means of Escape finds him looking at life through the lens of enjoying what you have rather than bending under the weight of what you can’t control. A particularly pertinent topic in an era where everyone seems expected to comment upon (and by extension care about) everything, it is a sprawling work that encourages the listener to take a pause from the increasingly fast pace of everyday life and reflect upon their own journey.
The record opens with the lush synthscapes of Far Beyond the End of The World, which digs into a similar sonic realm to that of fellow Burning Shed artists No Man. With Daniel’s pleasantly proggy voice ringing out through the mix, the track gently builds before a strident guitar comes crashing into the fray with unexpected force. It’s a brilliant opening track – enigmatic and ever-shifting – and it sets the tone nicely for the album that follows. Daniel’s ongoing progress as a producer is highlighted on Obfuscation, which pairs dense layers of guitar with stuttering synth, combining influences from the likes of Depeche Mode, Gary Numan, and Cooper Temple Clause into a pleasingly chunky instrumental. A drawn-out piece, it could arguably do with slightly tighter editing to really make the most of its initial impact, but it does showcase the diversity of the album. In contrast, The Waiting Room adopts ambient textures as the score for a spoken word reflection on death, with the childhood experience of school providing a familiar gateway to the next world. A subtle, heartbreaking rumination, Daniel’s deft use of childhood to evoke a sense of both trepidation and wonder is incredibly effective, paving the way for the Floyd-esque Moment in The Sun, which follows. A piano-led piece, it feels like a long-lost Rick Wright track and, paired with The Waiting Room, it’s almost unbearably poignant, making the rippling synth of the title track all the more welcome when it arrives. A lush, ambient work, Means of Escape, Pt 1 finds Daniel weaving wordless vocalisations and mesmerising pads into a track that wouldn’t sound out of place on Selected Ambient Works Vol II.
As the title suggests, the instrumental Hubris / Defiance has a tougher edge to it, with Daniel leaning into the sort of progressive-electronic-indie territory hitherto occupied by the likes of Mercury Rev and Super Furry Animals at their most electronically expansive. As schizophrenic as its title, it builds towards a dark conclusion although, like Obfuscation, it feels like it could potentially get there quicker with more judicious editing. That indie sensibility remains on the haunting Boy in Space, which has a latter-day Blur vibe to it, the gentle pulse of the electronic percussion leaving room for the echoing guitar and synth to fill the room with sound.
It’s followed by three shorter pieces which form an interconnected trio. The first of these, Rent Free / Spectre has a David Bowie vibe circa Low, with an eerie descending piano motif locked in by grinding, horror-movie strings. A deeply uncomfortable piece of music, it is thankfully short and stands as one of the album’s most brutally evocative tracks. It’s followed by the haunting Echo Chamber, another track that could so easily sit on an Aphex Twin record, and it’s rather beautiful. It’s rudely cut short, however. As astringent strings drone down into the depths, Daniel whispers “all your dreams are behind you” – the cue for Red Flag to explode into life. A ferocious finale, it finds stabbing synths, hulking great guitars, and semi-spoken word vocals tearing into listener as Daniel references the title of Rent Free / Spectre in the lyrics.
The album wraps up with two rather more meandering pieces. First, Means of Escape, Pt 2 provides the necessary reset after the outpouring of rage found on Red Flag. A richly textured instrumental in the vein of Pink Floyd, it’s like slipping into a warm sonic bath, soothing away the listener’s existential cares. It then falls to This Is All We Are to wrap things up on a reflective note, with Daniel reminding us that “this is all we are, there is nothing more”. A worthy finale to a beguiling album, it slowly forms into a monstrous drone, before fading down, leaving nothing behind but a heat haze to show where it was.
Means Of Escape is an exceptional album. Beautifully produced, it finds Daniel progressing once more as a musician, a songwriter, and a producer. While there are moments that feel like they could be tightened to improve the pacing, the overall flow ensnares the listener and keeps them hooked. An album of cycles within cycles, certain pieces dovetail beautifully – the heart-rending pairing of The Waiting Room and Moment in The Sun and the devastating triptych of Rent / Spectre, Echo Chamber, and Red Flag – but, if I were to pick one moment, it’s the epic final piece that just brings the album home. A genuinely unique work, Means of Escape may just be Daniel Vincent’s most completely realised work to date. 9/10
