Spiro World

Time Wharp


Liam Murphy

January 15, 2023

Tracks in this feature

Tracks in this release

Modern issues are explored with visceral production that balances flow with the exploration of body and place

The two primary parts of Spiro World make themselves known almost immediately. Buoyant woodwind delivers sharp arpeggiation – playing the part of an intimate chemical reaction – notes spreading as if through a body, becoming more resonant as they go. The part of the outside world – the view of a river running as darkness sets in – appears in the form of gossamer strings and echoed guitar, its low thrum and sparkling melodies illustrating the day’s last stand against the night. As East River Dusk proceeds, the two embrace in a haze of jazzy fire until the arms of night reach out and quiet the chemical reaction for a short while. The two linger, a little more distant from each other, but the dynamic between the internal and the real is clear. A graceful middle ground between conflict and dance.

Spiro World (or One Must First Become Aware Of The Body) largely shirks one genre, opting for a strong helping of organic and electronic aspects in order to sway the sound wherever feels right for Brooklyn-based Kaye Loggins, the artist behind Time Wharp. On TOTP we get a heavy jazz track, white-knuckled low notes hitting alongside drums that push up close to the listener. Saxophones weasel out of this grip at points, spiralling up and down with passionate outbursts. Mixo World is like a sophisticated dance from days of yore, with earthy notes playing out a proudly sensible melody. This transforms slowly into a dazzling mesh of plucked strings cascading down onto the foundational notes. Spiro World’s eccentricity is refreshing, and a testament to the artist and fellow collaborators. But the texture is more than creative production, rather, a bedrock is being created for a soundscape in which different sounds are brought into a space together to embrace or stand separate from one another, in order to represent deep-seated issues of depersonalisation alongside the ever-glistening view of New York City.

Tezeta is another example in which Time Wharp presents the listener with something akin to the overlaps between the internal and the real. Using the pentatonic scale that takes the track title, a heavy clarinet sets out on a lumbering journey. An optimistic G note is brought down by its deflating lower octave and the two march together unevenly. The sound suggests a frantic state of mind, succumbing to waves of warring emotions; buffeted up to be inevitably brought down. Over the top, sprays of piano again illuminate a skyline, glimmering as lighter woodwind emerges. The octave pair continue their trudging into the warm scene.

Time Wharp approaches the chosen subject matter of disassociation with an incredible ear and an overwhelming adoration for the City that Never Sleeps. The resultant sound is one that fizzles with a beauty that is both chemical and human, both communal and deeply personal.