Pantha Du Prince - Black Noise (2010) [Rough Trade] // Grade: A

It’s a weird thing, this black noise. Silence that isn’t actually silence. Noise that’s there but not there; a tree in a forest with no one around. It sends animals scampering before a natural disaster, a non-sound screaming like sirens, but we’ve never actually heard it. We just know people who know people who know it exists. Sort of.

And so it is for Pantha Du Prince: glassy minimal that plucks emotion straight from your belly but skitters like a school of fish when you try to pinpoint how. 2007′s critically adored This Bliss did a similar thing—it’s like Hendrick Weber writes between the notes—but Black Noise turns it into a concept; sounds you sense but can’t track down. Which, really, is my pedantic little way of explaining that while this shit is totally brilliant, I’m hard-pressed to tell you why.

The obvious: Weber is among the most vital producers currently working. He makes minimal techno glittery and accessible—album songs, not club songs, concepts rather than bangers—and Black Noise is the sort of thing that probably makes otherwise awesome producers like The Field consider giving up for good; loping and gentle, all manner of bells and chimes and clinking glasses. Even heavier hitters like the throbbing “Abglanz” or four-on “A Nomad’s Retreat” feel totally unreal under his care. And where others might turn a Panda Bear-guested track into showcase city (see: SMD/Beth Ditto, or pretty much any other guested electro track, honestly), “Stick To My Side” lets the vocals loop and nestle quietly into the fray. Weber rarely produces for one thing; each element lives and dies by the context of the noise next to it.

But then: the elusive. The sense of hope, then heartbreak. Sounds and melodies so evocative, you cry a little for no good reason. The way a melody sneaks up on you, then turns suddenly to a kick-drum. How did that happen? That whooshing sound of air was just here, but wait: sorry, no, it’s gone. Pantha Du Prince’s intangibility goes beyond that X factor so crucial to great artists; it’s the very real sense of black, penetrative noise. At least, you’d swear it was. But open your hand; it’ll have disappeared long before you think you’ve finally grabbed it.

- Rue Sauvage