Shimmer’s tones are unexpected, the combinations of instruments far off the beaten trails of familiar genres. It’s not quite jazz, not quite neoclassical, not quite soul, but something all its own. Saxophone, clarinet, glockenspiel, cello, pedal steel, synths, guitar and human voice merge in ethereal counterpoints that nod to chamber music, while the rhythm section drives the whole thing forward with an uncanny propulsion that feels cool, self-possessed and hyper contemporary. And all the while Shimmer makes sure to keep one foot outside time - stepping alone toward the ageless inward horizon. Its A-side contains four tightly orchestrated tracks recorded in Mexico City in 2023; the B-side is a single long experiment in texture, which Gilgore began writing at the beginning of the pandemic in 2020 and finished remotely in 2023. Think Jacques Brel’s Je suis un soir d’été. Think Chicago fusion à la Tortoise. Think the wall-of-sound production of David Axelrod. Think Steve Reich’s organs in polyrhythm. Think Arthur Russell’s neo-classical Tower of Meaning. Think them all at once, then forget all that and open yourself to something new. What I mean is: when Jarrett Gilgore plays what we call the instruments, he’s not playing instruments. When he plays what we call notes, he’s not playing notes. When he composes what we call songs, he’s not composing songs. Instruments, under his care, don’t do what they do in the hands of others.
