Here’s a video of Colin Stetson playing Judges. The whole album is brutal, an animal shrieking and howling and dancing in madness. Stetson breathes through the body of sound, transforming it from the purely auditory into a physical, percussive force. There has been a strong emphasis on tone and voice in popular music; the sound of youth, of nostalgia, of loss and being lost. Sometimes those sounds aggregate into something textured and atmospheric. With Judges Stetson channels sound into an almost distinct and tangible form, creating something loathsome and dangerous.
What’s incredible is to see him in process. The physical animal of his music comes itself from a very real struggle; so the bloody miracle of this baby mirrors the pain of its birth. And this is satisfying in a way that pressing keys or pads might never be, as Stetson’s delivery is as much a part of his music as the sound itself, and adds a depth that’s harder to find in rock, pop or folk outfits. His performance illustrates how technical mastery in a medium—or in this case, an instrument—allows complete expression in that medium: Stetson breathes his whole being through that sax, giving more of himself in his music, and in his hands the communication between musician and listener becomes pure. I am able to know more fully who he is and by extension what it means to be a human being, but I also learn what it takes to give more of myself.
This is where music becomes more than its sound or arrangement, but one soul screaming to another.
