Thin Films: "Black Cloud White Noise"

Allowing his tracks to be mastered by a parkour enthusiast has done two things for Dan McRae: it’s beefed up his output, and snapped off all those unnecessary appendages like harmonicas, jazz drums, and guest pianists. His Thin Films project was always about merciless nature met with electronica, and “Black Cloud White Noise” sees him going back to those roots, and also releasing the stresses of film production in one long and glorious geyser. Like music played over the scene where things are being accomplished quickly, McRae composed “Black Cloud” during his busiest period yet: snowed under with design work, nursing a newborn daughter, and so caught up in the freefall of London that he still hasn’t followed up Eskimo, the debut album he released seven years ago. “Black Cloud” is a kind of belated apology, and not one which minces up to the door awkwardly brandishing flowers—this is more like a confession someone’s whispered to a hillside, and then realized the hillside’s the Grímsvötn volcano, and it’s detonating.

Opening with some water effects and a synth motif that screams “daytime beach drama,” “Black Cloud” peels off into more ominous bass, guitars revving up like they do on the Dark Knight score. McRae worked on that picture, and he brings just a little of its high-definition mania to his first new crescendo, imbibing it with hooting, and a high C, and some hyper-energetic jungle drums. There’s a piano midilogue where he reminds himself to breathe—presumably the “White Cloud” part of the story—and then it’s a quick repeat of the water noises and back to the synth attack, dashing and sleek like a hero lifeguard movie. Add in the artwork featuring Amy Winehouse sharing the throne with the Minotaur, and this could be the track that catapults McRae out of post-production, and into something grander, like casting. If that fails, he can always lease it to a quad bike dealership.

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