Hiatus

by Jim Merrett

Dream catcher

"He’s like the BFG in that he collects dreams and trumpets them in your ear. Only half Iranian. And shorter. Marginally."

The one-man band is something you used to see slotted in between Chas and Dave and Bruce Forsyth on the Royal Variety Performance bill. To be taken seriously, you had to rope in a few mates and give up precious quality control. But with 21st century wizardry and an orchestra of non-existent instruments at your disposal, bedroom Phil Spectors can now have their cake and eat it – without resorting to homicide. Allegedly.

Forget any other Hiatus you might have heard about this year, shudder. This is the Hiatus you are looking for. This would be the toilings of Cyrus Shahrad, one such lone sonic explorer who has single-handedly already warmed the stage for the likes of Bonobo. It's not as though he doesn't get on with others – a day job as keyboardist with up-and-coming soulful roots outfit Smoke Feathers shows he can share responsibility. But allowed to furrow his own path, the results are very different. Think of sleepy, downbeat mushroom-picking expeditions through a verdant garden of electronica. He's like the BFG in that he collects dreams and trumpets them in your ear. Only half Iranian. And shorter. Marginally.

'Nobody', the latest of a string of self-produced EPs, is a good place to start. The eponymous lead track is a Four Tet spliced with Kid Loco slab of Jim Jarmusch-sampling wonderment, which implies where this has come from and nods towards the fantastic voyage ahead. Dripping with psychotropic energy, it is every bit the spiritual amble into the unknown that Dead Man, the film it borrows from, is. Your back will tingle on at least three separate occasions before this track has worked through.

'Cinematic' is the apt description. But 'cerebral' goes further, since this engages in ways 24 frames per minute stills projected on to a screen and sucked in through your eyeballs never could. Introspective in a way early DJ Shadow was, Hiatus' creations prove a whacked-out twisted audio rainbow that boasts both maturity and a giddy child-like gaze.

In the words of Willy Wonka, "We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." Sorry, it's all gone horribly Roald Dahl. In a good way, obviously.

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