Floating Points goes minimalist on Cascade

It’s a question only a select few artists ever have non-delusional reasons to wrestle with. Sam Shepherd (aka the producer, multi-instrumentalist and composer trading as Floating Points) has had valid grounds for pondering this dilemma recently.

Promises, Shepherd’s deservedly lauded 2021 collaboration with the late master of spiritual jazz, saxophonist Pharoah Sanders, amplified the ethos of blissful ambient drifts, jazz-influenced explorations and cyclical meditativeness of 2015’s debut LP Elaenia to create a minimalist masterpiece of seriously beautiful, hushed contemplation, painted on the widest possible canvas with help from the London Symphony Orchestra.

Next to this contemplative landmark fusion of cerebral electronica and spiritual jazz, the sweaty dancefloor thud of Cascade’s earlier stages especially can seem disappointingly one-dimensional, even monotonous in their seemingly single-minded quest of sweaty release. However, more careful explorations of Cascade’s less instantly obvious depths suggests that Shepherd may well have found a method for seamlessly blending the widescreen, unhurried explorations and subtle variations on a theme that characterised Promises with his foundational roots and ongoing interest in the simple joys of surrendering to hypnotic repetition that drives the pummelling physicality of dancefloor-friendly electronic music, most recently sampled on 2019’s Crush.

Perhaps the stripped-back, one-guy-and-a-laptop recipe for Cascade’s construction is a respite or counterpoint for the longer-term discipline and meticulous planning that was undoubtedly called for when working with large orchestras on both Promises and Mere Mortals, Shepherd’s ballet score for the San Francisco Ballet. Basic sparse set-up doesn’t translate into simple music on Cascade, however.

True, there are exhibits of minimalist momentum-building, with one central hook repeated until it acquires near-hypnotic qualities (see “Birth4000”, a mere sprint four and a half minutes on an album populated largely by six, seven and even eight-minute mini-epics). There is also significant amounts of captivating detail and subtle shifts in mood and tone underneath the pure physicality of the beats that hog the spotlight on Cascade. “Key103” (named after an underground radio station that fed Shepherd’s interest in electronic music during his time of studying composition in Manchester) eventually morphs into a haunting slow-burn coda that sounds even more alluring after the peak energy bounce that forms the bulk of the track. “Ocotillo” starts with the ripple of harp before gradually blooming into another cavalcade of ricocheting beats.