Rosine is a solo project by prolific Hudson Valley composer/multi-instrumentalist Mark Lerner. On September 4th, Rosine released Some Things You Never Get Used To, an album that is one 38-minute-long instrumental song that teeters between beautiful classical segments and experimental ambient fragments, blending acoustic and electronic elements, creating a compelling journey that is, to say the least, an emotional roller coaster. Lerner composed, produced, and performed the piece, with accompaniment from saxophonist Cheryl Kingan, violinist Vladislav Malentzov, cellist Kateryna Mytrofanova, and pianist Wade Ridenhour. Lerner will be performing some sections from the album, as well as some pieces from his other projects, at Tubby’s October 21st, sharing a bill with John Burdick Trio (tickets).
As someone whose first forays into composing music consisted of a couple instrumental albums, I have a soft spot and deep appreciation for instrumental music and its openness to interpretation and imagination. Given the description Lerner provides on the album’s Bandcamp page, listeners’ interpretations may be a little less nebulous and a bit more informed by context: “I started work on Some Things You Never Get Used To perhaps a year after the death of my sister, and it was quite intentionally going to be a requiem for her…I mixed it and remixed it and remixed it and remixed it. And now it’s done. It’s one track, about 38 minutes long. Despite the sadness that kickstarted (and often sustained) it, it’s not (I think) a morose sounding record. A little pensive, maybe.” Having had read this bit of background on what inspired and fueled the album, my thoughts and emotions were given some direction, shape, and color. While a contemplative mood is a throughline in the song/album, the sections seem to flicker between the extremes of a lifetime–between the heavy grief that comes with aging and the light, elemental curiosity of youth. Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five came to mind as I was listening, as I felt like I was traveling back and forth in time. This is one of those albums that makes you think about your life as a whole by eliciting deep core memories of the simplest yet most formative moments that, altogether, give it an almost incomprehensible depth.
I respect Lerner’s unconventional decision to make the album one long song rather than breaking it up into several songs. This format gives the artist more control over how the listener experiences the album by solidifying the sequence of its sections. Today’s music industry standards and algorithmic parameters demand that every song should be 2-3 minutes long–and it better have a catchy hook within the first 5 seconds to cater to attention-deficit listening habits, or else you risk throwing your music away into the cold, silent void. This is obviously not the best model to foster creativity, so whenever an artist goes against the grain in a way that calls these constraints into question, I think that’s refreshing and, well, pretty punk rock. With that said, I did highlight certain timestamps throughout the song/album that indicate distinct shifts in an attempt to map out the piece conceptually.
The album opens with an ominous drone before a zany pedal effect and somber guitar chime in. The music takes on a cinematic air when the violin and cello take over, sounding like a dramatic film score. I picture a pastoral setting, maybe during The Great Depression, where, though the landscape is beautiful, the music suggests something more poignant is in the ether. 2:33 marks a shift where the composition becomes busier and faster and more intricately layered, and the mood becomes slightly more lighthearted. At 4:13 a classical guitar takes the helm, with accompaniment from perhaps a dulcimer and a melodica, creating a sort of medieval sound. The guitar work here is impressive–it reminds me of a mix of Daniel Rossen (of Grizzly Bear) and early Fleet Foxes. An upright bass comes to the fore at 5:45, complemented by a trippy clicking effect, with a shaker keeping the beat. The vibe becomes mysterious and suspenseful. A violin and cello enter at 6:27 and are soon joined by bass, heightening the atmosphere with a classical, regal flair. At 8:44, the string instruments drop away and the music becomes experimental, somewhat evocative of Pink Floyd’s “Time.” A sample or effect of what sounds like a ball rattling around some metal surface intrigues the listener. There are some interesting textures at play here that remind me of the sound collage band The Books. At 11:10, the pastoral vibes return. It sounds like music you’d hear in your youth at elementary school learning about farm animals–kind of like “Little Piggies” by The Beatles. At 13:00 we’re suddenly suspended in space, until a looping melody forms a foundation, upon which acoustic guitar takes the lead and a whirring effect warbles in the atmosphere. A sense of wary curiosity settles in at 16:38. The guitar melody is playful yet foreboding. The saxes return at 17:17 with a motif that brings relief. A full drum kit kicks in at 18:04–but not for long. At 18:27 a piano melody takes over that sounds slightly like John Carpenter’s Halloween theme or Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life,” but without the corniness. When the cello and guitar join in, the harmonies are mesmerizing and devastatingly beautiful, like something you’d hear in a Sigur Rós song. The music sounds uplifting, hopeful yet cautious. Everything slows down with a breathing tempo before a shaker cuts in and resumes a steady rhythm. At 21:14 a modulated guitar sounds distant as if we’re hearing it through a filter, and then a quavering effect takes us back out to space. 22:01 marks probably my favorite guitar work in the piece, as the Daniel Rossen vibes return. The bass and drums come in together nicely for maybe the most head-bopping segment in the song. Violin and cello return at 24:20, rendering the mood to resemble a soundtrack of a Shakespearean tragedy. The soundscape morphs at 26:30 as the classical sound is replaced by an experimental, Middle Eastern one. A motif recurs but now with new timbres: Fuzzy guitar leads and effects playfully color the sonic field. At 30:29 a reverby electric guitar plays in the introspective vein of post-rock outfit Explosions in the Sky. When the saxes reappear, I feel a sense of redemption and renewed empowerment. Pink Floyd resonances return at 34:33, like quirky Sid Barret-era Pink Floyd this time around though. 35:25 marks the beginning of the last section of the piece, where an ascending guitar melody plays over a consistently droning note, conjuring an ethereal, transcendent sensation, and then a whimsical acoustic guitar plays a familiar motif to bring us back down to earth, back home.
With Rosine’s latest release, I think Lerner has achieved his goal of composing a fitting requiem for his departed loved one. While some sections are sad, the piece as a whole is so all-encompassing in terms of the wide array of emotions it explores that to call it sad would be reductive. Some Things You Never Get Used To, although only one song long, impressively packs the depth and breadth of a lifetime in but a 38-minute span, effectively creating a succinct microcosm of the human experience, an outstanding musical achievement, and an honorable tribute.
Rosine’s social and streaming links:
Buy the album on Bandcamp
-Review written by James Kwapisz
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