LISTEN: torched porsche — empty hands
torched porsche is the project of Toronto producer and songwriter Joel Keitner who previously played in the band closely. Released on November 6, "empty hands" introduces his forthcoming ten-track album art lovers, whose songs each explore a different art form. This single focuses on architecture, drawing on the story of Alexander the Great and the poem "Ozymandias" to consider what people leave behind after their power has faded.
There’s a famous quote that writing about music is like dancing about architecture. Well, right now we’re going to do both.
"empty hands" is full of little fragments of human voices, and I can’t even tell whether they’re samples of actual people or some kind of synthesized vocals. Either way, they sound like the voices of spirits. And when you look at the cover, with its classical art, you might imagine these are voices from the past. Ghosts, perhaps, calling out to us for some reason.
And if we're talking architecture, maybe these ghosts live in a house that the artist is building. Because alongside all this ghostly, intangible stuff, there's something truly solid here too. After all, a house needs a foundation, walls, windows, doors, and all that. And the beat takes care of the construction work. It's there from the beginning, sounding incredibly thick, heavy, and in your face.
Two other things I find really interesting here are the synths and the vocals. First, the lead synths have a wonderfully soft, creamy, almost buttery sound. There's also some playing around with pitch that gives the melodies a pleasantly peculiar character.
The singing, however, creates an interesting contrast with the glossy, beautifully produced music. The vocals are surprisingly raw. You can hear the human breath in them, there's something vulnerable about the delivery, and I think this adds a new dimension to our imaginary building.
Because now someone actually moves into the house. A human being, with their own personality, habits, feelings, and probably a bunch of favorite objects they start putting around the rooms. The place gets warmer, a little messier, and suddenly you realize you're no longer walking around some museum, like the one you might imagine looking at the cover art. You're visiting someone's home. They've invited you in, sat you down at the table, and poured you a cup of tea.
There’s a famous quote that writing about music is like dancing about architecture. Well, right now we’re going to do both.
"empty hands" is full of little fragments of human voices, and I can’t even tell whether they’re samples of actual people or some kind of synthesized vocals. Either way, they sound like the voices of spirits. And when you look at the cover, with its classical art, you might imagine these are voices from the past. Ghosts, perhaps, calling out to us for some reason.
And if we're talking architecture, maybe these ghosts live in a house that the artist is building. Because alongside all this ghostly, intangible stuff, there's something truly solid here too. After all, a house needs a foundation, walls, windows, doors, and all that. And the beat takes care of the construction work. It's there from the beginning, sounding incredibly thick, heavy, and in your face.
Two other things I find really interesting here are the synths and the vocals. First, the lead synths have a wonderfully soft, creamy, almost buttery sound. There's also some playing around with pitch that gives the melodies a pleasantly peculiar character.
The singing, however, creates an interesting contrast with the glossy, beautifully produced music. The vocals are surprisingly raw. You can hear the human breath in them, there's something vulnerable about the delivery, and I think this adds a new dimension to our imaginary building.
Because now someone actually moves into the house. A human being, with their own personality, habits, feelings, and probably a bunch of favorite objects they start putting around the rooms. The place gets warmer, a little messier, and suddenly you realize you're no longer walking around some museum, like the one you might imagine looking at the cover art. You're visiting someone's home. They've invited you in, sat you down at the table, and poured you a cup of tea.