Two

Description

After nearly two decades of friendship, collaboration between Nick Sanborn and Chris Rosenau seemed inevitable, but it proved to be serendipitous, an improvisation at the Eaux Claires festival where the alchemy was immediate. As they rehearsed, they realized they were already recording an album. They kept the rough mixes and working titles, along with the bird calls and traffic noises that slipped into the microphones. The result was 2019's Bluebird, a five-track gem that felt like sitting between them, smiling as they found their silent rapport. Two years later, Rosenau (Volcano Choir, Collections of Colonies of Bees) and Sanborn (Sylvan Esso, Made of Oak) reconvened. They had fun in that second session, but the recordings were neither as spontaneous as the first attempt, nor as focused, nor as captivating as before. The duo set those tracks aside to try again later. Then came the pandemic. Then came the tours. Then came other albums. Then came life, simply. When Rosenau returned to Betty's (Sylvan Esso's studio in the woods of North Carolina) for another try, four years had passed. This time, Sanborn and Rosenau decided to improvise. Rosenau borrowed an unusual guitar tuning from a friend that he had never tried (DAEAC#D). Sanborn, for his part, dismantled his stage equipment, reordered it, and added new elements, hoping to shed any automatism for a spontaneous exchange. They knew immediately that it was working, free from the hesitations of the past. That first day, a Thursday, they composed "Ghost Sub" and "Harm." The next day, they got off to a false start with a piece called "Kay," Sanborn's synthesizers struggling to integrate with Rosenau's riff, before moving on to "Deltas." On the third day, they decided to give "Kay" one last chance. Sanborn put aside the electronics and sat down at the piano. There was a false start, preserved here, but what followed was a sublime aubade, like waking up tired and suddenly being dazzled by the light outside. It is the sound of awakening to life and savoring the moment, and it is the small jewel at the heart of the six songs they recorded that weekend. These six songs are presented here in the exact order of their composition. They finished Two just before Rosenau left for the airport: it's a long, sweet, sentimental, and sad farewell, a last conversation between two friends who appreciated the moments they spent together. When "Deltas" gently fades out midway through Two, Rosenau interjects, his voice almost thunderous: "It was..." The recording cuts off, but it's not necessary to hear the rest to understand. It was good, perfect, exactly what they were looking for, just right, my friend. This is how we