By the arrival of
Both-And, his debut for Native Cat Recordings,
Luke Temple had released music varying from pastoral folk to experimental pop to cosmic jams and spaces in between under his own name, under the alias
Art Feynman, and with
Here We Go Magic. Always unpredictable from album to album, particularly in terms of palette and adherence to song structures, any attempt to lay out a coherent sound trajectory for
Temple's catalog should probably be tossed out the window. Having said that,
Both-And feels a bit like a consummation of prior works, at least in that it offers varied electronic-acoustic textures and examples of improvisational atmospheres, free-form song, and stricter verse-and-chorus tunes. His first
Luke Temple album since the poignant folk of 2016's
A Hand Through the Cellar Door, it can also be viewed as another diversion. In between albums, he relocated from New York to Northern California (West Marin), whose physical landscapes were one of the inspirations for the album. Quietly sprawling and meditative on average, it opens with the blippy electronics, muted percussion, and piano of "(O)," one of three brief instrumentals spread across the track list. Like many but not all of the tracks here, it transitions into the next track without an audible break, as sustained tones connect it to "Don't Call Me Windy." What sound like hand drums and claves soon set a brisk tempo for that song, which introduces
Temple's soothing, gossamer vocals and typically impressionistic lyrics. Only a handful of times on the 45-minute set do more-structured, rhythmic songs interrupt the soft patter and hum of
Temple's sonic vistas. Two of these, "Taking Chances" and "Empty Promises," appear back-to-back midway through. The former opens with percussive chords that establish the base of a grooving, melodic song. It evolves into a psychedelic jam before collapsing into mechanical bleeps. Per
Temple, the elegant "Empty Promises" was inspired in part by Brazilian songwriter
Milton Nascimento. Tuneful folk ("Henry in Forever Phases"), druggy expanses ("200,000,000 Years of Fucking"), and avant-garde pastiche are among the remaining tracks, though
Both-And closes with the yearning "Walking Iris," a return to acoustic guitar-based song. While the album is fascinating for its spacy experimentalism and strange balance of soothing and ghostly tones, it's just erratic enough to seem like a patchwork rather than a cohesive work, if one that should be of worthwhile interest to followers.