Eluvium – An Accidental Memory in the Case of Death

An Accidental Memory in the Case of Death

Listening to Eluvium is like hanging out in a fancy schmanzy hotel lobby listening to a pianist busting out the somber tunes while thunder rumbles and reverberates within the building to shake the chandellier. On top of the grand piano is a tip jar stuffed to the brim with dollar bills and prozac, both valued equally by performer and audience. The rain bleats down against the window pane and doesn’t show any signs of letting up during the artist’s 30-minute set.

Yeah, it’s rainy-day music that I feel could be the backing track of a book on tape of Wuthering Heights or the sound of those ‘why-me’ moments that only rainy Sunday afternoons can provide. That’s just one man’s interpretation, but there’s no denying that this is somber and, as much as instrumental music can be, introspective.

It’s just one man and his baby grand, and just one take straight through for these seven pieces. It all appears to be played flawlessly. Matthew Cooper makes some music that is moving and touching. It all seems like it could be the background music to some sort of movie or some dramatic moment. His pieces are weighty, but they don’t really get over melodramatic.

There’s not much sunshine on this disc, but, conversely, it’s pretty captivating how Cooper is able to capture melancholy moments and reinterpret them for his piano. It’s probably not what you’re used to, but if you’re any normal person with highs and lows in life, you could find some way to relate to this album.