“To this day I’m still not sure what ambient music is. It has evolved immensely since Brian Eno gave it a name. The spectrum of what is now considered to be ‘ambient’ music is broad, probably too broad to now be a single genre. My introduction to ambient music was probably Fripp & Eno’s ‘No Pussyfooting’ in 1973, although at age of 11, I had no idea what I was actually listening to. My first realised encounter with ambient was ‘Discreet Music’, which really changed my perception of what music could be.”
Antonymes’ music emerges from the adjustments and erasures of ambient, the pace and persistence of minimalism, where music expresses nothing but itself, from the serenity and austerity of Morton Feldman and the profound prettiness of Harold Budd, from the relationship between continuity and repetition rather than of contract and interplay, from secrecy, from quietness, from pause, from thought, from emptiness, from time, from far off, from itself, from where it is set and where it is setting off to.
Antonymes makes music at the edge of, and deep inside, and from above North Wales, which you can think of as a very real place, available to be visited at any time in the solid present, and also as a very strange, fantastic, ultimately unreal place, which is all it has ever been, legend, spirit, mist and fluctuating stillness stretching back to a time and place where it has seemed like the beginning of a dream, one that would always become another dream, and another, and so on. It’s worth mentioning that Antonymes is of North Wales: to take an approach to the music understanding the location where it was made up and produced, to approach the music as if it is the beginning, or the end, of some kind of map, that will take you up mountains, across streams, to the sea, where the tide comes in, and the tide goes out, under the waves, through the woods and into the obscure wilderness that stretches between one patch of land and another, between one village and the next. Paul Morley, January 2011.
‘At the Edge Of Memory’ came into being quite accidentally, which is common, he says, in most of his music. “Honour your mistake as a hidden intention”. Often a sound will inspire him, then closing his eyes he lets the initial idea create itself. At The Edge Of Memory comes out of being in the Welsh landscape and he thinks it’s true to say that all of his music is a product of his surroundings.
“My chief aim is to make a piece of music. You make it for yourself firstly, and then if other people want to join in, then there we are.”