Are you convinced by your self-criticism?

Deutsch / English

»Promises« is the name of the album Floating Points recorded with the saxophonist Paroah Sanders before and during the pandemic, backed and accompanied by the London Symphony Orchestra. It’s a calm and melodious record which suits fall way better than spring, even though it was released in March. Floating Points’ electronic tunes trot cinematically through the previously silent space, ingratiatingly, daring to please, while Sanders’ Sax has Free-freedom, he plays as he understood his young colleague. He has understood him. The orchestra fulfils its part from the third Movement on in a stable, kitschy, scenic way, just right.

The album is playing for the third time now as I sit in my office writing these lines. I wonder if I can use the word diametrical, it sounds beautiful. I look it up on the internet. It describes the ratio of two points which, bound to a space like a circle, are furthest apart – a maximum always inherent. I guess it won’t fit. Promises is indeed a circular record – the repetitive electronica and melody give that impression at least, the fact that it should be listened to in one piece is also in this vein – but it does not achieve any end points, no finales. This text and the beautiful word diametrical is not going to work out. Maybe erholend fits? It cuts an excellent figure against leisurely, its insular-counterpart. After listening to the album I feel a bit renewed, better, fresher. But how do I incorporate it if I don’t want to switch between languages so much? Recreational, the record is recreational, it moves me back towards a more positive state, brings out the good feelings, the concentration I bitterly need during these dark January days.

So back to the top.

I play the album, Movement 1 begins, the first seven notes lie dreamlike and traumhaft next to each other, repetition. The German doesn’t bother me so much here, as the two words are literal translations of each other, but cover two different spectrums, one meaning like in a dream, the other outstanding or divine. Both seem appropriate to me. It has been two weeks since I last heard the album and wrote the first part of this text. Sanders kicks in. The promises made in the title are kept. The album starts. Where is the link to self-criticism now? At the first glance I cannot find much, criticism – sure – but self-criticism? But I read my text once again and certain wordings start to bother me.

Does self-criticism now have something to do with writing?

Yes, of course. Because it is not possible to write down a finished text. When I have written something, it is initially fixed on (digital) paper. What is written always stands rigidly at the beginning, it does not move towards a goal, never quite reaches it – on its own. So I read, improve, criticise what I have written. But of course I don’t criticise myself – not in the way Max Frisch might have anticipated here. I am criticising a part of me that has left me, something that lies in the past and yet faces me quite presently. I’m criticising my original choice, which was the word "kitschy", and the fact that it’s incomprehensible to me now that I didn’t realise while writing that the word "kitschy" didn’t fit here. Embarrassing, good thing I haven’t passed it on to friends for editing yet.

Writing does not end, you write even if you are not actively sitting at the laptop, if you do not always have a pen at hand. I sit down to a text one or two weeks later, understand more than before, have thought about it – actively or not – and can contribute these thoughts. I’ve noticed that “kitschy” doesn’t fit. The thoughts that left my head are trapped in the text, unchangeable until the point where I change them – because I have always continued to work on them in my head. And maybe that’s why writing has something to do with self-criticism again, because you are hard on yourself, you want to be, but sometimes you are way too hard, too doubtful, you lose your enthusiasm and self-confidence. However, in my eyes, convincing self-criticism should not take away courage, but give it. Just as criticism from others should do. Because the texts are dependent on me and my thoughts.

»Promises« is the name of the album Floating Points recorded with the saxophonist Paroah Sanders before and during the pandemic, backed and accompanied by the London Symphony Orchestra. It’s a calm and melodious record which suits fall way better than spring, even though it was released back in March. Perhaps because it is quite recreational during the dark days, evoking spring-like feelings. Floating Points’ melodic themes meander cinematically through the previously silent space, ingratiatingly, daring to please, while Sanders’ Sax has Free-freedom, he plays as he understood his young colleague. He has understood him. The orchestra fulfils its part from the third movement onwards, as one would expect from the London Symphony Orchestra: Picturesque, almost idyllic, its music embraces that of the two solo artists. The record comes in a special album cover. Three cut-out trapezoids reveal Julie Mehretu’s impressive Congress, which adorns the entire inside. Floating Points is said to have sought and found inspiration for »Promises« in this painting. The synergy that radiates from the two artworks together gives this rumour a right to exist.

Am I now convinced by my self-criticism?