Electronic musician Jaar feels quiet, restless pull of ‘Sirens’ song
Nicolas Jaar’s album “Sirens” opens subtly with the sound of a flag flapping in the wind.
The flag could represent the electronic musician himself. His parents are from Chile, though his father’s roots are Palestinian and his mother’s French. Jaar settled in New York, so he’s a man of the world without a flag.
The flag, he also points out, references the album’s title and the idea of people setting sail toward an unknown. The title “Sirens,” by design, was chosen for multiple meanings.
The album is one of the year’s most striking, an innovative recording of electronic music that has minimal vocal content, yet it makes a profound commentary about the state of the world. Sirens can be a source of attraction, and they can be the sound of warning. Jaar plays with that duality throughout the album.
He recently talked to the Chronicle in advance of his Monday performance at White Oak Music Hall.
Q: The flow of this album is quite engaging. It starts so quietly, it almost forces you to make a decision about whether to get on board. Then it goes places.
A: I used to sample a lot, but this time I wanted to make everything from scratch, so it took a while. It was difficult to find a way to say what I wanted to say and have the music mirror that. I’m a producer, not a singersongwriter. So it’s a different process getting somewhere. I’m also not good at making songs. Rather, I prefer to make albums. So I like to think of this as a 40-minute story. You have to trust that a listener will have the patience to get involved with that story. (Laughs.) That doesn’t always happen.
Q: “The Governor,” in particular, was interesting to me. It had a strong dance pulse, but the saxophone reminded me of ’60s jazz players whose work was informed by political and social matters of the era.
A: That was one of the first ones I made, and it blew open when I decided to get inside my own restlessness. In the past, I could find a certain comfort level, but with “Sirens” I wanted to shatter stuff. So there’s restlessness and confusion and chaos, and not just seeking some beautiful thing. It allowed the songs to speak in a different way, and it felt good to me in a way. And it felt like it could touch on some of the struggles going on in the world.
Q: The recorded conversation on “Leaves” is you as a kid and your father, right? It’s an interesting juxtaposition to the music.
A: Yes, that’s me telling my dad about a statue that was walking, and he says, “Statues don’t walk.” I was interested in the idea of fluidity and things not being black and white. And the way a kid can say something like that, about a walking statue, because his brain has not been given the same blueprint. To me, it’s about breaking through the idea of politics or a person or an event. You take that statue and throw it to the ground and, in a way, you make it walk.
Q: With your roots in Chile and Europe, I was wondering if you were a fan
of Roberto Bolaño? I feel like there is some thematic overlap in your work.
A: I love Bolaño. He’s such a visual writer that I read his books as films. I think he had to play some part on my music. There’s a certain level of anxiety and depression that he deals with that is interesting to me. He’s very good at looking into these dark feelings we can have that nothing changes. The feeling at the moment you realize that. And there’s no resolution to that feeling, no answer. I think he captures that well.