Several years ago, I imagined a place named Whitehope. It formed in my mind as naturally as any logic or observation might - it almost seemed to already exist. I had to look it up to make sure it didn't. Once the seed had been planted, I imagined even further - what was Whitehope like? It was blurry, slightly warm, sunny with buildings made of smoothed ivory that could either be churches or lighthouses. A lighthouse might make sense, because I knew that Whitehope was an island, surrounded on all sides by a furious bubbling blue sea. It submitted to the ocean waves via rocky crags and clay-colored sand, while inland there were mountains surrounded by rolling green hills and pastoral fields filled with yellow flowers. It all sounded so perfect. I had to etch out some kind of aural tribute to this fictional place, perhaps even something that could stand up to the feeling of actually being there. So I set out on my course to find Whitehope in my instruments and on my tapes. Three different attempts to reach it failed, and landed me in different territories altogether that have themselves been issued under other names. Only when I began to give up on ever finding Whitehope did I arrive there, and when I did, I didn't even know I had made the trip. I had relinquished all hope of constructing my passage to this beautiful place to the fact that some ideas are just too perfect to ever create or attain. Then one night, while chasing some tangential idea in my studio that felt good, I did it. At first it was like remembering a dream - that foggy sensation that something made sense, even though it was not supposed to, and that you just couldn't forget it. I went to sleep that night with my completed recording and when I woke up, I realized what I had done. Cradling the sound of Whitehope are several layers (about a dozen) of oceanic field recordings - sea sound reconstituted into fantasist backdrop. Then nestled deep inside are buoyant stabs of chords that punctuate and propel a coalescing haze of pads, glossing lazily over a subdued rhythm section that could almost be a heartbeat. By the end of the hour, everything chimes together in a shimmering white glow, pure harmony. Now that I've finally reached Whitehope, I don't need to worry about ever leaving it, and neither do you.
released September 15, 2014
W/P by Brian Grainger. Transcribed via dream state at Botany Bay, Summer 2014. This is Milieu Music number ABX33.