Naves sin Puertos

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Counsel from sympathetic remixers (Autechre, Locust) and the nascent forces of Elefant Dance (Quasar, Prozack) guided Peru's premier dreampop duo from the Slowdiving bliss-pedalling of "Miel Nubel Hiel" and Un Cielo de OcEano towards the brittle, fracture-riddled techno of Delay Tambor and Juniperfin. If you consider the tales of similar bands - My Bloody Valentine's tryst with a pre-Swordsmen Andrew Weatherall; the successful "retranslation" of Chapterhouse by Tom Middleton and Mark Pritchard; Ecstasy of St Theresa's self-mutation, aided by Bandulu and Disco Inferno; Ride's brief flirtation with Portishead- you see a pattern emerging. Even the stalwart Cocteau Twins have succumbed to the momentum, dallying with Mark Clifford, whose own music (with Seefeel and Disjecta) was evolving from technorganic loopnomancy to dub-etched ice sculpture and caustic window-gazing. Change is a necessary part of growth - and a seriously tricky boulevard to navigate. Those who resist it find their stars soon snuffed from the musical firmament. But embrace it halfheartedly or indiscriminately and you court self-destruction, your integrity compromised, your foundation undermined and crumbling, your band soon to follow. So how have Silvania managed to thrive while even the boldest and brightest of their kin have been immolated in the embrace of change? An answer would be tantamount to a formula for success. The simplest conclusion is that Coco and Mario have been extremely lucky. Or maybe there's more to Silvania's (en)durability than that. Tracing their trajectory, one finds a history of progression marked with deliberate, measured steps. At no point have Silvania counteracted change. They've consistently welcomed its handiwork and allowed it to transform them, not passively but actively. The Silvania of Naves Sin Puertos, an album defined by small, artful gestures, would only recognize the gushingly euphoric Silvania of En Cielo de OcEano with difficulty. And yet, while the melodic involutions of "Nave" and "Niços de Iluvia (Virado)" may play with light in subtler ways and "Aqui Viene el Océano" scatters like frozen rain falling into the fathoms beneath the glassy surface of Behles/Henke's Monolake, Silvania have not surrendered the dreamland essence of their former selves to the intimate workings of progress. They've merely grown into the microphonic beat lacings of "Planitud" and "Lunik Lunik" and the echo-refracted aeriform ray tracings of "Dif Luz" or "Puerto 1-2," shapeshifting slightly to adjust to the new contours. No measure of their identity has been lost in this gradual process. Aesthetically remolded but uncompromised, theirs is a particularity fit to endure the devices and distortions wrought by continuous metamorphosis.