Konrad Sprenger „Set“ (Black Truffle)
Konrad Sprenger
„Set“
(Black Truffle)
Konrad Sprenger’s „Set“ opens with a paradox. The title, a single syllable laden with infinite meanings, hints at both structure and spontaneity. Designed by Berlin-based graphic artist Till Sperrle, the cover—a stark red Konrad Sprenger inscription on a white background—suggests a certain austerity. The album’s two compositions, simply named I and II, reinforce this deceptive sense of minimalism. But listen closely, and the surface simplicity dissolves into a restless, polyrhythmic shimmer.
Sprenger, the alias of Berlin-based composer and instrument builder Jörg Hiller, describes the album’s creation as both effortless and painstaking: ideas emerged quickly but evolved over two years of meticulous refinement. The music, too, exists in this liminal space—between instinct and calculation, groove and abstraction. Sprenger is no stranger to the balance of scientific rigor and visceral immediacy; as Oren Ambarchi notes in the album’s Bandcamp liner notes, his compositions bridge a “high pop sensibility” with a deeply analytical approach. That paradox is „Set“’s core tension, and its allure.
Built on shimmering guitar harmonics, tightly coiled percussion, and synthetic accents, Set feels expansive yet tightly wound. Its rhythmic foundation skitters with the precision of contemporary techno while bearing the hyper-detailed filigree of post-serialist composition. Beneath the flickering textures, sustained chords emerge, evoking the yearning drift of Arthur Russell’s „Tower of Meaning“. The overall effect is mercurial: as if the music is constantly reshaping itself in real time, a lattice of sound that never quite solidifies.
For „II“ Sprenger works together with longtime collaborator Oren Ambarchi. Their synergy is deeply ingrained—having worked together in various configurations, including trios with Phillip Sollmann and quartets with Arnold Dreyblatt. Here, their interplay is instinctive, unfolding in a manner that feels both spontaneous and sculpted. Ambarchi, often associated with extended improvisation, brings an organic fluidity that contrasts with Sprenger’s meticulous construction. Yet, as Sprenger notes, their recording process was surprisingly swift—proof that deep familiarity breeds creative trust.
The production of „Set“ feels razor-sharp yet weightless. The balance of lightness and labor is one of „Set“’s most intriguing qualities. While its surface suggests effortlessness, Sprenger acknowledges that the pieces underwent extensive evolution. The music breathes with a paradoxical ease—like watching a dancer whose movements appear unforced yet are the result of endless refinement.
Perhaps the most unexpected resonance of Set lies in its cinematic sensibility. Its layered textures and unresolved tensions recall the atmosphere of a suspense thriller. One could easily imagine it as the sonic backdrop to a reimagined „Heart of Darkness“ (Joseph Conrad), where the rhythmic interplay becomes the pulse of an unseen narrative. Sprenger finds this interpretation compelling—another testament to the music’s elusive nature.
„Set“ is offering new revelations with each pass. Just as its title suggests a multitude of meanings, its sounds invite endless interpretation—expanding, refracting, and reconfiguring with each encounter.
