Scottish duo’s homage to childhood is a landmark listening experience.
Somewhere deep in the forests of Scotland’s Pentland hills, two reclusive brothers have spent years living in the remains of a commune, labouring over intricate sound collages inspired by the innocence of childhood.
Or so goes the folklore that surrounded Boards of Canada’s full-length debut, Music Has the Right to Children. Since its release in 1998, fan sites have amassed reams of evidence to decode the various layers hidden within their music. Field recordings, backward messages, references to religious cults and even mathematical patterns have all been analysed in order pierce the duo’s aura of mystery.
Upholding the enigma is the fact that Boards of Canada have only released a small fraction of the material they’ve produced over the course of 20-odd years. A cohesive catalogue of austere psychedelia and nostalgic longing, Music Has the Right to Children served as an introductory mix tape to that repertoire.
Drifting from the ominous, John Carpenter-like warbling of Roygbiv to the hazy warmth of Olsen, the pair etched out a fantasy world of desolate pastures and apocalyptic horizons, all part of a cognitive rewind to a time when the imagination was boundless.
The album’s patterns of distorted scratches and ghostly voice samples may have taken their cue from Eno and Aphex Twin, but their measured subtleties changed the face of electronica, acting as a gateway for those who previously found the genre inaccessible.
|Artist / Group:|
|Boards Of Canada|
|Music Has The Right To Children|