Previous to stumbling upon this album I was (loosely) aware of the concept of negative space, specifically in relation to graphic design. As I understand it, it’s the technique used to make something that isn’t necessarily immediately visible the subject of a piece, or at least a significant part of it, rather than the object which appears as though it should be. If that sounds too esoteric think of the panda on the iconic World Wildlife Fund logo. Without the cognitive ability to recognize the familiar animal and to fill in the negative space it would just appear to be a few black splotches, but by integrating the white space of the background the image becomes a cohesive object. In Meyers’ most recent work Negative Space (1981–2014) what’s not there is seemingly as important as what is. The album’s depth does not just come from the rich and varied sounds Meyers has produced, but often from the placement of the sounds in relation to an often sparse backdrop.

However disparate the contrasting spaces are, negative and positive, the album never puts the listener in a place where it’s too difficult to find cohesion between the two. One may think applying this concept to musical exploration could make for dull listening (perhaps to someone less than appreciative of Cage’s 4’33”, likely the most committed use of negative space in a composition) and well, that might have been the case were each piece not so exceptionally crafted. If you’re looking for emotional depth there’s a glut of it here, but tread lightly, while it’s not completely devoid of some pleasant moments most of the space is colored with looming dread, confusion and distress. And rightfully so–Meyers recorded many of the sounds soon following a significantly life-threatening illness and subsequent treatment and recovery. By collecting bits and pieces of sound during the recovery, and later arranging them and overlaying electronic sounds produced with various synthesized instruments both digital and analog, computerized and tactile, Meyers has created something unique and emotionally gripping.

The record begins with the track “Orientation,” which combines reverberating bell-like tones, some light percussive sounds, and long synthesized swells that wouldn’t sound out of place in a Tarkovsky film. As the song continues the swells shift into a more rhythmic and pulsating pattern, perhaps intended as the orientation to ready the listener for what is to come. What does come are a series of diverse pieces that incorporate breathing, clicking, rattling, and general sounds of movement, though not each one. The aptly titled, “Trapped Music,” does not utilize unaltered organic textures and illustrates a stark and seemingly maddening boredom that’s emphasized by the lack of acoustic sound. It begins with a might be tie-in with the album’s cover art that consists of disorienting bouncing ball sounds overlaid with tense pulsing synthesizers. The second part of the song seems to give in to the captivity in what’s arguably the prettiest moment on the record where some very nice synth harmonies breathe and swell for a disarming minute and a half until brought to an abrupt end.

1984-2014, the dates in the title of the record, reference the actual birth and the could-have been the death of Justin Meyers. Though recovery plays a significant role on this record, it seems as though the potential death plays the bigger one. Had that death been reality we would have all been at a loss, because in the time since an excellent record has been added to the collective space in which we all exist. Part of the reason it’s so impressive is that in exploring the negative space within his compositions Meyers has in turn given us something positive.

More from Matt Reed.