Songs for Josephine

Since his 2013 debut album, Body Issues, Max Ravitz—better known to you and me as Patricia—has been zeroing in on the kernel of an idea. Across seven albums for labels like Opal Tapes, Spectral Sound/Ghostly International, and Acid Test, he’s applied his hand to a lean, focused vision of electronic music, paring away excess to lavish attention on carefully sculpted acid lines, stealthy drum programming, and warmly emotive melodies. For all their restraint, though, his tracks could never be called merely rote or efficient; even at their simplest, they’re steeped in atmosphere and shot through with layers of mystery. Now, on his first record for Balmat, he strips things down even further, revealing the ambient essence of his music.

Across eight tracks, he pours everything he has into the most minimalist music of his career. Many tracks
seem to have been made with just one synthesizer patch and some carefully applied effects—a honing of
his materials that brings the nuances of his music to the fore as never before. Elastic pitches warp and drift; fleeting harmonies bring out new dimensions in his synths’ timbres. “Murmuration” sounds almost like
Baroque music in its lithe, undulating counterpoints. “Birdsong” takes a classic choral pad and stretches it
horizon-wide. And songs like the closing “Yearn” allow the expressive dimension of his music to fill the
frame as never before.

The title Songs for Josephine pays tribute to Max’s wife. For years, she’s told Max she’d like to hear him
make an album without drums; he assembled these songs over time, always with her in mind. “Even with
my beat-driven music, I’ve gotten a lot of comments in the past about the ambient textures tucked into
those tracks, so I feel like people have been drawn to that aspect of my music for a while,” Max says. “It’s
been an interesting change of pace making a record with that side of my sound as the focal point.”
For listeners familiar with Max’s music, the effect may be uncanny: This is Patricia through and through, but heard in a whole new way.

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Balmat is a label with a cloudy outline. Jointly shepherded by Albert Salinas and Philip Sherburne, two
friends living in Cardedeu, Catalonia, and on the Balearic island of Menorca, Balmat grew out of Lapsus Radio, a weekly show born almost ten years ago. Balmat’s mission is simple: to foster new ideas, expand upon personal obsessions, and put enveloping sounds out into the world. “Balmat” means “empty” or “void” in Catalan. But quite apart from any negative connotations, we prefer to think of it in terms of possibility: a space waiting to be filled.