My personal voyage into the world of ambient involves a series of record fairs in northern New Jersey—Montvale, then Wayne, to be precise—where I began querying the awful-smelling, suspended adolescents lurking both behind and in front of so many tables of priceless “import” compact discs and hastily labeled VHS tapes. Leaps from Satriani to Bill Frisell to Derek Bailey, Metallica to Napalm Death to Demilich, took years; the pace of things then was so glacial when compared to the immediacy of now, of broadband, of how fast your neurons can link to the next and trigger your fingers to act. Then, it was really possible to savor each step, make incremental decisions to dig deeper—to continue to fish, or to cut bait. Especially so with ambient; this is slow music, and slow change happens when confronted with it.

While I can’t pinpoint the first title that sparked my love affair with long-form music, I do remember holing up with a copy of Terry Riley’s Persian Surgery Dervishes after being repeatedly steered toward it by the well-meaning Meredith Monk disciple who effectively ran the Record Collector’s Depot in Ridgewood, NJ in the owner’s frequent absence. This was the guy who put the DNA 12” on American Clavé in my hands; I tended to trust him, even if his name escapes me now. It was only a handful of leaps from here to François Bayle’s Erosphére, and, if anything I’d discovered in my youth colored my current sensibilities, it is the “Toupie Dans Le Ciel” segment of this piece, still glorious in its asynchronous resolve—in retrospect, the atom that led to Generators and my interest in working with analogue synthesis as an escape from the rigor of computer music. When I need to turn to something to completely obliterate or amplify a feeling—a regret, an ambition—I have this recording; it gives my skin on my forehead the distinct, pleasant sensation of speed, of momentum.

I also have a semi-religious affinity for Eliane Radigue’s music; the alpha states I can reach by submitting fully to her recordings are significant, and as rewarding as can be expressed. I keep turning to her work, knowing that it’s borne of a deep commitment to Tibetan Buddhism and that so many of the young, photogenic, media-trained personalities dabbling in the more reverb-soaked corners of “modern classical”—so eager for that lucrative Apple placement—will likely bow out here in favor of greener pastures. JD Emmanuel & Joanna Brouk’s excellent cassette-era work sprang from the Minimalism & New Music scenes, respectively. Sunn O))) were powerful both as a physical experience and as a bridge from metal into its members’ vanguard tastes, much in the same way figures like John Zorn and Jim O’Rourke were so crucial to me in how they openly wore their influences on their sleeves, allowing for such transparent trace-back.

Ambient is a great meeting point: not so much at the center of everything, but floating just above, in a perfect geosynchronous orbit, within reach. At its best, it casts enough shade to dampen the extraneous while causing a shift in our perceptions, enough to take us out of time and place, to wherever we need to be.

Keith Fullerton Whitman is a composer and musician living in Melbourne, Australia.