Last winter, Montreal-based ambient artist Tim Hecker released a sprawling opus of an album entitled Ravedeath, 1972. Clocking in at just under 60 minutes, the album was a dark and disheartening commentary about the effects of technology on modern music, a message exemplified by the record’s grainy cover art (a black-and-white photograph, dating back to 1972, of a group of students pushing a piano off a rooftop). Sonically, the album was a dense, claustrophobic masterpiece; a picture of despondency and decay buried beneath waves of noise. It was a perfect mirror for the harshness of the season, and, fittingly, much of it was recorded on a pipe organ, played by Hecker, in an Icelandic church (with effects added later).

Now, with winter at our doorsteps again, Hecker is releasing a collection of sparse piano-and-synth “sketches” entitled Dropped Pianos. These “sketches” are soft renderings of the material that became Ravedeath, 1972, but with the sonic fog blown away, the material is shown in a new light. As a collection of songs, Dropped Pianos sounds warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the bleak and punishing Ravedeath, 1972. To fans of Hecker’s more fully realized work, these sketches will bare a fuzzy familiarity, but they end up seeming like little more than charming demo recordings. Dropped Pianos does, however, lend a tangibility to Hecker’s staggering masterwork, and contributes to the already evident legacy of its progeny. The EP makes for an interesting listen, but those looking for a new major work from Tim Hecker will have to wait.