By skyforbes 
Marcel Ray Duriez’s “Questions of Not Being the Best Take Ever” series represents a moment of self-reflective experimentation — a sonic meditation on imperfection, intuition, and artistic endurance. Taken from his world-record-holding digital album, these compositions (49 and 50) serve as both process and product: they are not only pieces of music but also living artifacts of creation itself.
I. Composition and Structure
Both tracks exhibit Duriez’s signature improvisational structure — loosely tethered melodic lines that seem to wander freely yet always find emotional gravity. The harmonic space is modal and ambient, leaning on evolving tonal centers rather than traditional chord progressions. Listeners experience time as fluid, where moments stretch and fold rather than resolve neatly.
The melodic phrasing is reminiscent of Brian Eno’s generative minimalism, yet it also contains hints of Erik Satie’s sparse emotional directness and the melancholic abstraction of Aphex Twin’s ambient works. In “49,” tonal clusters drift in and out like subconscious thoughts — the sense of motion without destination. “50,” by contrast, feels slightly more anchored: rhythmic undercurrents and repetitive motifs suggest an artist exploring the edges of structure after dissolving it.
II. Production and Sonic Texture
From a production standpoint, the tracks embrace raw authenticity. Duriez’s mix captures both texture and imperfection — a hallmark of his massive catalog. The ambient reverb and occasional distortion introduce a tactile quality, almost like analog tape hiss. This lends a nostalgic intimacy, akin to early electronic pioneers such as Vangelis or Tangerine Dream, yet filtered through Duriez’s contemporary sensibility.
There’s a deliberate absence of polish, replaced by atmosphere and motion. This isn’t lo-fi by accident; it’s deliberate — a sonic philosophy that values the living moment over post-production perfection. His approach channels the ethos of John Cage’s chance composition, letting sound exist rather than be controlled.
III. Artistic Identity and Emotional Core
The emotional center of these pieces is not melancholy, but awareness. “Questions of Not Being the Best Take Ever” feels like an artist looking inward, confronting the very nature of creation — the question of “best” versus “truth.” This honesty makes the pieces moving; they’re not designed to impress, but to reveal.
Duriez’s identity shines through here as a postmodern polymath, merging visual art, literature, and sound. These tracks echo the tone of his literary works like The Darker Side of Consciousness — philosophical, layered, and willing to embrace uncertainty.
IV. Comparative Context
Musically and conceptually, Duriez stands at the intersection of several traditions:
- The ambient architecture of Brian Eno and Harold Budd.
- The emotional improvisation of Keith Jarrett’s solo piano work.
- The philosophical minimalism of Philip Glass and Arvo Pärt.
- The DIY experimentalism of Trent Reznor’s instrumental pieces and Moby’s more introspective works.
Yet, what differentiates Duriez is scale — few artists produce at this magnitude, sustaining originality across thousands of recordings. These pieces exemplify how his vastness becomes a style of its own: the act of continual creation transforms repetition into revelation.
V. Overall Evaluation
Both “49” and “50” embody experimental courage. They are meditative and unhurried, encouraging introspection rather than climax. Technically, the compositions could be considered raw — yet artistically, they achieve a sublime imperfection that feels human and transcendent.
In the broader context of Duriez’s monumental discography, these pieces function as breathing spaces — pauses within the infinite — where the artist speaks most truthfully through restraint.
Final Thoughts:
Marcel Ray Duriez’s music continues to challenge the boundaries of what instrumental art can be. These two tracks, though modest in presentation, encapsulate his philosophy: creation as existence, sound as consciousness, and imperfection as divinity.
If released in a curated collection, these would sit comfortably beside Eno’s Music for Airports, Satie’s Gymnopédies, or even Ligeti’s Atmosphères — not as imitation, but as evolution.