The first time I saw it, the cover of Teset’s 2023 album Egress caught my eye almost as much as the music caught my ear.
It’s hard to say at first what it was about the image above that captivated me. It’s mundane but unusual. Stark but unaggressive. It shows a natural landscape, but the focus is on something entirely unnatural.
The angular structure in the foreground is frustratingly unidentifiable. It has the look of something functional and permanent, bolted into the rock. But it seems so incongruous that it must be some kind of art, right? The way it frames the landscape in the background, creating a bit of a photo-within-a-photo…it seems too artistic to be something purely functional.
I suddenly became gripped with the desire to know where the photo was taken. I had played a fair bit of Geoguessr during the peak of the pandemic – an online game that plunks you down somewhere in the world via Google Street View, leaving you to guess your location based on anything from street signs to landmarks to the position of the sun – and Teset’s album cover had awoken my dormant inner Geoguessr addict.
The hunt was on. Here’s how my afternoon of sleuthing went:
- Did a reverse image search. Turned up nothing, indicating that this wasn’t a pre-existing image, but likely one taken by the artist himself.
- Looked up the artist, Teset. His internet presence is minimal; no website other than Bandcamp, no interviews in which he discusses the album art or his love of bizarrely ambiguous metal structures.
- Did find two facts of interest however: his real name is Colin Janz, and he is based in Vancouver. Aha!
- Image definitely felt like Vancouver. Headed to Google Maps to check out any and all seaside parks.
- No luck. Every vista had mountains in the distance, but none matched the distinctive diagonal line of the mountain in the photo.
- Realized that looking for the landscape was a fool’s errand. Decided I should focus on the sculpture instead.
- Did a search for “weird seaside sculptures Vancouver” and “tuning fork sculpture” and “football upright near ocean Vancouver” all of which (predictably) turned up nothing.
- Just about gave up.
- Went back to Google Maps and started looking further outside the city.
- Almost peed my pants when, in street view for Whytecliffe Park, I saw a familiar diagonal mountain in the distance. But where was the metal thing?
- Tried to position myself so the view would be the same angle as the photo.
- Found one photo that felt right, but a lady seemed to be standing right in front of where the sculpture might be.
- Quietly cursing that lady for standing there, I scrolled to the right in the photo…and saw the structure.
- Or at least, something like it. Not a sculpture, but a sign, facing out towards the water. A warning or notice for boaters perhaps. The one on the album cover was simply missing the actual sign part; the metal structure is the frame for a sign, covered in graffiti by countless hikers and tourists.
- Maybe there are more of these signs in the area? Maybe one is missing the sign part? After all, the one I found wouldn’t frame the diagonal mountain in the same way as Teset’s one does.
- Down the coast a bit, I found Whyte Islet, a little (and more importantly, rocky) island pointing in just the right direction to face the diagonal mountain.
- Saw a few photos taken on the island, including some with seals relaxing adorably on the rocks. But the sides of the island are so steep that if there is a sign down there, you wouldn’t be able to see it.
- Just about gave up again.
- Found this photo. In front of the camera is a seated woman, distorted by the way the photo is stitched together. And just in front of her, poking up over the rocks, are the two raised arms of the metal sign frame. This is confirmed by another photo from a bit further down the island in which our friend the metal frame is clearly visible.
- Exhaled deeply. Silently thanked Teset for his music and his artwork.
- Closed laptop. Wondered where the time went.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. It opens with 15 seconds of static which – and you can only really pick this out on headphones or really good speakers – is in tune with the song.
2. There aren’t any chord changes, but the way it alternates between a resolved chord and that devilishly delicious tritone makes it hypnotically mysterious.
3. Given the careful, masterful build-up to the song’s peak at 4 minutes, it concludes surprisingly quickly, which always makes me want to go back and hear it again.
Recommended listening activity:
Looking for clues.
Needless to say, if you know anything more about these signs at Whytecliffe Park, or if you are Colin Janz and you’d like to share the story of the album cover, please get in touch: beautifulsongoftheweek@gmail.com