David Borden and Mother Mallard's Portable Masterpiece Co. might just be the best-kept secret in the world of early electronic music. Not only did Borden and his crew pioneer the use of Moog synthesizers - yes, "those" Moog synthesizers - they also formed the world's first synthesizer ensemble. The sheer historical weight of this achievement should be tattooed onto the psyche of anyone who claims to love minimalism, electronic music, or, well, the future. But alas, David Borden is underappreciated in a world where electronic musicians with fewer pioneering credentials have been canonized. So let’s dive into "Make Way for Mother Mallard: 50 Years of Music" with the awe it deserves, and maybe a bit of the side-eye it can't help but invite.

This two-disc set (also available on cd and digital release) serves as both a time capsule and a battle cry. On the first disc, we get to step back into the analog-soaked 1970s, a time when synthesizers looked more like a spaceship control panel than anything resembling an instrument. Tracks like "Endocrine Dot Patterns" and “CAGE I” practically shout, "We are the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard, and we’re going to change music forever!" And boy, do they.

There’s something wonderfully quaint about hearing these old recordings now. Not quaint in a patronizing sense, but in the way you feel when you look at an old computer that took up an entire room just to do basic math. There’s an endearing struggle in these tracks - the awkward steps of musicians learning to master machines that had barely been invented yet. Borden, along with Steve Drews and Linda Fisher, weren’t just making music - they were taming electronic beasts. Sure, Wendy Carlos was out there making Bach go bleep-bloop for mass audiences, but this is different. This is raw experimentation, the joy of hacking together a future no one else quite saw coming.

But what’s truly fascinating about this release is how seamlessly the newer material on Disc Two sits next to these ancient relics. Jumping from the Moog-era madness of the '70s to the polished laptop performances of 2019 should give you whiplash, but it doesn’t. And this, friends, is the magic of Borden’s compositions. "The Continuing Story of Counterpoint" - his ongoing masterwork of minimalism - remains timeless. Even with newer digital instruments (and the occasional Fender Rhodes piano, bless its groovy heart), the ethos remains the same. Repetition, subtle shifts, the mechanical and the organic waltzing in a sonic pas de deux - Borden’s music, like a fine wine or a well-constructed algorithm, ages beautifully.

Is it perfect? No, and that’s part of the charm. "Counterpoint" can be infuriatingly intricate. The repetition can feel as though you’ve entered a Möbius strip of sound. But for those who lean into it, who allow themselves to dissolve into the recursive madness, it’s deeply satisfying. In a way, it’s the ultimate minimalist conundrum: does nothingness have a form? Borden answers by filling the void with undulating patterns, shimmering tones, and just enough emotion to make you feel human again when you least expect it.

If anything, this release is a long-overdue celebration. It's high time Borden's work is recognized alongside the likes of Steve Reich, Terry Riley, or even Philip Glass. These guys might’ve been riding the same minimalist train, but Borden was the one building synthesizers in the back, grinning maniacally while soldering wires together and composing music that defied categorization.

In the end, "Make Way for Mother Mallard: 50 Years of Music" is both a history lesson and an invitation. A lesson in how the future of music was once precariously balanced on a few modular wires, and an invitation to listen to that future unfold in real-time. There’s an intimacy to this music, a feeling that you’re sitting right next to Borden and his ensemble, watching them create something that even they couldn’t quite define yet.

It’s imperfect, it’s visionary, it’s pure analog warmth and digital precision, and most of all, it’s vital. Fifty years on, Borden still has us asking: What is the sound of tomorrow, and how do we make sense of it today?