There is something to be said about listening to a good instrumental record on a cold wintry day. The right one should be picked of course, whose notes and timbres are delicate as powdery snow. The music should be austere, but with warm harmonics cutting through the cold like glimmers of sunshine. The eight pieces on this album are just the thing, and have a nice narrative arc that has me thinking of the similarities between novels and albums, how moving both forms can be, and how a good album, even without words, always tells a story. Like curling up with a good book, it’s nice to be inside on a Sunday afternoon comforted by the joys of a turntable and a warm cup of coffee.
The majesty of the opening "Slow Implosion" makes for a bit of a top heavy listen, as this is surely one of the gems. Recorded over a few days it features an array of his friends coming over to play all in the same key. The brilliance of it comes from Nathan Stein’s French Horn, an instrument that always lends a regal character. My only disappointment is that the track was cut in half from its original 24 minutes. I would be perfectly happy listening to that as one whole side of an album. If nothing else a URL for the download of the entire track could have been given, but Baird seems to think it had gone on too long. Oh well.
The song "Softly" features cooing vocals layered with warm distortion and is a nice segue to the longer and more fulfilling "Cloud Breath" which utilizes the rare analog soundimension echo box. In this piece one twelve string guitar is tuned to an open A chord and plugged into an amp while another, playing a very loud A resonates the other untouched guitar. Not knowing this detail wouldn’t in anyway detract from the song, which is beautiful in and of itself without the explanation, but as a music geek it is sometimes nice to read notes on how a song was composed.
After the delayed piano of "Surfing" the second side takes off into more melodious realms with Baird’s homage to Philip Glass and his four minute take on "Koyaanisqatsi," his voice whispering the word at intervals, just behind the bass keyboards and guitar. The title track features a very brittle piano, reminiscent of crackling icicles in its opening passage before settling into more somber moments, while still plucking out bright sonorities as an accent.
The last song opens with what reminds me of a car motor sitting at idle, and the whine of strange birds off in the distance. Elegant strumming fades in, mingling with a rustier metallic reverb, as if the strings have been bowed, at last fading into the grumble of old machines. While this solo release from the man behind Sunset, indie-pop favorites from Austin, Texas may not be earth shattering it is a delight, and shows off a different side to Bill Baird’s songwriting.
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