Kinbrae’s second LP is an enchanting psychogeographic evocation of the River Tay that channels the cycle of renewal through analogue ambient soundscapes

Landforms begins in a primal state, as if the world has been created before our eyes. There is no preamble, no equivocation concerning creation. “Movement of Light” is nature’s story crafted in mesmerising musical form. It rises up out of the water and is rather than becomes. The cyclical nature of water is beautifully channelled, for the source of the river is both the beginning and the end. Here it feels as if the river always was; us people dwarfed by the immensity of its charge. Dundee-based duo Kinbrae have composed Landforms as a psychogeographic evocation of the River Tay and it is as powerful as it is enchanting.

This is oddly the second analogue ambient record that has emerged from Scotland (with Dundee connections) in 2019 related to the North Sea. Andrew Wasylyk’s The Paralian found its inspiration along the coast, while Landforms tracks the course of a river down to the sea. I’m not surprised that there could be variations on such a rich theme. I am, however, delighted. Having grown up by the North Sea myself, I understand how it courses through one’s blood and seeps out in creative impulses. The water’s draw is inescapable; vivid dreaming calling one back to the source.

Kinbrae’s tidal soundscapes communicate in universal terms, yet also offer specificity of vision to those with a connection to such bodies of water. While listening I could not help but think of my dad. He was a fisherman who worked on trawlers in the North Sea and the fact that he never learned to swim has stuck with me all these years. He explained that many of his colleagues couldn’t swim, although I can’t speak to the veracity of this claim. The supposed reasoning was that if you went overboard into the North Sea it would be so cold that you likely wouldn’t survive. Yet that always seemed a disingenuous response. Surely being able to swim would increase the chances of survival. He did eventually die at sea, although nothing to do with going overboard. Death is of course part of the natural flow.

Landforms speaks of life and death, the cycle of renewal dripping out of every sonic pore. Upon hearing “Meander”, my five-year-old spontaneously said: “This is making me feel like someone’s died.” There is indeed a mournfulness to the horns, as if being played behind a veil of fog upon the banks. A quietly insistent piano line and electronic pulse grow out of the track and lift it towards hopefulness. It occurs somewhere along ley lines inhabited by The Pastels’ The Last Great Wilderness and Max Richter’s Woolf Works. The pastoral dream of “The Bridge at Night” wouldn’t be out of place alongside Maher Halal Shash Baz or indeed certain excursions on the Geographic label.

The drawn-out ambient drone of “Confluence” prepares the listener to travel under the surface, before being submerged on “Tatha”, which exudes a Brian Eno-like calm. It’s a natural transition that has a steadying effect. “Wave Propagation” is the destination and the beginning of another story. Music can be heard from somewhere beneath the quickening flow of the river as it embraces the sea and is subsumed by the living wave generator. Closer “Tributaries” evokes the Mogwai of “Stanley Kubrick”, gaining energy and warmth as it goes. It is gently charged, epic in scope yet detailing the minutiae. Landforms is a magnificent record carved out of the natural world and a wonder in its own right.

An exclusive signed edition is available from Monorail.

kinbrae.bandcamp.com

Stewart Gardiner
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