Goods from Sam Prekop, Sally Anne Morgan, Throwing Muses, Tobin Sprout, Floodlights and Field Lines Cartographer usher in a new CI column

Carrying on from this scribe’s seasonally-attuned columns of the last twelve or so months – rounding-up releases that would not otherwise be documented in longer-form reviews due to time and other obstacles – here comes the first in a semi-regular series doing much the same, albeit without the need to reach for cyclical hooks on which to hang things loosely on.

Much-delayed due to production and shipping slowdowns caused by current covidian conditions, Thrill Jockey has two new notable LPs representing elemental and down-to-earth ends of the label’s broad spectrum, belatedly rolling into stores. Signifying the former is Comma, the latest solo album from The Sea and Cake’s Sam Prekop. Whilst it’s a mild disappointment that his golden tones and poetic lyricism still haven’t been added into this latest instalment of one-man electronic side-journeying, there is a welcome simmering progression on from the modular minimalism of 2015’s The Republic. Bringing in some balmier beatscaping beneath the painterly synth sketching gives this ten-track suite more movement and fluidity, that in places flashes back into the more programmed passages within The Sea and Cake’s 1997 opus The Fawn as well as making cross-references to more contemporary electro-crafters.

Therefore, along the way, the bleeping bliss-outs of the title-track and “The New Last” layer-up Balearic pulsations with nods to Four Tet and The Home Current; “Never Met” brings in Neu!-ish gliding but with grittier rhythms; and “Summer Places” bobs along with a paradoxically fidgety lushness. That all said, there remains room for more contemplative and less percussive pieces, of which the two movements-based “September Remember” is a definite album highlight. Although it doesn’t offer a dramatic breakthrough in Sam Prekop’s creative evolution, Comma is a calming place to spend a bit of downtime in.

Similarly lost within her own solo-billed – yet more earthy – bubble is labelmate Sally Anne Morgan. Tying together the traditional as well as lateral folk idioms of her work within House and Land and Black Twig Pickers, Thread is both a soothing and stirring set. Deploying her instrument interchanging dexterity and aided in places by guitarist Andrew Zinn, drummer Nathan Bowles and bassist Joseph Dejarnette, Morgan delivers a hearty stew of covers and originals, with and without her airy unvarnished tones.

Hence, we’re served with a captivating banjo-led take on the oft-interpreted “Polly On the Shore”; the adorable Appalachian serenity of “Garden Song”; the rustic rags and reels of “Sheep Shaped” and “Sugar in the Gourd”; the Steeleye Span-meets-Fairport Convention strains of the chiming “Thread Song”; and the skeletal piano-and-fiddle framed “Ellenwood Meditation”. Fans of Sally Anne Morgan’s other ventures will feel happily right next to the hearth here.

Fire Records’ justified latter-day reputation for providing decent homes for otherwise displaced veterans is sustained with two near back-to-back long-players also delayed by recent external events. With their first new selection since 2013’s sprawling double Purgatory/Paradise album, Throwing Muses return to the febrile fray with the far shorter and leaner but perhaps no less uncompromising Sun Racket. Split between raw noise-rockers that sound like they’ve been recorded in an abandoned factory and foggier less aggressive pieces that feel like they were contrastingly required to prevent the amps overheating, the record doesn’t particularly broaden the band’s appeal but nor does it really need to at this stage in their career arc.

Sometimes just turning up with the same enduring combination of churning turmoil and fraying tensions is reassuring enough for Kristin Hersh, Dave Narcizo and Bernard Georges these days, even if it won’t win over many fresh followers. However, there are some solidly memorable moments that stick out sufficiently to make Sun Racket more than simply a continuity Muses collection; with the clattering chugging “Dark Blue”, the plaintive psych-surrealism of “Bywater”, the drowsily drenched “Milk at McDonald’s” and the sulking gut-churning “Upstairs Dan” being strong keepers of the band’s unextinguishable flame.

As the ying to Robert Pollard’s yang during his co-piloting stints in Guided by Voices, Tobin Sprout has been responsible for some rather special and overlooked pockets of lo-fi power-pop loveliness over the years with said band and over a series of sporadically available solo outpourings. He returns now on Fire Records with the sublime elegiac Empty Horses, arguably his best self-billed material since 1997’s masterfully melodic Moonflower Plastic. Recorded in a warm mid-fi setting with drummer Gary Vermillion, bassist Steve Vermillon and a handful of guests, Sprout has essentially taken the template of “14 Cheerleader Coldfront” – his finest early-GBV moment from 1992’s Propeller – and expanded its sun-baked Californian-folk-Americana into a collection infused with longing, nostalgia and spirituality, suitably fitting for his sixty-something years on the planet.

For the bulk of its ten largely short tracks, Empty Horses envisions David Crosby and Neil Young leaving their egos in the studio car park to cut a cluster of lovelorn laments and matured reflections. This means gifting us the gorgeousness of “The Return”, the aching “Breaking Down”, the yearning “On Golden Rivers”, the twangy “The Man I Used to Know” and the serene “Every Sweet Soul”. There are a few detours from this overall framing, with the Townes Van Zandt gravitas of the title track, the early-Paul Simon-like “Antietam” and the sprawling baroque-rock “All in My Sleep” being equally mesmeric in alternative ways. In short though, Empty Horses is a beautifully modest affair with absolutely nothing to be modest about.

Reconfirming reliable quality control measures, Modern Aviation follows up recent high-grade presentations from Rupert Lally and Ben Winter, with A Beautiful Stage, the second album from Floodlights.  Not to be confused with the Melbourne quartet of the same name, this Doncaster trio entangles the multi-instrumentalist talents of John Alexander, Harriet Lisa and Pulselovers’ Mat Handley with an alluring alchemy that defies straightforward pigeon-holing. Defusing barriers between the synthetic and the organic, this ten-track cassette/download collection unfurls as a warmly coloured and carefully stitched patchwork sonic quilt.

Thus, proceedings spool through twitchy-post-jazz (“Filament Burnt Eyes”), ambient space-pop (“Breathing Space” and “Uncertain Steps”), shades of This Mortal Coil (“Flight Compass”), art-folk with nods towards Brave Timbers and The Declining Winter (“Can I Come Back?” and “AVO”) and an imagined lost Brian Eno/John Cale collaboration (“Leading Lady”), with a resourceful ingenuity that leaves you finding fresh corners to explore with each visit.

Despite hints at slowing down things a little, Castles in Space only seems to be upping the ante further. Even though there’s a promising ‘subscription library’ being launched soon, the steady run of regular releases continues unabated. This latest long player from Field Lines Cartographer drops into the latter stream. An unrepentantly hauntological set-piece, A Spectral Isle finds Mark Burford drawing a conceptual ring around the mythical lost island of Hy Brasil. Blending field recordings, Moogs and other electronics, the five gathered expansive tracks make for an immersive sound trip.

Through sea-formed ripples and synth swirls (“Magic Lanterns”), undulating chirruping modulations à la labelmate Polypores (“Sighted Through the Fog”), dank subterranean burrowing (“Black Rabbits”), distended dronespacing (“The Castle”) and ethereal evocations (“The Hall of Eyes”), A Spectral Isle feels like a darker, more kosmische kindred spirit to Plinth’s Music For Smalls Lighthouse. Not an easy listen for sure but one that does well at wrapping historical enigmas up inside aural ones.

Adrian
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