Birdsong at Morning
Vigil
Blue Gentia 3
* *
Some times ideas that seem and sound good just don’t pan out in application. Alas, this problem plagues a promising thought from the trio Birdsong at Morning. The concept was to offer musical meditations on solitude and the passing of time, and to draw inspiration from the enigmatic images of 19th-century photographer Julia Margaret Cameron. Instead of a single release, put our four EPs staggered every three months of so—a literal passing of time mirroring the contemplative core behind the concept.
I was mightily intrigued by the debut, Bound, and was still tuned in for part two, Heavens. Somewhere early in the third installment, Vigil, however, I stopped caring. I listened and nothing happened—no profound philosophical breakthroughs, no realizations of life’s ephemeral nature, and absolutely no hummable musical hooks. It lay on my desk for months before I cared enough to comment upon it. It’s not a bad album. Far from it—Alan Williams has a fine voice and the lyrics are thoughtful. The problem is that the album’s six tracks are basically sonic soundscaping. This makes the music remote in the way that an object behind glass can be—we can only admire from a distance and cannot touch. When we walk away and the image fades, what is left behind?
The other issue for me as a listener is that there have been no discernible mood shifts in the first three installments. On a cognitive level this makes no sense to me. The idea is to show the passage of time. Fine, but isn’t the only constant change? Even aesthetes, hermits, and cloistered mystics experience varying moods and physical change. If Birdsong wants us to feel time’s passing, shouldn’t the musical logic echo this?
I’ve listened and I’ve walked away. Not much lingers except the idea itself. That’s great if we’re studying ontology, but it’s not exactly a ringing musical endorsement. I think I’ll pass on the fourth volume.
Vigil
Blue Gentia 3
* *
Some times ideas that seem and sound good just don’t pan out in application. Alas, this problem plagues a promising thought from the trio Birdsong at Morning. The concept was to offer musical meditations on solitude and the passing of time, and to draw inspiration from the enigmatic images of 19th-century photographer Julia Margaret Cameron. Instead of a single release, put our four EPs staggered every three months of so—a literal passing of time mirroring the contemplative core behind the concept.
I was mightily intrigued by the debut, Bound, and was still tuned in for part two, Heavens. Somewhere early in the third installment, Vigil, however, I stopped caring. I listened and nothing happened—no profound philosophical breakthroughs, no realizations of life’s ephemeral nature, and absolutely no hummable musical hooks. It lay on my desk for months before I cared enough to comment upon it. It’s not a bad album. Far from it—Alan Williams has a fine voice and the lyrics are thoughtful. The problem is that the album’s six tracks are basically sonic soundscaping. This makes the music remote in the way that an object behind glass can be—we can only admire from a distance and cannot touch. When we walk away and the image fades, what is left behind?
The other issue for me as a listener is that there have been no discernible mood shifts in the first three installments. On a cognitive level this makes no sense to me. The idea is to show the passage of time. Fine, but isn’t the only constant change? Even aesthetes, hermits, and cloistered mystics experience varying moods and physical change. If Birdsong wants us to feel time’s passing, shouldn’t the musical logic echo this?
I’ve listened and I’ve walked away. Not much lingers except the idea itself. That’s great if we’re studying ontology, but it’s not exactly a ringing musical endorsement. I think I’ll pass on the fourth volume.
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