Tin Hat Trio seem to exist on a plane far removed from the rest of modern music. Heedless of genre, era, and trend, the Trio have patiently spun their creaking, cinematic yarns over the course of four enigmatic albums. By absorbing a variety of nearly forgotten, worldly styles-- flamenco, post-bop, Eastern European waltz, tango, gypsy folk, bluegrass-- they've come to occupy a singular niche that might be described as cozy if it weren't so haunting. Book of Silk is perhaps their most evocative work, a sepia-toned, still-life dream that whispers with secretive, mournful passion.
No doubt the tragic death of guitarist Mark Orton's wife just before the album was recorded cast a shadow of lament over the sessions: whereas Tin Hat Trio previously winked at old-world forms as novelty, Book of Silk shudders with an almost morbid mortal understanding. Like the most compelling human dramas, it's precisely that lurking sense of sweet sorrow that raises this album into rarefied heights.
Added to the core trio of Orton, accordionist/pianist Rob Burger, and violinist Carla Kihlstedt are longtime Björk harpist Zeena Parkins and tuba player Bryan Smith. Both played with Tin Hat on their last release, The Rodeo Eroded, but here their roles are expanded, enlarging the overall sound on opposite ends of the tonal spectrum. Smith's rich tuba bass is especially significant throughout the album. Though softened into a rumbling smudge, its almost subliminal frump provides droning, sober ballast against the album's chiming strings. The eerie "Compay", for instance, tiptoes along with stifled paranoia, Smith's tuba anchoring an ascending trill repeated in unison on piano and violin. "Things That Might Have Been" is a gritty, countrified reel that's both ponderous and delicate, and a rare recorded meeting of accordion, dobro and tuba-- a true feat of rusty, broken-down ambiance given the latter instrument's usually jolly marching-band clownishness.
Pinned onto concise arrangements, and unburdened by longwinded solos or standard structure, most of these songs are powerful and pure in their linearity. "Elliot Carter Family" and "Light Black from Pole to Pole" stray into abstract Kronos Quartet territory, but slow burners like the gorgeous "Lauren's Lullaby" and heartrending opener "The Longest Night"-- both clearly informed by deep loss and deeper love-- are painfully vivid. By no means is the album a bleak downer, though; the band paints with a full palette of emotions. Kihlstedt's oily violin scats like a French street corner chanson on "The Clandestine Adventures of Ms. Merz", while Orton's jazzy picking warms up "Hotel Aurora" and his banjo twang throughout the syncopated swing of "Same Shirt, Different Day" borders on front porch funk.
My initial feeling was that with no composition longer than five minutes, these musical vignettes are almost too brief to make an impression. But the album clocks in at just over 50 minutes total, pretty much the golden number in terms of sustaining a mood and holding interest. To the band's credit, this is a great album in the old-fashioned sense, a gripping and contiguous work meant to be pondered as a whole. Maybe that's not the best marketing angle given the current single-for-hire downloading zeitgeist, but I don't think they care. Given their boldly updated antiquation, Tin Hat Trio might be channeling their music from another age.
