It seems absurd to say that Tower Recordings got shafted when indie-folk rose to prominence in the 2000s. After all, the Wire article that gave the movement one of its names-- "New Weird America"-- was centered on the Brattleboro Free Folk Festival that Tower helped run. And the band ended shortly after, so anyone just starting to notice had nothing new to tout. Still, as New Weird America morphed into freak-folk and people like Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom got more attention, talk of Tower Recordings seemed too rare given their influence and significance.
No need to feel bad for them, though-- it's doubtful that they cared much about fame, and besides, band members have been too busy with subsequent projects to worry about it. The wandering journeys of Matt Valentine and Erika Elder (aka MV & EE), the reverent folk of Patrick Gubler (aka P.G. Six), and the haunting pop of Samara Lubelski have all expanded the Tower sound, showing how inimitable and durable it is. Maybe people were hesitant to compare Tower to their descendants out of respect.
The growth continues with Metal Mountains, which includes Gubler and Lubelski but is led by Helen Rush in her first significant musical activity since Tower dissolved. Given a chance to stretch her mesmerizing voice across half an hour of material, she guides the music like a soft wind swirling a cloud. Every sound echoes, reverberates, and lingers, making Golden Trees practically nothing but atmosphere. Sometimes the original sonic events that begin each tune-- Rush's gentle hums, Gubler's guitar plucks, Lubelski's violin tones-- are distant memories by the end.
Because of this amorphous feel, Golden Trees evokes some music outside of the Tower universe. A natural comparison is the Velvet Underground's self-titled 1969 LP, whose patient reverence is shared by Metal Mountains' gradual development. Additionally, the band's drone-leanings recall recent Finnish avant-folk, particularly the engrossing hymns of Lau Nau. What's unique about Metal Mountains is the indelible ambiance surrounding these traits. There's such consistency here, it's hard to imagine any single sound without the others.
In fact, you might find Golden Trees too consistent. Without percussion to emphasize pace, each tune has a similar, indefinite tempo. Time gets lost, and tracks drift and hang rather than moving forward. As the tracks melt together, you might swear the guitar part or vocal line you're hearing has happened before. But for me, such recurrences are what give Golden Trees its peculiar magic. Its cycling sounds and moods feel less like repetitions than dreamy déjà vu.
