It takes a strong mind and stout heart to keep up with all the diverging branches of the Bay Area's prolific Jewelled Antler collective, and I'm sorry to say I haven't always been up to the task. The loose-knit collective of sonic improvisers maintains such an active schedule of shape-shifting and bandname-changing that it's virtually impossible for the casual observer to tail their every move.
Two of the few Jewelled Antler constants, however, are members Loren Chasse and Glenn Donaldson. Indeed, one or both of them is involved with virtually every Antler act you may have stumbled across, be it Thuja, Skygreen Leopards, Dead Raven Choir, Hala Strana, The Child Readers, Glassine, Ivytree, Birdtree, The Franciscan Hobbies, Tomes, Coelacanth, Silvery Branches, or any number of other projects. When the two walk the earth as a duo, however, they call themselves The Blithe Sons, and the numinous, abstract folk field recordings they create are quite worth the stumble.
Arm of the Starfish is The Blithe Sons' second album on Family Vineyard, although like many Jewelled Antler projects, they do have a hard-to-trace back catalog of CD-Rs, lathe-cut EPs and, one presumes, countless songs etched directly onto the bark of birch trees. As you might guess from songs like "Sun Anemone" or "Foam", this record finds the Sons wandering seaside, recording outdoors as they go. (You know you're listening to a Jewelled Antler act when you see that album title and you at least briefly consider the possibility that the musicians just might be plucking the amplified arms of a starfish. I can't say for certain that they aren't.) But the coastal setting is crucial to note because, as has previously been the case with many Antler records, what is being played is less important than where it's being played.
The Blithe Sons are hardly the first artists to look to the seas for creative illumination, but most sand-and-surf-inspired music has tended to focus on the activities of humans: sailing, surfing, bikini-watching, pirating, etc. The Sons instead focus on the natural world, and seem to intend for their music to become just another feature of the coastal landscape with the waves and the wind blending in as essential accompaniment. Though that may sound like the dippiest of new age propositions on paper, the two play together with such imagination and intuitive ease that the results are rarely less than captivating.
It isn't always easy to say exactly what instruments the Sons actually are using: The opening track, "Sparkling Diatoms", begins with jingling percussion and loosely stretched waves of drone, perhaps created by harmonium and/or wood flutes. On other cuts, more identifiable threads of acoustic guitar, dulcimer, banjo and Donaldson's mysterious vocal utterings bubble to the surface, and then slide back under the gently crashing surf. The album culminates with the 17-minute "Sea-Glass", an ever-shifting epic of quiet delicacy that should have even the most landlocked listener washing the salt out of his hair.
If you've been bewildered or put off by the unwieldy Jewelled Antler discography in the past, The Arms of the Starfish is an excellent place to make your approach. It contains all of the elements of off-handed beauty and shared discovery that exemplify the best of the collective's work. And if you're a Jewelled Antler completist, here's another prize for your already-groaning shelves. And my hat is off to you.
