This could have been tear-makingly dull: Droning textural music under one woman's ethereal voice, all caught in gauze-like overdubs, each one softer than last. Plus, it was recorded at home, which can often pull an album down from "slowcore" to "nubby gray pajamacore." But while Jessica Bailiff's third record relies heavily on atmosphere, the sharp execution makes it work: With good songs and inventive arrangements, she made the album taut and precise, turning simple elements into well-realized mood pieces.
Plus, her voice is beautiful. Restrained and almost expressionlessly consistent, it shimmers whether laid flat over an acoustic guitar or treated to sound far off, like... well, if you've ever had the ghost of a young girl stuck in your plumbing, you'll know what I'm talking about. Bailiff's words help with the spooking, too, with lines like, "I heard you creeping under the bed," or the eerie way she floats the word, "disappear."
The mood of this record doesn't waver, but the arrangements keep things interesting. After recording her first two albums with assistance from Low, Bailiff made this one with her Red Morning Chorus bandmates, Jesse Edwards and Noel Keesee, providing unspecified help on the instruments that buzz, drone and beat behind her voice. They provide enough variety between the songs without overwhelming any one track: Each one comes out stark and minimal. Take "Hour of the Traces" (the title of which, curiously, is a variation on the title of her previous full-length), which starts with low handdrums playing a rhythm that echoes Native American music. Gradually, she adds piercing long notes from a "violin-uke" (a weird, bowed tabletop instrument that arcs over her chanting vocals), and an almost-subliminal, serpentine bass guitar to wind underneath.
"Disappear" takes a similar beat but adds an electric drone, possibly from a guitar, and on "Big Hill" a string-like sound pans and vibrates slowly around her voice like a bug. The droning may not work for all listeners-- you might get a little round-eyed when she sings a dazed, one-note melody throughout "You Were So Close". But it's not all dust bowls and dry chills: The first track, "Swallowed", splurges on a piano and ringing strummed guitar. It even has a hummable melody, as does "Mary", the liveliest of her mournful dirges.
This album can't avoid the dilemma where it may be too foggy for some listeners, yet without so much focus we couldn't dig so deeply into the wide plains and dead, gnarled tree roots of Bailiff's head. She solves the problem better than most with the edgy instrumentation, not to mention that voice, which, with or without effects, is captivating. With this release, Bailiff has made her first deeply intimate and intriguingly rendered full-length. With any luck, it gets even better from here.
