I don't know if it happened recently or if it's been a gradual slide, but ambience and mood in music mean something different today than they once did. Think of singers like Nina Simone, Roberta Flack or Joni Mitchell; their music had a way of seducing you, of lulling you into a world that would not otherwise be accessible. And though it's no more difficult to locate soothing, evocative music today, musicians willing to approach that kind of nurturing grace are few and far between.
I guess it's not a coincidence that I chose three female artists as examples, though this rather maternal attribute in music isn't exclusively feminine-- Brian Wilson, particularly in ballads like "In My Room" or "(Don't Talk) Put Your Head on My Shoulder", had an incredible ability to tap into this realm, as did Nick Drake. But there's a very thin line between a mature approach to this virtue and a twee one-- just ask Björk, Belle & Sebastian, or Múm. And when you're done with them, prepare a few questions for Manchester duo George, as they'll surely have something to say on the subject as well.
In the mid-90s, Suzy Mangion and Michael Varity were high school friends looking for a way to capitalize on their shared music collections and various instruments; their first release as George was a 1998 seven-inch titled "The Summer of Stars". These days, the pair specialize in nocturnal folk that isn't far from the rustic eccentricities of Richard Youngs, though it possesses a much sweeter sense of melody (i.e., this isn't drone). Mangion has a tender, expressive voice that reminds me of a young Joni Mitchell, though also of a calmer, older Kate Bush. She lent her voice to Piano Magic's "It's the Same Dream That Lasts All Night" from 2001's Writers Without Homes, an album that almost perfectly exposed the difficulty in making mood music that didn't drift away upon the second listen. Where many new folk groups are content to let spacy atmospherics do most of their work for them, George's songs come from a sturdier place, as if they'd missed out on the last 20 years and instead took all their lessons from Leonard Cohen and the slow songs from White Album Beatles.
The Magic Lantern is George's debut full-length, and should appeal to most people down with the references already made. It's lo-fi in places, and modestly experimental with plenty of interesting textures (the duo prefer an array of homemade electronics, analog synthesizers and archaic drum machines to software and laptops), but remains consistently, comfortably warm. Mangion sings like the soloist in a country church: clear and optimistic, without any obviously borrowed nuance, and her quivering vibrato fills up the mix when doubled or tripled in harmony. Multi-instrumentalist Varity also sings, but usually only in harmony, and employs a much less distinctive baritone when he does take the lead, as on the slightly off "The Song the Lonely Heart Remembers".
Opening with the brief "Title Song", featuring Mangion's deep harmony vocals over an old upright piano, and leading into the porch-lit shuffle of "Sacramento", The Magic Lantern wastes little time establishing George's way with a mood. Mangion's lilting phrases in "Sacramento" sound like they should be coming from a particularly wistful Southern belle, embracing newfound fortune in the West while waving goodbye to an innocence already left behind. "Alone in the Country Heart" uses the huff and puff of a train engine as its rhythmic base, kept low behind the murmur of Mangion's vocal. As she laments the protagonist "standing on the motorway, painting small clouds, counting all the cities," the song moves from minor to major and her melody hovers on one note, the engine underneath pressing onward. When a small string ensemble enters later, what should be a jarring juxtaposition reveals itself as a remarkably poignant moment.
Distant, pagan impressions color much of The Magic Lantern, largely assisted by George's preference for acoustic arrangements and balladry that might well have been performed 100 years ago, unchanged. "The Track Through the Woods" is a brooding, insistent torch song, also taking full advantage of the major/minor shifts in tone. The plodding, muffled percussion provides what little support Mangion and Varity need to read through one of the most beautiful pieces of music I've heard in a while.
"Bandstand" drones on via antiquated church organ pedals and synth patches that haven't been heard outside of Wümme, Germany in 30 years. Varity's harmony vocals might as well be another layer of synthesizers, such is the thick, surreal orchestra of reverb. "Slow Wave Sleep" takes this idea further, blurring out any details you might have noticed had you been conscious at the time. Mangion's vocals ("all is fine, all is well, and all can stay there for all I care, for all I care for is you") sound piped in from another world entirely, as a Pet Sounds-esque hymnal organ creeps up behind.
The Magic Lantern isn't the kind of record you drop on someone in the afternoon out of the blue. Truthfully, it drags in spots, and will certainly be ignored by anyone not in for some of that old graceful, nurturing spirit. Still, it's hard to imagine many people hard enough that at least some of this wouldn't sink in under their armor. In a time when music, downloads and the half-life of the average folk-pop group are short as a matter of practice, George are a pleasant, optimistic reminder of home. A little night music?
