Black Bay

Chronique

A recurring theme in the music made during the COVID-19 global pandemic is the importance of seizing the moment. It's a feeling -- and action -- beautifully expressed on Black Bay, the debut album by the U.K. post-rock collective Silver Moth. Only two of the group's seven members, Mogwai's Stuart Braithwaite and singer/songwriter Elizabeth Elektra, had met in person prior to recording at a studio in Scotland's Outer Hebrides archipelago; the rest connected through social media and online rehearsals. Braithwaite may be the best known of Silver Moth's members, but each is a veteran musician steeped in shoegaze and post-rock's dynamic and atmospheric power with bands such as Burning House and Abrasive Trees. Despite Silver Moth's size, their music never feels crowded. In fact, their multiple vocalists give them even more colors to play with on Black Bay. The shimmery vibrato of singer/songwriter Evi Vine's soprano recalls Kate Bush and Cocteau Twins' Elizabeth Fraser, providing a delicate contrast to the mountainous distortion the band generates on "Henry." Elektra's lower, warmer tones are a perfect fit for "The Eternal," a luminous tribute to a late friend. With echoing percussion that evokes the Jesus and Mary Chain, its celebration of a connection that transcends death is a heartfelt standout. Considering when Silver Moth recorded Black Bay, it makes sense that death, faith, and hope would be foremost in their minds, but the band's brisk, four-day creative process brings an immediate energy to their songs. So does their environment: The inky waters and rolling hills surrounding them can be felt on "Gaelic Psalms," where Abrasive Trees' Matthew Rochford recites a poem written by his late father over brooding strings and found sounds that exemplify post-rock's much-lauded cinematic qualities. Silver Moth goes all in on the project's experimental nature on "Hello Doom," a slow-burning excursion with a steamrolling climax that feels more inevitable than suspenseful. The album's improvisational roots are apparent on "Mother Tongue," an intriguing fusion of blues and jazz-tinged piano and Vine and Elektra's vocals that feels more like a jam session than a finished song. Despite its slight unevenness, Black Bay strikes a potent mood and offers something to post-rock fans who like massive sonics paired with emotive songwriting as well as those who want sweeping soundscapes ("Sedna," an homage to the Inuit underworld sea goddess driven by tumbling rhythms and siren-like harmonies, delivers some of both). The moment that Black Bay captures is so unique that it might be difficult for Silver Moth to replicate, but it's still a fine document of a replenishing creative retreat in a time of loss and uncertainty.
© Heather Phares /TiVo