Furling

Langue disponible : anglais

A constant in the post-folk scene, Meg Baird has played with Bill Callahan, Bonnie "Prince" Billy and Joan Shelley, and made 2018's excellent Ghost Forests album with harpist Mary Lattimore. She's well-rounded, with a psychedelic background in Espers and Heron Oblivion, as well as having a deep appreciation for both '60s English folk traditions and its early '90s revival. On her latest album—an exploration of self-care and human bonds—Baird also draws inspiration from, among other sources, "Neil Young shackled to his piano deep in the foggy pre-dawn" and "dubby Bristol atmospherics." You certainly get the Neil Young reference in "Will You Follow Me Home?" With its mesmerizing drum clop, groovy mellotron and guidestone bass, it lifts the gauze that lightly filters the other tracks. "Cross Bay," for instance, is dreamy in every sense of the word. Previously released in unfinished form, this version lives up to its full, sun-dappled potential. Despite the peaceful vibe, Baird has said that one verse was written while watching Hitchcock's Lifeboat late at night and "freaking out" about Brexit: "I was afraid that it was a terrible sign that the old agreements and already inadequate standards about how we take care of each other each were up for grabs." The song came about as a sign of gratitude to a friend who, with the simple act of reaching out, reminded her that human communication can calm and heal. "Star Hill Song" is warm folk, but also giving off new age ambience—exactly what you want to hear at a sun-blessed coastal California retreat. The song evokes Mazzy Star's folkiest moments, and a light blues riff keeps it earthbound as Baird's delicate, feminine voice floats. "Ship Captains" is her Judy Collins moment, while "Unnamed Drives" has Sandy Denny energy. There's a six-minute musing of moody piano and never wavering drum metronomy ("Ashes, Ashes"), an exploration of meditation as a form of escape ("Twelve Saints"), and "Wreathing Days," which features beautiful but slightly off piano, its notes clustered to provide lightly cacophonic disruption. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz