Owen McAulay, Michael Feeney, Gerry Elliott, Alan Parker and Gerry Tonner had set off to make this album some time ago. I distinctly remember hearing tracks at least a year ago. But when music is as timeless, gentle and minimalist as this, "year of release" is the least significant datum. "Third Millennium" is quite specific enough I think.
"4am" is the title of the first track. Appropriately a time that barely exists for most of us. It's a misty, nudging anxiety on the edge of consciousness. "A drift in your world"... "it ripples before your eyes" Like a dark, drizzling pre-dawn in a city such as Edinburgh or Glasgow in a month like November or March, with no season or daylight to define it. It has a steady urban pulse, a sound of machines turning and voices murmuring in another room. Or maybe this room. It sets a mood that, to a Smackvan listener, will sound close to hopeful gentleness. I think other ears might hear despondency or mourning. Such ears might be persuaded to pay closer attention.
Michael Feeney's lyricism bursts in like sunshine on "My Happiness" for the second track. Two guitars and a dulcet voice move sparingly through a very gentle ode. Each word and note is an invitation to linger.
"Black Eyes" chimes softly while restless percussion, samples and a ghost keyboard nuance a gorgeous tune. An electric guitar picks out the counter melody. Consolation for the bruised, hope for the rejected "something good happened here once". It's a very beautiful piece, to be taken gently, and perhaps at low volume. It's Smackvan at their most private and their most endearing.
"Bells in space" would, of course make no sound. The track thus-named is a prayer of sorts, as might be imagined in an isolated Tibetan monastery. Particular tones and notes are collected gradually and a pattern of simple intervals emerges, then fades.
Then "What About Leaving?" It's a song with voices and drums and guitar and a bleakness reminiscent of the band's earlier "Evil Entering" EP. It builds as it goes, with additional textures and a warmth filling out the simple tune. Somehow we have got to the cello part that opens the track called "Cello". It's a new voice but it sings with the dominant melancholy that pervades the whole album, respectful and soothing. There are no words this time but there is the almost incidental entry of a lightly echoed set of piano chords at the other end of a large space. Perhaps sunlight is coming through a window as the piano looks hopefully for a tune. The cello sustains its eight note tune as a mesmeric pattern, suddenly leaving the piano to sing to itself for the last moments. The loss is palpable.
"Evening Stars" has the feel of "My Happiness" about it. Gentle and hesitant though it is, I can hear something anthem-like and roaring, deep in its heart. Smackvan don't do that though. The strength has to reach you trough your own careful listening. The idea sneaks into my consciousness that this is an album that has matured much longer than most. It won't rush, and it won't be rushed. Your patience will be rewarded with that enveloping malt warmth that eases all aches. "A Low" plays you out and back to real life, with a rough little tug at the end so you might just need to start all over and listen again.
Definitive Smackvan. It's one to seek out and nurture, like your own private discovery.
