Filed under: album, review | Tags: 2008, adam smith, fursaxa, sharron kraus, tau emerald
.

Fursaxa
Kobold Moon •••
Sylph
Sharron Kraus
The Fox’s Wedding ••••
Durtro/Jnana
Tau Emerald
Travellers Two •••½
Important
I have no doubt at all that you, dear reader, are looking at that triple header with a smile on your face, gasping at the sheer audacity and grinning at ambition that isn’t just naked, it’s naked with balloons tied to its rude bits and sprinting across the Lord’s turf while being projected onto the side of the Houses of Parliament at state opening, buttocks streaming through the windows and glinting off the Queen’s crown, blinding the mindless puppets pretending to run the country…what’s that? The screens? Of course, nurse, sorry about that.
Connections and collaborations, interactions and entanglements: Fursaxa is Tara Burke and she and Sharron Kraus are Tau Emerald, hence today’s three-way tag tussle. Fursaxa produce what might be best described as folk music, albeit of a distinctly dark and eerie vein, while Kraus - not to be confused with bluegrass heroine Alison - purveys creepy, moonlit music that falls most easily into the folk category. So dark folk + folky darkness = the bleeding obvious? Well, let’s see.
Substrates first. The Fursaxa album follows fairly hot on the heels of last year’s Alone In The Dark Wood, a record which, like this one, saw Burke largely forego lengthy explorations of her craft in favour of more concise statements. Followers may or may not be relieved to hear that she hasn’t chosen to revise her MO, either: Kobold Moon is stacked to the gills with Fursaxa’s layered, wordless vocal chants, underpinned by rattling percussion and minimal instrumentation. While this approach is always spookily evocative of arboreal rituals being enacted in some nameless otherworld, there’s not much new here.
There’s an occasional Eastern drift, such that songs like ‘Kokopelli’ or ‘Nakondisi’ evoke a lo-fi Dead Can Dance; ‘Saxalainen’ pits a backwards vocal against a cavernous organ drone and is unsettling even for Fursaxa; and ‘Song Of The Spindle Berry’ sounds like the narcotized murmurings of Beauty before her fall into oblivion. Oddly, a vocal loop from ‘…Berry’ reappears on the closing ‘Cornus Of Florida’, which is too redolent of a kid testing echoes at the mouth of a cave to be truly successful. Especially as it lasts for 12 minutes.
Compared with Kobold Moon’s abstractions, The Fox’s Wedding is a comfortable cloth woven from familiar material. Kraus employs traditional folk instruments - flute, mandolin, guitar, piano and the like - and her clear British tones to produce music of a distinctly more pastoral nature than Burke’s, albeit with a constant undercurrent of unease. The album gets off to a flying start with ‘Brigid’, a tale of winter’s warming into spring that continues the Nature imagery of the album’s title with a population of gliding swans and galloping white horses. After ‘Green Man’ - “Everything you touch blooms, and everything touches you” - it’s becoming clear that Kraus may well be something of a hippy.
But while folk music certainly isn’t short of a flower maiden or twenty, Kraus sets herself apart by making truly lovely music: the aforementioned duo and ‘In The Middle Of Summer’ are clear and tuneful as a mountain stream, sparse and near-perfect in their instrumental settings of her crystalline voice. Fortunately, the rest of the album largely maintains the same standard, with only an occasional hey nonny nonnyness - ‘Robin Is Dead’, for example - to put off the casual listener. Really, though, a casual listen would be an injustice for an album of such depth, craft and poetry: The Fox’s Wedding deserves, and will repay, your undivided attention. Good work, that hippy!
So, what could we possibly expect to be formed in the creative crucible of two such singular talents? To be fair, it probably wasn’t this. And confounding expectations is all very well, but when an album’s title track opens proceedings with rudimentary recorder playing and ramshackle harmonising straight out of school band practice, the shoulders do start to tense a little. They relax toward the end of the song as vocal overdubs and accordion swells expand the sound to completion, and the minimal ‘Evening Wings’ - nothing more than a two-chord strum from one Traveller, a fractured string melody from the other, and distant, buried gongs - conjures up a wordless stillness of its own. ‘Stoikite’ simply shimmers, and ‘Barrowlands’ is an escalating pixie dance at midnight.
It’s quickly apparent that Burke and Kraus are trying something new here: there are very few vocals for a start, and neither the almost pointillist perfection of Kraus’s musical landscape nor the grimy drones that are Burke’s trademark make an appearance. Instead, Travellers Two trades in what may best be termed sound pictures, which are occasionally reminiscent of No Neck Blues Band in their obliqueness. ‘Full Moon’ is suitably silvered, and ‘Henbane’ is a chant to accompany tossing diced frog into a bubbling cauldron; ‘Water Divining’ is oddly motionless and, yes, liquid; while Google informs me that ‘Bani Caapi’ is the Latin name for ayahuasca, which again is fairly appropriate for the fevered sounds within. A brave departure for both artists, then, and while not entirely successful, it’s a collaboration that should definitely be repeated.
Adam Smith
UK release dates: 17/03/08 (F) 10/03/08 (SK) 21/01/08 (TT)




























