Breath warm from singing rises into the frozen air. Atomized. A million bright blue crystals - the fractal branching of the lungs - drift back to earth. Radiant, refracting. Clear notes melt like perfect soft snow. Straight lines curve and curve again.
Much of this album was recorded in Iceland, but Joan Shelley wrote these songs in Kentucky. That’s the dirt clinging to their roots. The wind blowing through Osage orange and pine trees is the joy and ache and urgency of these songs. It’s the silence and the music. It’s the space between time and words and the stillness in Joan’s voice. Kentucky is where we plant seeds of regret and stay to watch them flower.
Nathan Salsburg’s guitar pours out clean as water through his fingers, turning over every smooth stone. Bonnie "Prince" Billy’s harmonies stretch time tight enough to break without breaking. Joan’s voice calls us back. Birds are singing outside. Insistent. Don’t miss what’s right in front of you.