Interactive Poll: Whatever Floats Your Boat

Day four brought the reappearances of David Harrow (day one) and Al Fraser (day three), and Mixed Messages is a great title, too, as the synthesised and electronic sounds of Harrow meet and meld with the acoustic and natural sounds of Fraser. It’s a collaboration over oceans, as London-born Harrow provided his parts from his studio in the US, while Fraser recorded his in his studio in New Zealand. The two quite contrasting styles and sounds, ancient and modern, mesh beautifully. Once again, the cover art really symbolises the music within. The Bandcamp page calls these soundscapes, and they certainly could easily be part of a soundtrack. Eulogy, for instance, would fit perfectly within the soundtrack to a film such as The Crow. The music of Mixed Messages is the most evocative of the Five-in-Five yet, and I find it hard not to imagine visuals for the music as I listen to it.

There are many times when the drones of taonga pūoro are so well matched with the drones of electronica, that it’s hard to imagine they aren’t meant to be played together. A particularly vivid example is Tamumu, which quite rightly, in my opinion, is the centrepiece of the album. I was curious what the title might mean, so looked it up. ‘Tamumu’ is a buzz or hum, so it’s an incredibly apt title. It’s dramatic and menacing and unsettling – and an absolute thrill to listen to. Yet, as great as I think it is, it’s not even my favourite track. Rattle definitely have it right when they call this album compelling. There is an incredible variety of moods on this album, yet it remains quite cohesive, and never jarring. Just as the two quite disparate layers of instrumentation never clash. The messages may be mixed, but they are mixed perfectly.

Silver Ladders was released the week after Adenine’s, and pretty much overwhelmed any opportunity Adenine might have had to promote her album.. Lattimore may live in the US, but this album was recorded in Newquay amid a Cornish winter, which can be as dreary and drizzly – or should I say dreich? – as the Scottish. Like Adenine, Lattimore’s harp is accompanied by some subtle synth accents and flourishes, but Silver Ladders also features the guitar of Neil Halstead whose addition adds an extra touch. The album opens with Pine Trees, and it’s simple and beautiful, or maybe simply beautiful. My three year old daughter immediately exclaimed, “I like the song!”. I do, too. The following Silver Ladders alludes not to the coast at Newquay, but a memory of the sea at Stari Grad, Croatia. Even if you did not know this, you would surely think of the sea, as this piece has an undeniably aquatic vibe. Its watery notes gently fall, as the synth ebbs and flows beneath.

I love the peaceful, yet ominous tones of Til a Mermaid Drags You Under, somehow caught between drifting and drowning. It’s a beautiful track, but darkly so. Lattimore mentions aspects of her time in Newquay that made their way into her music. One such is “the night walks to the top of the hill to see the moon shining on the water”, which must surely belong to Sometimes He’s in My Dreams? Or maybe I’m ascribing my own memories to the piece, as it evokes the many evenings I gazed down at the St Kilda Surf from the rise above it, lost in silent contemplation of the breaking waves, and the efflorescence of the surf under the moonlight. Despite the anecdote that led to the title of Chop on the Climbout, it’s anything but choppy. And despite being about the sky, I still hear the sea. The thrum of white noise is probably meant to evoke that which is ever-present in the cabin of an aircraft, and yet it’s also eerily similar to the sound of being alone in the sea, letting it all wash and crash over you, or even just the sound you might hear when you put a seashell to your ear. Either way, sea or sky, there’s a sense of floating,

Like Mermaid before it, Don’t Look is a favourite track. Is it because these tracks are longer? Because they have a sense of tragedy? I’m not sure. They are both fairly simple, yet incredibly evocative. And depending on where your attention is, Don’t Look can even offer some genuine jump scares. Thirty Tulips is almost an anticlimactic end to the album after the drama and emotion of Don’t Look, but it soon ingratiates itself, with its pretty melodies, that sound to me like falling rain. Or perhaps I still merely have Adenine in my head?

As different as these two albums are, they do share so many similarities. If you like one, chances are you will like the other, too. It’s all too easy to throw music like this in the too-hard basket, or dismiss it as new age. (By the way, there’s nothing wrong with new age, per se, but a great deal of music labelled that way tends to be soulless and without substance or story.) Maybe as I have a natural love for rain and for the sea, this music speaks more to me, but I’m fairly confident it’s just because these are two damn fine albums. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who enjoys experimental and conceptual ambient sounds should definitely give both Adenine and Silver Ladders a listen.