Review Summary: The power of musical worldbuilding
Furling is a patient album. Much like its unassuming, simplistic cover art, Meg Baird’s newest solo outing is reticent about revealing its secrets too quickly. Instead, the singer-songwriter begins by immersing us in a 6-minute instrumental piece, replete with melancholic piano and dreamlike (wordless) vocals; the beat trudges along, as if reluctant to carry the weight of the piece itself. At a time in which attention spans are decreasing rapidly each year, a song like “Ashes, Ashes” is one hell of an opening statement to make. And while the rest of the album dips into more conventional folk territory, a similar atmosphere and vibe is kept from that initial tune. What’s the vibe, exactly? Well, I’ll let the album’s Bandcamp page explain that one for you:
”Furling moves through the breadth of Meg’s musical fascinations and the environments around them—edges of memory, daydreams spanning years, loose ends, divergent paths, secret conversations under stars—all led by a stirring, singular voice calling experience and enlightenment, elation, and ecstasy into bloom.”
Much of
Furling acts as the musical equivalent of a wistful daydream: breezy acoustic passages, airy vocal melodies, delicate fingerpicked guitar work, etc. But the real beauty of the record lies in the “environments” part of the Bandcamp description – that is to say, Baird’s ability to effortlessly create and transform musical environments. What starts off as a carefree acoustic ballad in “Star Hill Song” gradually shapeshifts into a spacey, hypnotic number due to the background keyboards and sedated electric guitar passages… and yet, the original base of the song never changed. It’s just that each new musical ornament compliments the song in its own distinct way. “Cross Bay” is even more effective, as Baird’s complex fingerpicking covers a diverse range of emotions; for every calm, self-assured bit, she’ll throw in a weird melody or chord to muddy the waters. For a more short-form example of her worldbuilding, check out “The Saddest Verses” – pairing a low-key acoustic backing with the mournful wails of an electric guitar to excellent effect.
Speaking of Baird herself, her performances on
Furling are often quite breathtaking; even in the service of such laidback easy-listening music, she really rises to the occasion here. While her vocals tend to melt into the background after a while, that’s not necessarily a bad thing; after all, the dreamy and hypnotic nature of the music often
calls for that vocal style – pretty reminiscent of the approach Melody’s Echo Chamber took with her last few records. But the guitar… THAT’S where it’s at. Whether it’s the emotional/musical tangle of the aforementioned “Cross Bay”, the crazy chord changes and modulations of “Unnamed Drives”, or the shimmering, subtly jazzy electric guitar phrasings of “Twelve Saints”, Baird uses every tool in her kit to wring out any mood or ambiance a song calls for. However, if there’s any drawback to all of this, it’s that the production could have been less compressed and homogenized. The mix is a bit flat, and doesn’t exactly compliment the dynamic variety and range a folk album like this
needs. It’s a shame too; if
Furling had the warm, enveloping production values of something like
Golden Hour by Kacey Musgraves, it would have been such a wonderful compliment to the music itself.
Still, that little snag isn’t enough to ruin the record by any means;
Furling is a superb exercise in atmosphere and worldbuilding, one that rewards patience and diligence. Baird has crafted a lovely collection of folk tunes that rely more on impressionism and ambiances than the storytelling or character portraits you’d normally hear in the genre, making for a refreshing change of pace. Think of it as a journey through several different locales, all distinct but loosely connected; thankfully, Baird ensures that each setting is well worth exploring. Wistful daydreams indeed.
