Review Summary: Chamber folk balm for weary dreamers
A rare act whose name cannot be printed in its original form not only because their archaic Japanese stylisation is flamboyantly and pointlessly equivalent to writing English with rune signs and long eses, but also because it is plain impossible given the piss-poor technical faculties of this woefully administrated website (doomed to live and, perhaps sooner rather than later, die within the paltry confines of ASCII), the folk act – ready for it? – Eddie Marcon draws on lethargic psychedelic and chamber leanings to furnish a sound ideally suited to deep hearts and heavy eyelids. Initially formed by vocalist/guitarist Eddie Corman and bassist Jules Marcon following their split from the psychedelic/noise act LSD-March, the duo emerged in the early '00s with a wraithlike foray into psychedelic folk on two lo-fi self-titled albums (2002, later compiled and re-released as
Shining on Graveposts), and on their most recognisable release
Aoi Ashioto (2005), the understated chamber stylings of which hold much in store for those with a patient ear for unassuming melodies. The pair have since expanded their membership and kept up a prolific stream of releases and side-projects, the vast majority of which have thus far escaped my cursory examination of their discography and, unfortunately, any substantive coverage elsewhere – but not this one!
Shinkiro no naka, Anata bears the immediate distinction of being, well, the latest thing Eddie Marcon happen to have released, but its siesta-ready chamber folk also makes for a conveniently approachable point of introduction. Opener "Omoi" (Thoughts) makes this abundantly clear from the get-go, as Corman muses out a pastoral lullaby over delicate arpeggiations and a wistful saxophone accompaniment: her husky murmur is a perfect fit for the blurring of real and imaginary that underpins her nature imagery and maudlin contemplation, the prosaic and the profound indistinguishable from one another in a classic psychedelic fashion (partial lyric translation included below).
"Omoi" proves the standout, its frail daydream-logic gorgeously expressed through the strain in Corman's inflections at the end of each chorus and the intimate address she cultivates with her understated delivery elsewhere, but the EP's remaining three tracks are enough to reward a full listen. The following "Water" may be less memorable or immediately captivating note-by-note, but its central instrumental is a great example of the band's combination of chamber stylings with psychedelic overtones on the level of its arrangement, courtesy of its drowsy woodwind accompaniment and delirious backing vocals. "Me o akete nemuru" (Sleeping With Eyes Open) demonstrates this just as effectively but sees Corman make greater impact with her most melancholy turn of the album (bolstered by a rather glum chord progression that is just about soulful enough not to drag its feet), and the closer "Shiroi iki no youni" (Like White Breath) makes for a demure wrap-up, if somewhat plain. All things considered,
Shinkiro no naka, Anata makes for a robust showcase of a style of folk as prone as any to hazy outlines or sprawling runtimes – Eddie Marcon show a veteran hand and a palpable measure of heart bringing such a sound to life within such succinct confines, and if the results sound best across multiple listens in the must unhurried circumstances possible, then the EP's eighteen minutes don't exactly hurt.
Look over the rooftops:
small things can grow large,
and large ones can become small,
so stay where you are.
You gaze up at the stars,
and the world melts away.
The stars blur,
tears streak your cheeks.
It's too much to bear,
and the sky flickers:
Take a piece of it into your heart
and when the moon comes out,
its light will find it there.
