For the latest release in Martin Archer‘s busy schedule he has taken a slightly different approach, inviting poet and lyricist Claire McAllister to deliver a selection of words and melodies that were inspired by Peter Wohlleben‘s book The Secret Life Of Trees.
A fascinating read in its own right, the book has inspired both Claire and Martin to push deep into the heart of the forest, taking with them a whole host of Discus regulars. For some of the tracks, Jan Todd and Yvonne Magda have conjured up musical improvisations, while Radio Massacre International were also involved taking things in unexpectedly dramatic directions, their sound surprisingly full for a quartet and a fascinating addition to the already complex soundscapes.
The simmering intro allows Claire to unfurl her voice, its pure approachability the perfect vehicle for the mantra-like message. The sense of discovery and need for questioning is there from the outset. Electric piano is dappled like sunlight across the percussive awakening that ushers in the other players, their measured progress overseen by the drifting vocals. The album is a series of slow-moving pieces that reflect the kind of progress that trees make and the kind of sensations that being alone in the woods may cause. Some sections are more abstract, but there is that sense of constant movement that one has when surrounded by trees; a faint rustle, the creak of boughs. Life is happening all around you, but out of sight and so surreptitious as to be beyond our comprehension. A tumble of percussion, the owl-like blurt of horns; mysterious furtive sounds that happen just out of reach, the canopy keeping them in and causing a sense of repetition.Claire’s voice can be a warm but heartbroken ache, the atmosphere hinting at tension as if awaiting something. The shiver of Jan’s harp accompanies the voice, but offers little respite; and the spare, stealthy sound that the group generates is a surprise considering how many players there are. They add just enough, but still leave space for the listener to conjure up their own imagery; although when the choir arrives, they bring a strength and repetitive clamour that is harsher and more modern. They veer and rail, repeating and enforcing, drawing strength from below, a sense of constant replenishment out of the sight of prying eyes.
Claire and harp move away from this electrical insistence and follow a long-form dream. They meander, voices constantly appearing and reflecting in the halflight, filtered through percussion, clarinet and sleepy trumpet. It bides its time in surreptitious movement; a many-leaved thing fluttering and floating in relative tranquility. The choir is kind of opposed to this and its momentum-filled waves are insistent and force the listener’s attention, the dichotomy between the two very much the embodiment of give and take.Towards the end, a folk inflection slows things down and they become slinkier and more reflective, as if taking stock once the dust has settled, a sense of return slightly disturbed by a turbulent clarinet. The conclusion of the album is guitar-based and holds a warmth and familiarity, as if the cycle is ready to start again. It is nice to finally hear Claire’s voice shorn of all trickery and you sense there is some closure but not entirely.
As a suite, Mast Year is a pure delight and so wide-ranging, with Martin’s ability at arranging as well as writing for choir and group proven to be a natural progression; but with such adept musical assistance as given by the group, it fits like a hand in a glove. The album gives up more with every listen and is a worthy addition to the Discus canon.-Mr Olivetti-
