Speck Mountain “Hey Moon”
from Summer Above (Burnt Brown Sounds)
moonshadowing //Out Oct 7 7.0
Speck Mountain get what the early Velvet Underground and Doors got
from Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound productions:
a little off the top and bottom, with percussion and bass that shake
just enough to keep awake, and loose enough to make their rounds,
in arcs of elliptical storylines, in epic rituals made intimate, true
inland empires. Speck Mountain is lit by paradox power, hence the
extremes (really the dynamic range) in their name. A basic unit of three:
no drums, but vocalist Marie-Claire Balabanian plays bass and guitar;
so does Karl Briedrick, who also does things with tape delay;
Kate Walsh plays electric piano, organ, and sax. Jackie Ciliberti adds
more electric piano and organ to tracks 5, 6, and 7; Tim Daisy’s the
visiting percussionist. There are only 7 tracks, but it’s a tight little arc,
and ark, across a black and white seascape. As the album begins,
with “Summer Above, there’s something immediately warm and
reassuring about the big old bass (or down-tuned guitar) twangs,
big-shouldered, keeping watch, as the singer walks between them,
so confidently. She seems so hospitable, as she announces,
“I am free, when I feel no one feeling me.”
Wha’? It almost doesn’t matter, as the jolting words settle back into the
sound of her voice. “Our bodies notice.” Oh yes. But then once again,
“I am free, when I feel no one feeling me.” Then why not ice your sound,
or are you just a little tease? She sounds too Sissy Spacek, too
wholesomely weird for that: Marie-Claire, the clairvoyant next door.
from Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound productions:
a little off the top and bottom, with percussion and bass that shake
just enough to keep awake, and loose enough to make their rounds,
in arcs of elliptical storylines, in epic rituals made intimate, true
inland empires. Speck Mountain is lit by paradox power, hence the
extremes (really the dynamic range) in their name. A basic unit of three:
no drums, but vocalist Marie-Claire Balabanian plays bass and guitar;
so does Karl Briedrick, who also does things with tape delay;
Kate Walsh plays electric piano, organ, and sax. Jackie Ciliberti adds
more electric piano and organ to tracks 5, 6, and 7; Tim Daisy’s the
visiting percussionist. There are only 7 tracks, but it’s a tight little arc,
and ark, across a black and white seascape. As the album begins,
with “Summer Above, there’s something immediately warm and
reassuring about the big old bass (or down-tuned guitar) twangs,
big-shouldered, keeping watch, as the singer walks between them,
so confidently. She seems so hospitable, as she announces,
“I am free, when I feel no one feeling me.”
Wha’? It almost doesn’t matter, as the jolting words settle back into the
sound of her voice. “Our bodies notice.” Oh yes. But then once again,
“I am free, when I feel no one feeling me.” Then why not ice your sound,
or are you just a little tease? She sounds too Sissy Spacek, too
wholesomely weird for that: Marie-Claire, the clairvoyant next door.
And indeed, in Chapter 3, “Girl Out West,” “When I was young, my heart
did not divide, basement was my countryside. And if you asked, when I
was in my prime, car seat was my ocean ride.” But now she’s got the
“walking sleep, and I will not stop at the Pacific sea, girl out West,
I will be clean for thee.” A pilgrimage toward some aspect of herself,
perhaps; some ideal, anyway. (Not to give away the ending of the
album, but, as you might suspect, there are scenes of flying
through the w-a-a-aves, of organ and other fluid druid instruments).
did not divide, basement was my countryside. And if you asked, when I
was in my prime, car seat was my ocean ride.” But now she’s got the
“walking sleep, and I will not stop at the Pacific sea, girl out West,
I will be clean for thee.” A pilgrimage toward some aspect of herself,
perhaps; some ideal, anyway. (Not to give away the ending of the
album, but, as you might suspect, there are scenes of flying
through the w-a-a-aves, of organ and other fluid druid instruments).
Before all that happens, the song which we are allowed to play
for you today is “Hey Moon,” the second track, in which
our voyager finds herself in the void between “Summer Above” and
“Girl Out West.” Way between, in a careful circle of guitar notes,
around a soft, steady tambourine (or maybe sleigh bells: sounds
like they’re shaking off snow). “Hey moon, hey moon, where you goin’.
I hide no light, I belong with you. The sun, your friend, is now too bright.
The star, inside, is---what you know. Hey moon, hey moon, hey moon,
hey moon, hey moon, where you go. I hide (have?) no light, I belong
with you.”
She’s not done tracking the object of her scrutiny yet, and she knows
all the coordinates up there in the dark, wherever that will get her.
What’s got her now is a beguiling sound, mostly her own sound,
carrying her around and around, and it cannot be hurried, or slowed
down. (She’ll wake up in the “walking sleep” of “Girl Out West,”
all too soon.)
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