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Northern Song Dynasty
As if the allure of Jessica Bailiff's voice isn't enough to get any reasonable person excited about Northern Song Dynasty, then knowing that her fantastic song writing mixes exceedingly well with Jesse Edwards' approach should be enough to motivate everyone else.
All Is Number
Chances are you didn't get one of the 100 copies of this album thatwere released back in 2002. Now that it has been re-released, you'llwant to go out and grab it as soon as possible. Yes, Bailiff'smelancholy and hallucinogenic streams of sound are ever-present and yesher voice is as angelic as ever, moving softly beneath the pluck ofacoustic guitars and amps filled with enough reverb to shake thewindows right out of the wall. What's different from her work is whatJesse Edwards, of Red Morning Chorus, brings to the table.
As far as Bailiff's last, eponymous release goes, there was a definite emphasis on repeating, overlapping structures and simple, melodic themes. Though never feeling stagnant, the pull of her repetitive chords and buzzing music was deceptively complex: the simplicity of the album was a huge part of its beautiful success. Seeing how the Northern Song Dynasty record was developed in the time leading up to that album, I'm surprised to find how much that emphasis is minimized.
From the second that "The Disappearance of Patrick Phillip" begins, it's fairly obvious that there's more waiting in the wings. The indefinite, hovering weight that the Northern Song Dynasty emulates is a compliment between Bailiff's ethereal approach and what must be Edwards' love for cerebral and hypnotic songcraft. There are repeating motifs and longing guitar work scattered throughout the record, they feel more restricted, however. The songs are tighter somehow, because whether or not a definite chorus or verse ever makes an appearance on the record, it feels like each leaves its mark. Where Bailiff's music progressed in subtle movements, Northern Song Dynasty announces its paradigms and slips into them with trumpets hailing the metamorphosis.
Edwards' voice is exciting, too, his low, humming style of singing harmonizes with Bailiff's voice effortlessly. When they sing together and heavily distorted guitars begin to buzz away behind them, it's as though they're trying to slip into the track unnoticed and make an escape, trying to make the music swallow them whole even as they spin the music together. When the music is stripped bare, leaving almost nothing but a voice and a guitar, Bailiff seems to stand out more often. It is on the heavy, electric outings that Edwards shines. As the songs move back and forth between each other, how well these two work together really begins to show and the whole album becomes a cohesive and shining work almost as though the whole thing was a magic trick. Despite being released in October, the album is entirely appropriate for the winter. Not because it is cold or particularly festive, but because it is a radiantly warm set of songs. This is the other significant difference between Bailiff's solo work and her collaborative efforts: her last album sounded very bleak at times, almost romantically resigned to a quiet suffering, but this sounds joyful, sometimes exuberant. "Those Days" almost pops out of the speakers at points when trails of celestial guitar funkiness spiral out of it like comets. Not to say there aren't sad moments or even heart aching ones, but it is the happy songs that stick out most for me and seem to pull the most weight on the album.
If you've never heard Jessica Bailiff or Jesse Edwards' work, then this might actually be the best place to start. The balance between desperation and happiness on this album might make it more attractive to some who have approached either's work and found it akin to reading Sylvia Plath. After enough exposure, neither sounds particularly cold and the subtle magic they both work on this record will permeate everything, making whatever darker themes are present seem less important than the sonic brilliance demonstrated in their work.
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