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"womb was written twelve years ago. The illustration on the cover is the
face of God, taken from the stained glass of York Minster. The cathedral has
burned down and been rebuilt since I made the record. I was looking at
medieval music and reinventing the melodies and structures using grainy,
well-worn earthy samples and location recordings.
I think the record is still strong, sometimes for reasons that weren't my
intentions at the time. It's certainly been an "influential" record. I
recently heard for the first time some "apocalyptic folk", a scene that
seems to be modelled on that formula and making lots of cash for its elite.
Bless them.
One particular theme leaps out at me, that of superimposing the
psychogeographic landscape of "rural" Cornwall over the "city" of London.
When I recorded that album I was living in London, now 12 years later I find
myself living in the vicinity of the Cornish recordings...(waiting for a
solar eclipse!)
It's a theme I've retuned to in my writing recently - negotiating the
territory of one place using a map of another.
I'd call the text a "narration" rather than a sermon. It was the last piece
of text I used on a recording for 12 years, as I wanted to explore sonic
texture without the distraction of chatter."
Like a beacon to mark the entry point of some new territory, the Tripod of Immortality stands amidst clunking bells, washing surf, organ and flute shimmer and oddly muffled vocal distortions. Rudimentary electronic sounds and ocean waves open Sealing a Phase; a quirkily modernized canon plays beneath Ayers' sermon-like words, spoken with a calmingly subdued fervency. ("Lift up your voices, don't be afraid. Touch our tongues as we rise from the waves.") Over a simmering organ stew, one can hear the ringing and clanking of Clear Bells.
An ecclesiastical feel continues with Light our Darkness, through which a curtain of choirsound ruffles, along with assorted looping elements and light percussion. A brassily clinking backdrop (reprocessed gamelan sounds?) is overlain by a mid-tempo piano tune in the fairly musical Jangled Senses. Operating in a medieval mode, Vegetation Flesh is churned by a hazy, stately melody, backed by drone, tambourine and light drumbeats.
Nigel intones his Vegetation Narration (5:34), words conjuring up naturalistic surrealism. ("Poppies spring from the broken asphalt, creepers sprout from the tarmac, red berries grow from the jungle flowers... The green lungs of the planet bring me jewels beyond description.") The piece closes on jangling chimes, synth chords, a simple beat, evolving to be underlain by stirring sweeps, added cymbals and bird song. Prolonged female "ahhh"s waft behind and around the electronically droning core of Shankini Nada, which eventually builds in power and density, until it cuts away. Assorted cheeps and twitters dreamily decorate Bird Position's (2:27) light, gauzey film of piano, sustain and water sounds.
Over a hushedly dignified, yet quaintly raw, tune, Nigel's softly modulated voice delivers his non-denominational praise of the sacredness of life and love in Blended Senses, closing the 37-minute disc with notes of thankfulness. ("Fill your heart with a song of love, a song of praise, a song of gratitude. A song of praise and joy in the spirit future of love.")
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