The Singing Skies is sparse, vulnerable, the vocals mixed up, somehow feeling simultaneously alt.country and Red House Painters. The first song, Acting Fine, with it’s droning pedal steal feels like a lethargic, perhaps depressant afflicted Harvest Moon. But you can also hear Chan Marshall, and all the other beacons of sparse yet emotional folk music, whose personalities stand up above the swirling, plodding, and respectful Americana instrumentation. Which is actually quite curious because it’s the work of Sydney’s Kell Derrig-Hall, and probably says as much about our own perception of what this kind of music means, as opposed to any self-conscious directions Derrig-Hall is heading in.
When you look at who’s providing the music names like Laura Jean and Biddy Connor pop up and you know it’s a class affair. The music itself drifts down, feels fragile, and barely escapes once the vocals disappear, and you get the sense that all it would take is a small gust of wind for the gentle and emotive, banjo, piano, acoustic guitar, organ and strings to just evaporate at a moments notice.
It’s music that is for stillness; the groove gentle, lilting, the vocals intoned quietly and you can tell that Derrig-Hall’s eyes are closed. It’s sound created with plenty of space, without trickery. It feels old, sincere. Lasting.
Bob Baker Fish
