Mirrorring: "Fell Sound"

With Grouper, Liz Harris’ previous works have divined the same communicative exchange on display throughout the beautiful mire of “Fell Sound,” a mysterious process that can’t be reconciled to any familiar sense of scale in particular; you might very well be witnessing the birth of a galaxy, or enzymatic reactions in a bubbling substrate, but the result is often one of an all-enveloping closeness, a sense of being reduced at an unnoticeably cellular rate into a gaseous state that allows one to be literally absorbed into the flowing smoke puffing out of those pickups. It usually means that if you’re going to get into her work at all, you’ve got to be willing to offer up a little corporeal surrender in exchange. But relatively, Tiny Vipers’ Jesy Fortino, the other half of Mirrorring, seems to be stepping back a little from the barebones confrontations of her typical acoustic style, not simply deferring to Liz, but rather offering an obviously beneficial anchor to her wandering spirit. The kaleidoscope of crystal glints from her subtle picking is what ultimately keeps “Fell Sound” from sublimating entirely.

With that, Mirrorring is Liz and Jesy turned to negative eleven. I can immediately think to compare the duo to a hypothetical circumstance wherein underrated labelmates Windy & Carl find themselves inspired in the midst of a graveyard stroll instead of within the candlelit churches their stained-glass murals often seem to inhabit. This is straight-up ambient to separate the monks from the boys, and just dark enough to suit the late night set, which when compared to their accomplished peers is ultimately the same stark, slow moodiness that sets both women apart in their respective circles. They capably keep things from ever really moving into what might be considered the new age department by never giving in to drama, though there is always some subterranean tidal wave being held barely back by whispered incantations, a lurking low range that buoys the spare twinkle of lonely, swimming guitar notes and supplants the typical sense of dynamic tension. It’s a tension that really seeks to truly ensnare a presence instead of only predictably setting the stage for what could be considered, in the case of such ideal stillness, simply distracting dynamic and overcompensating décor. It’s like “Fell Sound” is the purple light that emanates from Mirrorring’s ghostbuster trap: a reflection of some infinite ghostly dimension contained in a tidy little space. Trust me, it works—the only way I could be enjoying this more is if Bill Murray had a supporting role as a wisecracking scientist. I’ll be making my way to the Kranky suggestion box now.