Espers founder Meg Baird returns to Drag City for her fourth solo album, an ecstatic daydream that follows collaborations with Mary Lattimore and Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
It's hard to believe it's almost been a decade since Baird's last album "Don't Weigh Down the Light". "Furling" is a darker, dreamier record than its predecessor that captures a reality that's shifted markedly since 2015. Baird's unmistakable voice still carries each track, floating above expertly restrained drums, weightless electric piano and psychedelic guitar twangs that sound inspired by her time in Heron Oblivion in the interim. The shimmering acid folk of her Espers recordings flickers to life on the Mazzy Star-alike 'Star Hill Song', while 'Cross Bay' reaches further into the past, sounding more in line with the Laurel Canyon set.
Surprisingly, it's not all doom and gloom either: 'Twelve Saints' is so uplifting it's almost given us a breath of hope for the future, and 'The Saddest Verses' is unexpectedly heartwarming, bolting a sensitive vocal performance to reverberating pedal steel wails and hollow, penetrating drums. Quite lovely.
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Espers founder Meg Baird returns to Drag City for her fourth solo album, an ecstatic daydream that follows collaborations with Mary Lattimore and Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
It's hard to believe it's almost been a decade since Baird's last album "Don't Weigh Down the Light". "Furling" is a darker, dreamier record than its predecessor that captures a reality that's shifted markedly since 2015. Baird's unmistakable voice still carries each track, floating above expertly restrained drums, weightless electric piano and psychedelic guitar twangs that sound inspired by her time in Heron Oblivion in the interim. The shimmering acid folk of her Espers recordings flickers to life on the Mazzy Star-alike 'Star Hill Song', while 'Cross Bay' reaches further into the past, sounding more in line with the Laurel Canyon set.
Surprisingly, it's not all doom and gloom either: 'Twelve Saints' is so uplifting it's almost given us a breath of hope for the future, and 'The Saddest Verses' is unexpectedly heartwarming, bolting a sensitive vocal performance to reverberating pedal steel wails and hollow, penetrating drums. Quite lovely.
Espers founder Meg Baird returns to Drag City for her fourth solo album, an ecstatic daydream that follows collaborations with Mary Lattimore and Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
It's hard to believe it's almost been a decade since Baird's last album "Don't Weigh Down the Light". "Furling" is a darker, dreamier record than its predecessor that captures a reality that's shifted markedly since 2015. Baird's unmistakable voice still carries each track, floating above expertly restrained drums, weightless electric piano and psychedelic guitar twangs that sound inspired by her time in Heron Oblivion in the interim. The shimmering acid folk of her Espers recordings flickers to life on the Mazzy Star-alike 'Star Hill Song', while 'Cross Bay' reaches further into the past, sounding more in line with the Laurel Canyon set.
Surprisingly, it's not all doom and gloom either: 'Twelve Saints' is so uplifting it's almost given us a breath of hope for the future, and 'The Saddest Verses' is unexpectedly heartwarming, bolting a sensitive vocal performance to reverberating pedal steel wails and hollow, penetrating drums. Quite lovely.
Espers founder Meg Baird returns to Drag City for her fourth solo album, an ecstatic daydream that follows collaborations with Mary Lattimore and Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
It's hard to believe it's almost been a decade since Baird's last album "Don't Weigh Down the Light". "Furling" is a darker, dreamier record than its predecessor that captures a reality that's shifted markedly since 2015. Baird's unmistakable voice still carries each track, floating above expertly restrained drums, weightless electric piano and psychedelic guitar twangs that sound inspired by her time in Heron Oblivion in the interim. The shimmering acid folk of her Espers recordings flickers to life on the Mazzy Star-alike 'Star Hill Song', while 'Cross Bay' reaches further into the past, sounding more in line with the Laurel Canyon set.
Surprisingly, it's not all doom and gloom either: 'Twelve Saints' is so uplifting it's almost given us a breath of hope for the future, and 'The Saddest Verses' is unexpectedly heartwarming, bolting a sensitive vocal performance to reverberating pedal steel wails and hollow, penetrating drums. Quite lovely.
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Espers founder Meg Baird returns to Drag City for her fourth solo album, an ecstatic daydream that follows collaborations with Mary Lattimore and Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
It's hard to believe it's almost been a decade since Baird's last album "Don't Weigh Down the Light". "Furling" is a darker, dreamier record than its predecessor that captures a reality that's shifted markedly since 2015. Baird's unmistakable voice still carries each track, floating above expertly restrained drums, weightless electric piano and psychedelic guitar twangs that sound inspired by her time in Heron Oblivion in the interim. The shimmering acid folk of her Espers recordings flickers to life on the Mazzy Star-alike 'Star Hill Song', while 'Cross Bay' reaches further into the past, sounding more in line with the Laurel Canyon set.
Surprisingly, it's not all doom and gloom either: 'Twelve Saints' is so uplifting it's almost given us a breath of hope for the future, and 'The Saddest Verses' is unexpectedly heartwarming, bolting a sensitive vocal performance to reverberating pedal steel wails and hollow, penetrating drums. Quite lovely.
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Espers founder Meg Baird returns to Drag City for her fourth solo album, an ecstatic daydream that follows collaborations with Mary Lattimore and Bill Callahan & Bonnie “Prince” Billy.
It's hard to believe it's almost been a decade since Baird's last album "Don't Weigh Down the Light". "Furling" is a darker, dreamier record than its predecessor that captures a reality that's shifted markedly since 2015. Baird's unmistakable voice still carries each track, floating above expertly restrained drums, weightless electric piano and psychedelic guitar twangs that sound inspired by her time in Heron Oblivion in the interim. The shimmering acid folk of her Espers recordings flickers to life on the Mazzy Star-alike 'Star Hill Song', while 'Cross Bay' reaches further into the past, sounding more in line with the Laurel Canyon set.
Surprisingly, it's not all doom and gloom either: 'Twelve Saints' is so uplifting it's almost given us a breath of hope for the future, and 'The Saddest Verses' is unexpectedly heartwarming, bolting a sensitive vocal performance to reverberating pedal steel wails and hollow, penetrating drums. Quite lovely.