Brooklyn duo LEYA's third extended solo suite is a revelation - Marilu Donovan's peculiarly tuned harp sounds subtler and more affecting than ever before, and Adam Markiewicz's tender, operatic voice soars. Wyrd chamber pop for fans of ANHONI, Philip Glass, Merope, Julee Cruise or even Arca.
One of the defining features of contemporary Western avant-garde music is tuning - an interest in scaling that attempts to move away from equal temperament. This isn't anything particularly new to the rest of the world, but when Europe (driven by the church) decided to standardise tuning there was a connection to older, headier sounds that was lost to the convenience provided by mass produced, easily playable instruments. LEYA harpist Donovan developed her own tuning system for the instrument, and it's been a defining characteristic of the duo's sound since their 2018 debut 'The Fool' - something that links her playing to Baltic folk music, not just classical harp standards. Not exactly discordant, as many critics might like to claim, it's a careful and historically literate use of the instrument that prioritizes pure sound over mathematics - this ain't just intonation, fyi - and it's something the duo have fully come to terms with on 'I Forget Everything'.
Donovan and Markiewicz's latest mini-album is their first to fold in their own electronic processes (on their debut, that aspect of their sound was farmed out to collaborators like Eartheater and PC Worship), and it's a move that suits them. Each sound is made from the harp, violin and voice, as ever, but elements are resampled, tape recorded and stretched out, creating an ethereal fog that sifts gently beneath their live takes. On opener 'Eden of Haze', Markiewicz's harp chimes unsettlingly while pad sounds evaporate into the backdrop and Donovan's vocals provide an anchor; it's music that's cinematic in the best way: mysterious, unbalancing and deftly evocative, even until it abruptly jump-cuts into 'Corners'. Here, they take a similar approach, using faded Polaroid orchestral textures to bring out the unusual colors of the harp and vocals. And they advance the narrative on the brief 'Baited', looping an echo of harp from the previous track 'Weaving' and letting it throb underneath Donovan's half-whispered sweet nothings. Gorgeous.
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Brooklyn duo LEYA's third extended solo suite is a revelation - Marilu Donovan's peculiarly tuned harp sounds subtler and more affecting than ever before, and Adam Markiewicz's tender, operatic voice soars. Wyrd chamber pop for fans of ANHONI, Philip Glass, Merope, Julee Cruise or even Arca.
One of the defining features of contemporary Western avant-garde music is tuning - an interest in scaling that attempts to move away from equal temperament. This isn't anything particularly new to the rest of the world, but when Europe (driven by the church) decided to standardise tuning there was a connection to older, headier sounds that was lost to the convenience provided by mass produced, easily playable instruments. LEYA harpist Donovan developed her own tuning system for the instrument, and it's been a defining characteristic of the duo's sound since their 2018 debut 'The Fool' - something that links her playing to Baltic folk music, not just classical harp standards. Not exactly discordant, as many critics might like to claim, it's a careful and historically literate use of the instrument that prioritizes pure sound over mathematics - this ain't just intonation, fyi - and it's something the duo have fully come to terms with on 'I Forget Everything'.
Donovan and Markiewicz's latest mini-album is their first to fold in their own electronic processes (on their debut, that aspect of their sound was farmed out to collaborators like Eartheater and PC Worship), and it's a move that suits them. Each sound is made from the harp, violin and voice, as ever, but elements are resampled, tape recorded and stretched out, creating an ethereal fog that sifts gently beneath their live takes. On opener 'Eden of Haze', Markiewicz's harp chimes unsettlingly while pad sounds evaporate into the backdrop and Donovan's vocals provide an anchor; it's music that's cinematic in the best way: mysterious, unbalancing and deftly evocative, even until it abruptly jump-cuts into 'Corners'. Here, they take a similar approach, using faded Polaroid orchestral textures to bring out the unusual colors of the harp and vocals. And they advance the narrative on the brief 'Baited', looping an echo of harp from the previous track 'Weaving' and letting it throb underneath Donovan's half-whispered sweet nothings. Gorgeous.
Brooklyn duo LEYA's third extended solo suite is a revelation - Marilu Donovan's peculiarly tuned harp sounds subtler and more affecting than ever before, and Adam Markiewicz's tender, operatic voice soars. Wyrd chamber pop for fans of ANHONI, Philip Glass, Merope, Julee Cruise or even Arca.
One of the defining features of contemporary Western avant-garde music is tuning - an interest in scaling that attempts to move away from equal temperament. This isn't anything particularly new to the rest of the world, but when Europe (driven by the church) decided to standardise tuning there was a connection to older, headier sounds that was lost to the convenience provided by mass produced, easily playable instruments. LEYA harpist Donovan developed her own tuning system for the instrument, and it's been a defining characteristic of the duo's sound since their 2018 debut 'The Fool' - something that links her playing to Baltic folk music, not just classical harp standards. Not exactly discordant, as many critics might like to claim, it's a careful and historically literate use of the instrument that prioritizes pure sound over mathematics - this ain't just intonation, fyi - and it's something the duo have fully come to terms with on 'I Forget Everything'.
Donovan and Markiewicz's latest mini-album is their first to fold in their own electronic processes (on their debut, that aspect of their sound was farmed out to collaborators like Eartheater and PC Worship), and it's a move that suits them. Each sound is made from the harp, violin and voice, as ever, but elements are resampled, tape recorded and stretched out, creating an ethereal fog that sifts gently beneath their live takes. On opener 'Eden of Haze', Markiewicz's harp chimes unsettlingly while pad sounds evaporate into the backdrop and Donovan's vocals provide an anchor; it's music that's cinematic in the best way: mysterious, unbalancing and deftly evocative, even until it abruptly jump-cuts into 'Corners'. Here, they take a similar approach, using faded Polaroid orchestral textures to bring out the unusual colors of the harp and vocals. And they advance the narrative on the brief 'Baited', looping an echo of harp from the previous track 'Weaving' and letting it throb underneath Donovan's half-whispered sweet nothings. Gorgeous.
Brooklyn duo LEYA's third extended solo suite is a revelation - Marilu Donovan's peculiarly tuned harp sounds subtler and more affecting than ever before, and Adam Markiewicz's tender, operatic voice soars. Wyrd chamber pop for fans of ANHONI, Philip Glass, Merope, Julee Cruise or even Arca.
One of the defining features of contemporary Western avant-garde music is tuning - an interest in scaling that attempts to move away from equal temperament. This isn't anything particularly new to the rest of the world, but when Europe (driven by the church) decided to standardise tuning there was a connection to older, headier sounds that was lost to the convenience provided by mass produced, easily playable instruments. LEYA harpist Donovan developed her own tuning system for the instrument, and it's been a defining characteristic of the duo's sound since their 2018 debut 'The Fool' - something that links her playing to Baltic folk music, not just classical harp standards. Not exactly discordant, as many critics might like to claim, it's a careful and historically literate use of the instrument that prioritizes pure sound over mathematics - this ain't just intonation, fyi - and it's something the duo have fully come to terms with on 'I Forget Everything'.
Donovan and Markiewicz's latest mini-album is their first to fold in their own electronic processes (on their debut, that aspect of their sound was farmed out to collaborators like Eartheater and PC Worship), and it's a move that suits them. Each sound is made from the harp, violin and voice, as ever, but elements are resampled, tape recorded and stretched out, creating an ethereal fog that sifts gently beneath their live takes. On opener 'Eden of Haze', Markiewicz's harp chimes unsettlingly while pad sounds evaporate into the backdrop and Donovan's vocals provide an anchor; it's music that's cinematic in the best way: mysterious, unbalancing and deftly evocative, even until it abruptly jump-cuts into 'Corners'. Here, they take a similar approach, using faded Polaroid orchestral textures to bring out the unusual colors of the harp and vocals. And they advance the narrative on the brief 'Baited', looping an echo of harp from the previous track 'Weaving' and letting it throb underneath Donovan's half-whispered sweet nothings. Gorgeous.