I Sigh, I Resign
Almost a quarter of a century into her thing, Belgian DIY folk outlier Annelies Monseré returns with her most satisfying and fully realised album yet, a tantalising spiral of folk x early music vapours, inhabiting a realm shared with Trish Keenan's recently released Broadcast demos, and Nico's influential Desertshore.
Recorded in much the same way as its excellent predecessor 'Mares', with close mic'd vocals that magnify Monseré's restrained emotions, 'I sigh, I resign' shifts into its own dimension via muffled drum machine pulses that beat slowly below ghosted instrumentation. Monseré has always made her own distinctive kind of folk music; as entwined with Codeine's hushed slowcore as Nico's icy expression. Here, she sounds completely unlocked - after two decades of cautious experimentation, she finally draws with more deliberate strokes - and the effect is mesmerising. Just take a peek at the cover, a collection of gorgeous illusory drawings that Monseré sketched herself in the style of historically marginalised and excluded artists such as Judith Leyster, Clara Peeters and particularly Maria Van Oosterwijck. These Dutch Golden Age painters were acclaimed in their day - and often revered by their peers - but have been pushed into the sidelines in favour of the patriarchal canon: Rembrandt, Vermeer and Lievens, for example.
Monseré references early music via proto-baroque organ motifs and traces of church music, but she brings everything into the present via carefully annunciated words, punctuating drones with familiar phrases and breathy poems. On the title track, a faint kick taps in the background like a far-off war drum, drowned out by blurred chords - as Monseré's voice carries through the fog. She constantly plays with the characterisation of her voice too, something that's most obvious on the two versions of 'Dark Ages'; the first rendition, set to piano, picks up every breath, while the second, a more elaborately orchestrated interpretation formed around organ and drums, obscures her words with reverb and effects, trading clarity for opaque mystery. On 'Salt', she amplifies the rhythm, pulling hi-hat clangs into metallic whirrs, playing brittle organ melodies over the top while sculpting her voice into a layered, choral refrain.
‘I Sigh, I Resign’ is one of those quietly impactful albums that could have sat comfortably next to classic Les Disques du Crépuscule releases, somewhere between Tuxedomoon, Wim Mertens and Gavin Bryars. Monseré provides similarly deep & mysterious renditions, operating from the far fringes to hand us a highly personal comment on art history that melts into pure feeling. Just gorgeous.
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Almost a quarter of a century into her thing, Belgian DIY folk outlier Annelies Monseré returns with her most satisfying and fully realised album yet, a tantalising spiral of folk x early music vapours, inhabiting a realm shared with Trish Keenan's recently released Broadcast demos, and Nico's influential Desertshore.
Recorded in much the same way as its excellent predecessor 'Mares', with close mic'd vocals that magnify Monseré's restrained emotions, 'I sigh, I resign' shifts into its own dimension via muffled drum machine pulses that beat slowly below ghosted instrumentation. Monseré has always made her own distinctive kind of folk music; as entwined with Codeine's hushed slowcore as Nico's icy expression. Here, she sounds completely unlocked - after two decades of cautious experimentation, she finally draws with more deliberate strokes - and the effect is mesmerising. Just take a peek at the cover, a collection of gorgeous illusory drawings that Monseré sketched herself in the style of historically marginalised and excluded artists such as Judith Leyster, Clara Peeters and particularly Maria Van Oosterwijck. These Dutch Golden Age painters were acclaimed in their day - and often revered by their peers - but have been pushed into the sidelines in favour of the patriarchal canon: Rembrandt, Vermeer and Lievens, for example.
Monseré references early music via proto-baroque organ motifs and traces of church music, but she brings everything into the present via carefully annunciated words, punctuating drones with familiar phrases and breathy poems. On the title track, a faint kick taps in the background like a far-off war drum, drowned out by blurred chords - as Monseré's voice carries through the fog. She constantly plays with the characterisation of her voice too, something that's most obvious on the two versions of 'Dark Ages'; the first rendition, set to piano, picks up every breath, while the second, a more elaborately orchestrated interpretation formed around organ and drums, obscures her words with reverb and effects, trading clarity for opaque mystery. On 'Salt', she amplifies the rhythm, pulling hi-hat clangs into metallic whirrs, playing brittle organ melodies over the top while sculpting her voice into a layered, choral refrain.
‘I Sigh, I Resign’ is one of those quietly impactful albums that could have sat comfortably next to classic Les Disques du Crépuscule releases, somewhere between Tuxedomoon, Wim Mertens and Gavin Bryars. Monseré provides similarly deep & mysterious renditions, operating from the far fringes to hand us a highly personal comment on art history that melts into pure feeling. Just gorgeous.
Almost a quarter of a century into her thing, Belgian DIY folk outlier Annelies Monseré returns with her most satisfying and fully realised album yet, a tantalising spiral of folk x early music vapours, inhabiting a realm shared with Trish Keenan's recently released Broadcast demos, and Nico's influential Desertshore.
Recorded in much the same way as its excellent predecessor 'Mares', with close mic'd vocals that magnify Monseré's restrained emotions, 'I sigh, I resign' shifts into its own dimension via muffled drum machine pulses that beat slowly below ghosted instrumentation. Monseré has always made her own distinctive kind of folk music; as entwined with Codeine's hushed slowcore as Nico's icy expression. Here, she sounds completely unlocked - after two decades of cautious experimentation, she finally draws with more deliberate strokes - and the effect is mesmerising. Just take a peek at the cover, a collection of gorgeous illusory drawings that Monseré sketched herself in the style of historically marginalised and excluded artists such as Judith Leyster, Clara Peeters and particularly Maria Van Oosterwijck. These Dutch Golden Age painters were acclaimed in their day - and often revered by their peers - but have been pushed into the sidelines in favour of the patriarchal canon: Rembrandt, Vermeer and Lievens, for example.
Monseré references early music via proto-baroque organ motifs and traces of church music, but she brings everything into the present via carefully annunciated words, punctuating drones with familiar phrases and breathy poems. On the title track, a faint kick taps in the background like a far-off war drum, drowned out by blurred chords - as Monseré's voice carries through the fog. She constantly plays with the characterisation of her voice too, something that's most obvious on the two versions of 'Dark Ages'; the first rendition, set to piano, picks up every breath, while the second, a more elaborately orchestrated interpretation formed around organ and drums, obscures her words with reverb and effects, trading clarity for opaque mystery. On 'Salt', she amplifies the rhythm, pulling hi-hat clangs into metallic whirrs, playing brittle organ melodies over the top while sculpting her voice into a layered, choral refrain.
‘I Sigh, I Resign’ is one of those quietly impactful albums that could have sat comfortably next to classic Les Disques du Crépuscule releases, somewhere between Tuxedomoon, Wim Mertens and Gavin Bryars. Monseré provides similarly deep & mysterious renditions, operating from the far fringes to hand us a highly personal comment on art history that melts into pure feeling. Just gorgeous.
Almost a quarter of a century into her thing, Belgian DIY folk outlier Annelies Monseré returns with her most satisfying and fully realised album yet, a tantalising spiral of folk x early music vapours, inhabiting a realm shared with Trish Keenan's recently released Broadcast demos, and Nico's influential Desertshore.
Recorded in much the same way as its excellent predecessor 'Mares', with close mic'd vocals that magnify Monseré's restrained emotions, 'I sigh, I resign' shifts into its own dimension via muffled drum machine pulses that beat slowly below ghosted instrumentation. Monseré has always made her own distinctive kind of folk music; as entwined with Codeine's hushed slowcore as Nico's icy expression. Here, she sounds completely unlocked - after two decades of cautious experimentation, she finally draws with more deliberate strokes - and the effect is mesmerising. Just take a peek at the cover, a collection of gorgeous illusory drawings that Monseré sketched herself in the style of historically marginalised and excluded artists such as Judith Leyster, Clara Peeters and particularly Maria Van Oosterwijck. These Dutch Golden Age painters were acclaimed in their day - and often revered by their peers - but have been pushed into the sidelines in favour of the patriarchal canon: Rembrandt, Vermeer and Lievens, for example.
Monseré references early music via proto-baroque organ motifs and traces of church music, but she brings everything into the present via carefully annunciated words, punctuating drones with familiar phrases and breathy poems. On the title track, a faint kick taps in the background like a far-off war drum, drowned out by blurred chords - as Monseré's voice carries through the fog. She constantly plays with the characterisation of her voice too, something that's most obvious on the two versions of 'Dark Ages'; the first rendition, set to piano, picks up every breath, while the second, a more elaborately orchestrated interpretation formed around organ and drums, obscures her words with reverb and effects, trading clarity for opaque mystery. On 'Salt', she amplifies the rhythm, pulling hi-hat clangs into metallic whirrs, playing brittle organ melodies over the top while sculpting her voice into a layered, choral refrain.
‘I Sigh, I Resign’ is one of those quietly impactful albums that could have sat comfortably next to classic Les Disques du Crépuscule releases, somewhere between Tuxedomoon, Wim Mertens and Gavin Bryars. Monseré provides similarly deep & mysterious renditions, operating from the far fringes to hand us a highly personal comment on art history that melts into pure feeling. Just gorgeous.
Drawings & handwriting by Annelies Monseré, design & layout by Anna Peaker. Mastered by Carim Clasmann. Includes a download of the album dropped to your account.
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Almost a quarter of a century into her thing, Belgian DIY folk outlier Annelies Monseré returns with her most satisfying and fully realised album yet, a tantalising spiral of folk x early music vapours, inhabiting a realm shared with Trish Keenan's recently released Broadcast demos, and Nico's influential Desertshore.
Recorded in much the same way as its excellent predecessor 'Mares', with close mic'd vocals that magnify Monseré's restrained emotions, 'I sigh, I resign' shifts into its own dimension via muffled drum machine pulses that beat slowly below ghosted instrumentation. Monseré has always made her own distinctive kind of folk music; as entwined with Codeine's hushed slowcore as Nico's icy expression. Here, she sounds completely unlocked - after two decades of cautious experimentation, she finally draws with more deliberate strokes - and the effect is mesmerising. Just take a peek at the cover, a collection of gorgeous illusory drawings that Monseré sketched herself in the style of historically marginalised and excluded artists such as Judith Leyster, Clara Peeters and particularly Maria Van Oosterwijck. These Dutch Golden Age painters were acclaimed in their day - and often revered by their peers - but have been pushed into the sidelines in favour of the patriarchal canon: Rembrandt, Vermeer and Lievens, for example.
Monseré references early music via proto-baroque organ motifs and traces of church music, but she brings everything into the present via carefully annunciated words, punctuating drones with familiar phrases and breathy poems. On the title track, a faint kick taps in the background like a far-off war drum, drowned out by blurred chords - as Monseré's voice carries through the fog. She constantly plays with the characterisation of her voice too, something that's most obvious on the two versions of 'Dark Ages'; the first rendition, set to piano, picks up every breath, while the second, a more elaborately orchestrated interpretation formed around organ and drums, obscures her words with reverb and effects, trading clarity for opaque mystery. On 'Salt', she amplifies the rhythm, pulling hi-hat clangs into metallic whirrs, playing brittle organ melodies over the top while sculpting her voice into a layered, choral refrain.
‘I Sigh, I Resign’ is one of those quietly impactful albums that could have sat comfortably next to classic Les Disques du Crépuscule releases, somewhere between Tuxedomoon, Wim Mertens and Gavin Bryars. Monseré provides similarly deep & mysterious renditions, operating from the far fringes to hand us a highly personal comment on art history that melts into pure feeling. Just gorgeous.