Sometimes it’s okay to change horses in the middle of the stream. Below, we can hear how this conceptual EP initially sounded as an ambient project featuring field recordings from Scotland and Wales. But after hearing Barbara De Dominicis‘ vocals, one cannot imagine hearing this evocative release without them. Savaran (Mark Walters) was generous to invite De Dominicis to collaborate, and the instinctive nature of her contribution lends the project a mysterious and seaweed-drenched appeal. On the EP’s title track, her spoken words tumble over themselves, advancing and withdrawing, whispering and trailing off like soft surf. Everything you hear is white. On “The Siren Song”, De Dominicis’ dulcet tones conjure pleasant comparisons to the work of Lisa Gerrard. The singer becomes the sea in order to score it.
Walters’ electronics range from reserved to dominant; on the instrumental tracks, he dials back the waves like a receding storm. The timbres change like tides, reflecting stark coastal interaction. In attempting to reflect only facets of the coast, the artists have chosen wisely; the subject is too large to visit with a comprehensive brush. At times, intuition is the only way to hear the field recordings; one knows they are present, but their audibility is light. The synthesizers and the processed instruments suggest what has become so common as to be unsurprising: the sound of the ocean against the sand. But when these sounds come to the fore on “The Dark Murmur of the Sea”, one thinks, ah yes, the sea. What has been recreated by impression then makes a more indelible impact with memory. This makes Strandline more than just a coastal EP. The work is a (sometimes literal) tone poem that merges disciplines to form a more complete whole. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 