On Viriditas, the tracks begin as modern composition and end up as drone, an alchemical development that exposes the porous membrane between the two fields. This is the premiere release for Brooklyn cellist Kirin McElwain, who also adds voice and synth along with a guest spot on organ from Omar Zubair.
The cover art matches the theme. “Future Sets (After Ruysch)”, a portion of Jessie McDowell’s larger work, also begins as one thing and ends up as another. The digital-on-aluminum image draws on still life and Dutch flower painting to become something outside time. And the album’s title, taken from Hildegard von Bingen, means greening or greenness and considers creativity as a renewing source for the soul. Yet in order for something to be transformed or renewed, first it must be broken down, which explains the character of the music.
In “Work,” McElwain’s voice is the constant, her looped vowels sustained throughout, like a 12th century prayer. Strands of synth sway in the background as a darker element is introduced, like real life intruding on spiritual escape. No matter how much one wishes to shut out the intruding forces, they manage to seep in; and sometimes they are already inside. Sonic distortion threatens to undo the beauty. For a short stretch, McElwain’s voice seems to vanish, emerging only on the other side of the clouds. The cello finds its own space within the density, a possible metaphor for the acceptance of light and dark within one’s self.
“At the Surface” begins with echoed plucks and a feeling of dodging raindrops. Again the skies darken, but this time the cello emerges from the drone, a candle in the midst of the morass. The last minute is the EP’s most striking, an example of hard-won clarity that stretches into “Letting.” A winged creature flutters by again and again, like a doubt that won’t go away. In a setting this brief, there’s no closure, only struggle, perhaps progress. Toward the end, McElwain sings, letting go, two of only a handful of words on the EP until “Pacific Tell II”s tell you why, an open-ended phrase that falls into a field of strings, resting luxuriously until the final tell you, the listener’s ears left open for words that never arrive. The ending fits because this artist, like her music, is waist-deep in the act of becoming, and what will be has yet to be revealed. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 