Perseverance is the first part of the ambitious four-part Borders series, with a new movement unveiled every six months until the series is complete. The album titles are inspired by Yoko Ono and refer to the four seasons; the initial installment matches up with winter. The overall project, however, tackles much more immediate issues.
When hearing the word borders, one thinks of the various border crises unfolding around the world. When Euan Alexander Millar McMeeken began writing this album, many of these crises had reached a tipping point: Brexit, Scottish independence, the “Build a Wall” movement. Coincidentally – or perhaps ironically – the artist had also recently moved to the Scottish Borders. Two disparate influences surface in this music: the transformation of a house to a home, and a growing anxiety about the state of the world. This latter force is apparent in the opening title, “I Shut My Eyes And The World Drops Dead,” although a mournful quality persists throughout. Fortunately, however lonely the music may sound, Glacis is not alone; he’s joined here by such familiar names as Aaron Martin, Mikael Lind, Simon McCorry and William Ryan Fritch. Together, they find a way to persevere.
Seeing that first title, one immediately thinks of COVID-19; but the genesis of this album precedes the pandemic. Instead, the title refers to a creeping ennui and the onset of a spiritual winter. In this piece, Glacis’ familiar piano is almost an afterthought, covered by concerned strings. Only at the start of the second piece does the artist’s signature instrument, a recently purchased upright piano, take center stage. The ivories reflect a feeling of peace while the strings swirl and grow agitated, echoing the tug of war between hope and despair, whose middle ground may in fact be perseverance. Will this time pass? Will sanity return? Will cooler heads prevail?
The quietude of the center pieces, especially “When the Sun Goes Down,” are redolent of winter. The short wave radio at the end of the piece is like an unintelligible, unanswered cry. Clouds of distorted drone cloak “Dusk Hides The Body,” like hate speech drowning out polite discourse. A single note is struck like a funeral procession or the tolling of a bell. The grief peaks in “Sorrow of Sorrows” before the concluding “Mourn the Dark,” whose title suggests that one may acclimate to darkness, winter, or sorrow to the extent that one is unable to move forward. Field recordings of waves and wind offer cold consolation. Fortunately, we know the artist is about to travel through all four seasons, and we’re looking forward to making the journey with him. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 