With the sword firmly out the stone, the ex-Midlake man stalks the myths and legends of old England.

Release date: 1st December 2023

Label: Bella Union

Format: CD / Vinyl / Digital

Harp the band and Albion the album, lest there be any confusion, the names, paired, conjuring up images of Terry Riley and his Harp Of New Albion recordings. And whilst, musically, this is totally at odds with Riley’s piano harmonics, I like to think there a putative link, conceptually, even if unconsciously. Harp is the project of ex-Midlake man, Tim Smith, along with his wife, Kathi Zung. But rather than revisit the flavours of that band, however inescapable some of the feel may be, here he has merged in some additional moods that represent a progression from the dour anglo-folk scaffolding Midlake were latterly erecting. Those moods, says Smith, come from his discovery of the 1980s, or rather, the music of that decade, as seen through a 4AD filter, as in the UK record label and its roster of gothic steampunkery. He also became infatuated with The Cure’s Faith, that impetus contriving to make the prog-folk, which this undoubtedly is, just a little bit darker. Drums thud electronically, synths billow dense soundscapes, and the occasional flute, possibly mellotronic, spars with guitar and bass. On top, the smooth wash of Smith’s vocal, which remains his most identifiable instrument, sometimes double or treble tracked. Had the Moody Blues been a decade or so later, and resident in Whitby, this is maybe how they would sound?

The first sound you hear is is-it-flute-or-is-it-mellotron sweeping out over picked guitar for The Pleasant Grey, a brief instrumental interlude to open the show and set the scene. A wistful and languid piece, the contrast betwen the theme and the electronic drums is just enough to be noticeable, that feeling deliberate. This, and all the electronic percussion, is Zungs contribution to the pot. I Am The Seed follows, with a mix of acoustic and then electric picked guitar, with two Smith’s intoning a song of restlessness and change. His voice chimes pure and clear, bringing to mind the whole pantheon of the Canterbury sound, exhibiting yet another vestige of his Anglophilia, the cascading spikes of guitar that accompany his voice from somewhere more to the north and west. A Fountain opens with more of that resonant guitar, heavy on the chorus pedal, and a lamenting voice, near hymnal in mood, a deceptively simple melody that nails itself into place. The electronic drums sound otherwise, and a middle eight has a moody synth sparring with those spiky guitar modals. It is quite lovely, the mix between a 60s electric folk and 70s post punk all there, hiding in plain sight.

Daughters Of Albion lifts its origin from William Blake’s poem, listing the things Smith holds dear. With the mournful voice and semi-psychedelic counter melody, there are echoes of the sort of note patterns that OMD often apply to their slower tunes; think Souvenir. And that can be no bad thing. Chrystals is then another bridging piece, a minute and a half, with Smith never more choirboy. This allows Country Cathedral Drive to be more of an overt janglefest, with crooned multitracked vocals and swathes of synth, the Moodies in black leather greatcoats congruence at its most pronounced. By this stage it is apparent how well-sequenced this record is proving to be, the mysticism slowly more abundant. Which could almost be a cue for the pipe organ coda that ends the song.

Shining Spires seems still in that cathedral or nearby, a muted hymn over an electronic bed that mimics brass and woodwind, an acoustic strum giving some shape to the keening vocal, a cross between father and son, Tim and Jeff Buckley, the tune that either could have written. Silver Wings captures some classic early Fairporty tropes in the minor key delivery, some bass work on this one, courtesy erstwhile Midlake bandmate, Paul Alexander, the vocal then back on a Canterbury meets the Moodies caravan. After the slightly less structured song before it, it restores the focus, and could be the outstanding song for me. Seven Long Suns, sticks to this orthodoxy, with additional guitar parts from Max Kinghorn-Mills, aka Brighton psych-folkster, Hollow Hand, returning the favour Smith gave his last album, Your Own Adventure. Another highpoint, this has a searching and wistful melody, aided by the orchestral mellotronics, if indeed they be. The choir of Smiths give a SoCal folky feel to it that is gorgeous.

A further palate-cleansing instrumental, Moon, takes that feel further still, before Throne Of Amber sparkles into gear, with guitars and the drum machine on motorik mild. It’s yet another corker, sealing off any idea of the album winding slowly down. In fact, with Alexander’s bass prowling the undercurrent, it is the track that epitomises and encapsulates the album. If you don’t like it, then this record isn’t for you. So much so, that the final track, Herstmonceux, is almost an epilogue, a digestif to help accommodate all you have listened to. It starts with the sound of ghostly monks, chanting, I imagine, in a ruined abbey. If that sounds impossibly pretentious, and, in any other setting, it would be, but so carefully has Smith lured you into his mythical rose-tinted version of this island, it sits just right. (Mythical rose-tinted? Go check the album cover, reeking of Uther Pendragon and the court of King Arthur.) The song becomes a delicate layer of sonic textures, analog synths vying with electric guitars on reverb, Smith sounding at journey’s end, his voice now sounding pleasingly weary. Journey’s end, with the knowledge that Herstmonceux means more than a name plucked out at random, an additional charm; it is a medieval castle near Brighton, which Smith had visited after meeting with Kinghorn-Mills.

This is one of those rare records that weaves a clever spell on you, seeming merely decent as it introduces itself, yet sending out subtle feelers from the start, that inescapably draw you in, until it seems you are a part of the world he has created, a dreamscape you then end reluctant to leave behind. All of this from North Carolina, too, where he relocated himself to be with Zung. Bringing a partner into a pole position within any established musician’s band, as both performer and muse, can sometimes be fraught. At least two of the songs here are recognisably dedicated to Zung, a “splendid fawn, brighter than every sea and all the mountains“, yet her place here seems both appropriate and comfortable; her programming is never too intrusive or indeed obvious, the drums often sounding ‘real’, at others deliberately machine driven, dependent on the mood sought.

That pivotal track, Throne Of Amber:

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