Classy academia in a new age sonic display of ambient neo-classicism from Ross Whyte on Provenance.

Release Date : 30th May 2025

Label : The Bothy Society / Birnam

Format : CD / Digital /Book

The beginning of something’s existence or origin is provenance, right? Without being entirely sure, I can only grasp that Whyte is here seeking to explain the point and purpose of life. Not any old life, mind, if possibly, the same life as was trying to be described by a range of Gaelic poets in the 17th century. More specifically, Eachann Bacach and some of his peers, as described in Colm O’Baoill’s book, ‘Eachann Bacach and Other Maclean Poets’. And if I am unfamiliar with the author and even of his subjects, any of them, I guess I am not alone. And if the purpose of the book is to draw attention to the poets and their work, I guess Whyte is now extending the favour to O’Baoill as well, via this suite of songs based on a selection of the poems.

More ECM than Ibiza

That sounds challenging, doesn’t it? But there is a lot more here than dusty poetry in a language headed, unless we are careful, in the same direction. For a start, much of this instrumental. Ross Whyte has form, being one, and possibly still is, half of Whyte, or WHYTE, who delivered an elaborate trifecta of releases, Fairich, Tairm and Maim, between 2016 and 2021. Mixing the Gaelic singing of Alasdair Whyte with the electronic keyboards of, no relation, Ross, their muse was never quite gaelictronica nor even neo-trad, tending more towards the cerebral. Music for the mind, a cinematic experience marrying chamber and classical, with fumes of tradition seeping in and beyond the orthodoxy of structures suggested. More ECM than Ibiza, this probably isn’t aimed at the dancefloor.

Wednesday, After The Storm sets the scene, with the sounds of clashing clouds, crashing waves and the cawing of gulls, laughing at our inability to control these elements. A piano chords out slow statements, before individual notes ring out, like bells. Actual bells, temple bells, seem then to mimic the sound, in a slow rhythmic echo. Mood music, it is a celebration of survival, ongoing life after the deluge.

Clephane (Revisited) is a more sombre and stately piece, again based on traditional melody. Clephane was an atmospheric drone poem, when featured on 2019’s Tairm. Here, bereft of near all but piano, it occupies a minimalist setting pitched midway between the more glacial Frahm or Arnalds, and one of Enaudi’s more joyful celebrations. The gentle strings that sweep in toward the conclusion are real, from Seonaid Aitken and her string quartet of Patsy Reid, Megan Henderson and Alice Allen, their presence an immediate stamp of Og approval.

Pick a picky palette or two?

Devotion is the first actual song, and features the voice of Lilli Lewis. I confess her vocal is near a gamechanger for me, smacking more of the sterile vibe of competitive singing, assuming her to be some sort of Mòd prizewinner. In fact not, she being a New Orleans jazz-folk torchsong diva, so possibly more cabaret. It sort of helps to know her own provenance, and, once Whyte tinkles in some attractive jazzy hues into the middle eight, the perspective clarifies a little further, at least until Lewis scoots into a multi-tracked chorale. Nensha finds its way back to my picky palate, with a wistful piano sonata, of the sort that clears the mind of all extraneous thought, which includes the track before. The strings are back, with Whyte adding also some suitably mellow synthscapes, becoming quite Floydy at moments.

Imago is in a similar vein, with hints of the same notes repeating. Whyte explains this, in the notes, in a way only a Doctor of Musical Composition, which he indeed is, could understand. That said, my untutored ears found pleasure in eking out phrases I could recall, both from Nensha and from Clephane before that. The string arrangement is lush and lavish over this one, with Whyte’s piano a little more strident, a little less chamber. The Ideals now puts a further spin on the same source material, with the same musicians yet, again, a different outcome. Find the right place in your schedule, undisturbed, and play these three tracks, Nensha onward, as a single suite, even if you don’t have the time for the whole project as one.

An arrangement set in timeless amber

Dìlse has a change both in mood and structure, adding in drums, double bass and guitar into the keyboard and strings template. Oh, and voice, with, this time, the mellifluous tones of Kathleen MacInnes, the empress of Gaelic song, breezing gustlessly across the gentle sway of the song. Both words and melody hinge on two hundred years of existence, yet the arrangement casts them in a timeless amber. I daresay Whyte would flinch, but I am reminded of Moby at his alchemical best for this one, especially as the slow piano notes drip out, behind MacInnes’s dreamy delivery. The same mood is preserved across the instrumental Òran do Shir Eachann, despite it being solo piano and nothing else. There is a skipping sense of melancholy, inherent within what sounds like an electric piano, even if, as I gather, it isn’t.

The contemplative mood induced at this stage gets then a rude disturbance, as an eerie synthesiser howls mournfully, before piano and strings take up the slack, for a processional, A Responsibility To Awe, that moves back into a misty ethereality that evokes the Highlands and Islands. Tympani roll, beckoning a climax, but sidesteps subtly away from that, leaving a sense of pleasing unease. Actually a Whyte composition, rather than stemming from his and O’Baoill’s researchings, it fits perfectly. Tùs, however, juts out a little, if splendidly so, given it is now two pianos, playing alongside one another, both complementing and competing, with further revisonings of the Clephane thematic. The second piano is played by one Anthony Wynn and the piece is perhaps the most exciting 3 plus minutes of the album, if also the least adjacent to anything remotely folk or seemingly trad related.

Deliberate distort and detach

With the echo of Tùs resounding, finally it is time for Whyte to unveil his ‘tronica tropes; The Maiden Stone starts with throbbing beats, a repeating piano motif and a delicate wash of synths. The vocals, when they come, are as unexpected as they are surprising, a blend of Kate Bush and Joanna Newsom. This is Terra Spencer, from Newfoundland, and if she sounds distorted and detached, she is, Whyte deliberately interfering with her natural voice.

Rather than becoming winceworthy, actually it works and fits the tenor of the song. With mysterious chanting below and behind Spencer’s vocal, the chugging rhythm builds to a crescendo, before dropping abruptly, leaving only the low shudder and judder of the title track. Built on piano loops, it deceives the ear, appearing to reprise many of the motifs presented ahead of it, but is another original composition. As the loop repeats and recurs, so the strings build up a slow sonority that renders the repetition both the rhythm and the rationale. Forgive the gushing praise, but it makes for an astonishing close.

A complex beast

I guess I was attracted to this release on the basis of its provenance, in both the artist whose work it is, based upon his previous, and the material is built upon, little realising quite how far out usual comfort zones it may transport me. And quite how far from what I was expecting. Ross Whyte is no fool, knowing the name and description may tip any prospective towards what is then a far more complex beast than anticipated. For that he is to be commended. Expand your horizons.

(It isn’t that often that “Book” is offered up as one of the formats for the music we here at ATB receive. And it isn’t just any old book, it is a weighty tome of the coffee table type, with detailed essays and explaining around the origins of the album, together with the why and how it was made, along with some detail around each of the chosen participants. The provenance of Provenance, if you will. The Bothy Society have form for this, it being their second such release, following on from Findlay Napier’s Outsider. Which we reviewed last month, here).

Here is The Maiden Stone, featuring the otherworldly vocals of Terra Spencer:

Ross Whyte: Website / Facebook / Instagram / Bluesky

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