Ghost Lights
23 Nov
Ghost Lights make perfect music to fall asleep to. And I mean that in the best possible way and not because I’m in bed snuggled up to my laptop. The subdued yet lush instrumentation hits you like a muscle relaxant and you’re off to dreamland. The effect isn’t accidental. The artist behind Ghost Lights, Noah Cebuliak, disappeared into Canada’s wilderness and discovered emotions that can’t be transmitted by mere words or waking logic. Who is the Canadian equivalent of Thoreau? I nominate Cebuliak (Canada’s answer to Neil Halstead at least). He went into the woods, with a guitar, to see if he could learn what it had to teach. These songs are his lessons learned and the only way you’re gonna benefit from them is by checking out of the rat race, unplugging, and letting yourself drift toward the lights, the Ghost Lights…
With muffled vocals in minor keys, purposeful feedback, and dominating drums Valleys eerie folk sound resembles a bizarre nightmare.
This song may not have even won my attention during a recent listening binge if my nose hadn’t been buried in a particular book. “Bastard Out of Carolina” by Dorothy Allison is that particularity. An insightful young lady, Ruth Anne “Bone” Boatwright narrates the novel, telling the story of growing up poor in the South amongst a colorful cast of aunts and uncles. The rhythm of the language is pure music, while Ruth Anne’s life is pure hell. Besides a couple aunts who come to her rescue, the closest thing that brings solace to Ruth Anne’s life is gospel music. Julie Peel doesn’t play gospel music in the traditional sense, but her soulful voice, and the deep strains of cello echo the yearnings of one searching for some sort of salvation. I assume Peel’s song “Unfold” is about the loss of a lover, but its lyrics and theme resonate acutely with Ruth Anne’s loss of motherly love. Even though that book and this song are filled with grief, discovering them together has been a pleasant harmonic convergence.
I first encountered Miles Tilmann on the compilation “Six Records Breaks Your Heart Again” (in truth it was the first and last time the label would break your heart, because it was their first release and they haven’t released anything since) and a recent revisit to the album sent me searching around for facts and tunes from some of the artists. Miles Tilmann, pleasantly surprised me by offering up close to 100 MP3s on his site. Tilmann produces a variety of ambient tracks, but the ones I chose to highlight here are more beat driven. Tilmann’s music is awash in fluid synths, deep kick drum pulsations, and well, plenty of ambient sounds. You’ll discover similarities to Boards of Canada and Aphex Twin. Tilmann has been steadily releasing music since 1999 on labels like Sub:marine, Consumers Research & Development, and Toytronic. For his latest effort 
I’m not gonna lie. Hope Sandoval makes me feel old. I can’t believe it’s been 19 years since the first Mazzy Star album. What makes it seem even longer are the eight years that have passed since Sandoval’s last album. Sure, she’s sang on other records here and there, but one-offs are never enough. Once again she teams up with Colm Ó Cíosóig, who admits he holds back on his work with Sandoval, and that the music exists on “the opposite ends of the spectrum” as compared to My Bloody Valentine, his other band. “Blanchard” is the first single from the album, Through the Devil Softly, due out September 15th. Compared to the songs on her last album, “Blanchard” is downright dense and lush. Dare I say, it sounds a lot more like Mazzy Star (who by the way are finishing up another record, but Sandoval told Rolling Stone that she “has no idea what that means.” I love it. She’s still wonderfully reticent). After an eight year absence, it’ll be great to have Hope Sandoval’s still, small voice flowing anesthetically through my brain. If tour dates coalesce, I hope the venues have seating, because while Sandoval’s voice completed resisted deterioration for the past twenty years, my ability to stand during extremely mellow concert sets has not.
Since I missed the ’70s and blindly followed the “Proud to be Drug Free” crowd in the ’80s, Brian Olive is filling in the blanks for me. If I fell asleep to this record I’m sure I’d dream myself into New Orleans sometime in the ’70s, chemical high and all. The music is as colorful as the album cover, and sounds like a stack of beatnik, jazz, and psychedelic records melted into one soundtrack to a ’70s brown-hued television show. I think I’m gonna need a brownie.
Julie Doiron has one of the best resumes in indie rock, as well as one of the most versatile sounds and expressive voices. Listening to a dozen of her songs feels like working through a record label sampler. From rocking out to laying herself bare, Doiron does it all well. The first of the new tracks here, “Consolation Prize,” is from her most recent release, I Can Wonder What You Did With Your Day, which came out about a month ago. The other two below it are from two different 2004 albums, and are tracks that weren’t posted in her original 3hive entry. All three serve well to express her endearing range and talent.
Julie Doiron’s been on the indie scene since she was 18 years old, and it seems like she’s pretty much done it all: playing bass for Eric’s Trip, recording solo for SubPop and Jagjaguwar, starting her own label, winning a Juno Award, publishing books of her photography, singing in French, settling down in the hipster hub of Sackville, New Brunswick and performing with 
After checking through our voluminous archives of 3hive’s unpublished stuff, I found that my friend and colleague Sean was thinking of posting Canadian singer-songwriter Barzin back in November of 2006. Since the statute of limitations has expired, I’m gonna run with it. Like Josh Hayden’s old band Spain, or maybe Mark Kozelek’s Red House Painters, the songs of Barzin move at a snail’s pace. What may not be clear, though, is that it’s a beautifully passionate and intricate snail suffused with longing, filled with the heartbreak of being trapped in its rigid shell. In other words, Barzin rocks it low and slow, with strings here and vibraphone there, never losing control of the specific and delicate emotional precision of a moment. Over the course of three albums, Barzin has stayed quiet, which is naturally a welcome if not absolutely musical necessity in a world of big cities and small children, machinery, televisions, iThings, etc. Give these tracks a shot; you won’t be surprised at all.
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