Album Review by Helen Fitzgerald
From deep in the heart of Worcestershire, where time plays strange tricks with
your mind and the past clings to the present like a fragrance, come And Also
The Trees, bringing with them suspence, dew-eyed cobwebs and the musty smells
of winter as mildewed as the bowl of decaying still-life on this sleeve.
In Worcestershire they still hang carrion from branches to warn predators from
their fields and flagstones hide their secrets under carpets of moss and
lichen. AATT plunder the creepy stillness of their home to forge spiralling
patterns and throbbing undercurrents as a backdrop for their rustic
storytelling parables of time, travel and destiny.
Electrified acoustic shadows follow the rooks that follow the priest across
the "Virus Meadow" "as the bells from ditches toll", "The Headless Clay Woman"
counts the stars from under a blanket of frost and with their imagery in
perfect line with the sombre currents of melancholic guitar, The Trees bring
old English folk poetry to life within a slightly macabre setting, so well
described in the instrumental "Dwelling Place".
Their last and debut album was produced by The Cure's Lol Tolhurst and offered
a more crystal beauty than "Virus Meadow", which seems to take on darker
shades and dustier corners, a scripted soundtrack for some long-forgotten
Edgar Allan Poe tale. AATT are vacuum sealed in mystery and should be listened
to after dark. By candlelight for full effect.
[H.F]