by Zak Mercado (@ciaoguaglione)
The seemingly disparate worlds of folk and electronic genres beautifully met in the music project called Broadcast. Perhaps this isn’t entirely, or even remotely, apparent in the albums running up to the late period demos compiled on Spell Blanket. However, on this release, longtime fans and neophytes alike can appreciate the genius conjuring and alchemy Broadcast performed in creating some of their now cult classic works.
When listening to Tender Buttons, one song sticks out among the others, giving a small tell of the group’s more diverse interest in song writing and production styles. “Tears in the Typing Pool” greatly contrasts with the rest of the record. As opposed to the rich electronic textures and glitches of most of that album, simple strummed acoustic guitar chords, accompanied by minimal mellotron, and sung hard-to-admit truths about the end of a romance appear on that track. It almost feels out of place on the record, though stunning and beautiful. On the Spell Blanket demos, which were chronologically recorded after the release of Tender Buttons, it’s clear that the synthesis or contrast of different traditions of music was an overarching interest of this musical project. Unfortunately, with the untimely death of Trish Keenan, this aspect of Broadcast could not be fully appreciated until now.
“I Want to Be Fine” is one of the standouts of this collection of demos. Whether this is because the song is more fleshed out and seemingly (if not quite) fully formed, it doesn’t matter much. It taps into the energy in which these ideas were realized and recorded — amidst the new movement of folk, known as “freak folk,” or “psych-folk.” Think the rediscovery (or, for almost everybody, the initial discovery) of Vashti Bunyan. This is where Transcendentalist appreciation of nature — “Trees are full of/full of new leaves/offering me, offering green tears” — is plaited in with layers of melancholic singing and chord progressions. Both the extended songs and smaller fragments on this collection demonstrate an informed interest in varying traditions of songwriting.
“The Games You Play” feels like an outtake from the two Broadcast records preceding these recordings — a bouncy and humming synth meeting steady drum beats and Keenan’s lovely and haunting singing approach. “I Run in Dreams” is an example of the English folk tradition, rooted in a medieval European sensibility, which is of the mid 2000s era folk revival. “Hairpin Memories” feels more primal in drum beat, as well as a speeding up rudimentary guitar run. “My Body,” in essence, is chant – the humanistic prayer being: “hold the light for me, my body.” Another chant, on “Tunnel View,” transforms into more fleshed out lyrics and delayed acoustic guitar.
“Follow the light” is reminiscent of a not yet fully formed, at the time of these recordings, Chromatics project, rooted in Tangerine Dream style atmospherics. As a demo without a beat, one can almost see where someone like Jonny Jewel could have inserted a driving beat and electronic cymbals into the mix. The minimalistic restraint feels uniquely Broadcast, making any driving beat unnecessary. “Dream Power” is another powerful fragment of electronic music. “Join in Together” is a beautiful, dream-like version of a call to pray together or just plain unity. “Colour in The Numbers” seems very much in the Vashti Bunyan tradition where there’s clear and simple sounds and tunes recognizable in a kindergarten, but there’s also something not-so-innocent underlying the tune and repetition of lyrics. Finally, this collection wraps up with the instrumental, psych and prog-infused arpeggiated synth slow and steady burner “Spirit House,” a truly lovely and fine ending to the collection.
The Gertrude Stein reference of Tender Buttons is ever present, even though these song ideas come after the Broadcast album by the same title. There is a feminine surrealism permeating these tracks and ideas. Nothing has to be explicated to be felt or understood. A masculine logic is too rigid to explain these works. Flourishes of language and melody show a deep respect and understanding of various traditions of music. Through experiencing this compilation, the listener, whether fully versed in all of Broadcast’s works or not, begins to see there’s both a special fusion and a contrast in earthy folk and electronic synthesis in the work of Broadcast. Perhaps they meet best in a melancholy accounting of the world. In the end, these songs and nascent ideas all land squarely in the reach of something only Trish Keenan fully understood and was able to righteously express. Thankfully we can hear her voice and melodies in them, as a voice speaking from the dust.