by Layton Guyton
Macie Stewart’s International Anthem debut, When the Distance is Blue, is a perfectly titled, surreal and expansive record. Stewart weaves piano, field recordings, and vocal and string improvisation into a beguiling and sincere tapestry. Her compositions are inviting but also contain tension that demands attention. The music travels slowly between swooning drones, sharp percussive moments, and winding, cyclical melodies. In its path, it conveys a sense of unyielding natural forces; the unseen hand, steadily pushing us forward in moments of confusion, unease, and clear-eyed understanding.
Composed from a small palette of sounds, Stewart provides each instrument room for expressive performance. However, the record is far from sparse, and is full of moments of heavy or dense sounds created by one or two instruments. She uses space and dynamics beautifully, creating a world through a series of different snippets and perspectives. Field recordings create transitional moments, providing a brief sense of place, but also of disorientation. They are fleeting and hard to visualize; a gently bustling fish market, an international airport, voices singing in the stairwell of a concert hall.
Stewart has spoken about improvisation being an important element of the record and this is clearly felt. In particular, the piece “Murmuration/Memorization,” improvised at Comfort Station with fellow musicians Lia Kohl, Whitney Johnson, and Zach Moore moves with the grace of having no structure, string players completely attuned to each other and the acoustics of the space they are in. The focus of the performers as they guide the arc of their performance into unknown territory is palpable.
Closing piece “Disintegration” ends with a string ensemble cycling on a wistful melody, pitching slightly down with each round. It sounds like a record player slowly giving out, and is a riveting ending. When the Distance is Blue is not a question or an answer but a murmuring thought, both perplexing and comforting.