Tamsin Elliott: Frey. Album Review.

Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

What we carefully plan as we sow in the fields is eventually realised on the plate in front of us.

Tamsin Elliott’s realisation of her entrancing debut solo album, Frey, is one born of the fertility of the metaphorical soil she has nurtured her own sound within as part of the demonstratively cool fusion project Solana. It is this planting of ideas and the reaping for the benefit of all who enjoy the taste of her musical wares, that Frey exploration of healing and the process of accepting grief is a milestone of passion, not only for the musician, but for anyone caught in the maelstrom of being in the limbo of modern times, of the effect that insurmountable sorrow heaped upon our collective shoulders has had.

The texture of the recording, across sonic ambiences as Old Wax Jacket/ A Coat Of Sawdust, I Dreamed I Was An Eagle, Cold Moon, When The Times Darken, The Loss Endured, and the finale of Cygnus, requests of the listener that they show the same compassion of thought towards their fellow citizen who walk alongside them in the furrow of life’s fields; the bag of future knowledge being scattered and not hoarded in the hope, the reason, that the harvest will be one for all to reap the benefit from.

It was in the reflection of sanctuary that the Tamsin Elliott’s harvest began to take shape, and Frey is the bounty of response, the fertile imaginings that witness effects of music, of soundscapes and field recordings, the microcosm of observation clear and become sharp images aided by the fierce companionship that the instruments on the album express and capture with heart affirming joy.

We have lived through extraordinary times, we will continue to be haunted by them for a long time afterwards, but in sorrow and pain, must come acceptance, and from there the spring roots of joy once more appear; for it is in our faith that the scattered oats will rise strong, and that the Frey will be blessed.

Tamsin Elliott releases Frey on June 30th via Penny Fiddle Records.

Ian D. Hall