Robin Saville - Lore

A Closer Listen

“Let’s not lose any more things,” writes Robin Saville, an “avid ambler” in tune with his surroundings.  One can number his physical souvenirs on the cover, and hear his sonic souvenirs on Lore, the name chosen to reflect the rich histories that develop in connection to place.  He relates a heartbreaking story about the nightingales – “Such romantic birds!” – who migrate from Africa to East Anglia to mate.  Saville recorded the sounds of their meeting place, lamenting that the spot will soon give way to development: the avian equivalent of seeing one’s favorite pub torn down, with potentially more damaging results.

And yet the music holds little hint of disillusionment; Saville, half of the duo Isan, preserves the idyllic feel of lore, the charm of his own local territory.  Hinting at the pandemic’s geographical narrowing – humans restricted to smaller travel areas, forced to focus on home – Saville finds his own boundaries beautiful, linked to both nature and time.  Apart from the field recordings, his primary impulse is to decorate his compositions with bells.  These sounds, present on every track, portray a bucolic environment, undisturbed by the intrusions of modern society, and clearly – for now, at least – a birder’s paradise.

“Beltane,” one of only two tracks short enough to be a single, sounds like a May Day festival, and in fact it is.  Beltane marks the beginning of summer, appearing perhaps a bit early at the midpoint of equinoxes.  When the music suddenly gives way to a passing plane and repetitive machine sounds, the listener is plunged into an uneasy space; to what extent will the latter encroach on the former before eclipsing it?  “Tapetum” is slightly brighter, as it should be, the title referencing the “bright tapestry” that allows the eyes of certain night creatures to glow in the dark.

It’s no surprise that a bell-laden album ends with a piece titled “Belfry.”  When churches were packed in the U.K., the sounds of the belfry often seemed like noise pollution; ironically, now that the pews are empty (or at least less crowed), the bells sound like comfort, a pleasant human-made sound in comparison to industrial cacophony.  Excised from worship, the sound of bells, like that of birds, prompts people to imagine higher causes and better impulses.  This particular piece, which sounds like a handbell choir, also sparks memories of children in white gloves, joy and hope in their eyes, an encouraging image on which to end.  (Richard Allen)