Ká - Bridesmaids’ Autumn

A Closer Listen

Bridemaids’ Autumn was released just before the world took an even darker turn, and as such, its message is perfect for the season.  Loosely based on the parable of the ten bridesmaids from Matthew 25, the album suggests that some are ready for autumn – itself a parable involving change, adjustment, and the recession of light – while others are not, and that our reaction to change will determine our disposition.

Ká has been releasing intriguing field recordings and sound art for years, and the new set gathers selections from late summer and autumn, replicating the feel of fall.  Interspersed throughout are snippets of a 1963 interview with Markéta Yearns, recently rebroadcast on Czech radio. Markéta yearns for the river, which becomes audible in the middle of the opening track, birds circling and singing their praises.  The Bohemian forest is rich with the promise of renewal, the end of one season simultaneously generating feeling of withdrawal – the falling leaves, the migrating birds – and approach – the promise of snow and the impending return of the light, the winter solstice only a month away.

If one track encapsulates the sound of the season, it is “August Storm,” highlighted by rumbling thunder and the sound of cold precipitation on tin.  Arriving early in the set, this piece sets the stage for all that is to follow, suggesting a switch from outdoor activity to indoor entertainment, counter-intuitively increasing the appeal of the great outdoors.  The farmers have gathered the harvest; the squirrels have buried their nuts.

Ká writes, “when a clear sky shines over the forests and meadows, the hope for new beginnings deepens.”  In Jesus’ parable, the bridesmaids are evenly split; five are prepared, while five are not. In like manner, one might say that some are prepared for the earth to turn on its axis, while others are not.  Ká’s sound work emphasizes the positive aspects of the season, especially the necessity of change, exemplified by the forest.  The beech tree does not rail against the autumn rain, nor does the flower fear the fall; each has learned how to let go: to prepare for the next season, the next year, the next generation.  The cries of “In Old-fashioned Dress” may sound forlorn to human ears, but communicate normal news and expected transitions.  And what do the birds twitter about? Some will leave; some will stay; some will see each other next year; some will not.  All is accepted.

If there is a succinct lesson, it is that autumn all too often reminds us of loss, when it could just as easily remind us of gain.  A cricket chorus in “Sculptures” creates the background for highway noise, or the other way around.  After the first frost, the crickets will be gone, but the traffic will remain.  Do the crickets chirp all the louder, because of their ephemeral nature?  Are we not too ephemeral?  Meanwhile a dog barks, content in any season.  By “Ivy in Silver,” the air is nearly silent save for a passing plane, a distant roar amid the hiss.  But “Dawn” brings new life with the comfort of a rooster, and by “Wet Hair,” fullness – albeit a new, different fullness – is restored.  In autumn, or perhaps in winter, spring or summer, the groom will return.  These bridesmaids have trimmed their lamps, and their hearts are full.  (Richard Allen)