A Closer Listen
Penelope Trappes makes a massive leap forward on A Requiem, her most definitive statement to date. In 2023, ACL‘s Jennifer Smart compared the artist to Liz Harris, writing, “Trappes finds haunting, ethereal beauty in hesitation and minimalism.” In 2025, the artist fully embraces her ethereal side, placing her in the company of Lisa Gerrard, This Mortal Coil and the incredible women of Cleopatra/Hyperium’s Heavenly Voices compilations. While embracing dark spiritual themes, Trappes unassumingly presents herself as a gothic icon for the young century.
Lead video “Sleep,” directed by Agnes Haus, is one of the most striking videos one will ever see, from its shocking opening scene to the image of Trappes, bent over, channeling the spirit of a nearby tree. A John Milton quote becomes visible as the wind billows through Trappes’ black dress. Electronic music boils in a cauldron as Trappes begins to sing, the word “sleep” more sinister than benign. Pupils multiply in a “blink and you’ll miss it” moment at 2:20, a wild effect last seen in “The Substance.” Braids imitate vines, conjuring associations with The Evil Dead. And then the major, conjuring chord. Appropriately, the video was released last Halloween, six months before the album. Is Trappes in the tree? And what is with that horse?
“Platinum” follows, launching with a tinnitus sound, a body in a field, Haus again at the controls. The sound design is exquisite, playing with silence and anticipation. There’s a mystery here, a woman in a box, another submerged, another crawling, Trappes among the oversized flowers. What exactly is “buried deep?” The percussion rattles and stirs. Mournful cello muses through the mist. Trappes embraces a woman: her younger self? Clutches a stem: a memory? An inner resolve? The artist has said that the album is about facing demons, vestiges of the past.
“Red Dove” begins as a videocassette is inserted into a waiting maw. We suspect this will not end well. These haunted home movies reflect a cultic fervor, inspired by sorcerer and exorcist Yuri Tarassov. In the video within a video, Trappes sings of “violent hope,” her acolytes imitating her every move, as the nose of the (real) Trappes begins to bleed. It is dangerous to confront one’s demons. The electronic textures, encouraging in the track proper, operate as empty promises in the video. Yes, there is Kool-Aid.
And most recently the title track, the visual palette switching from “Poltergeist” to “The Blair Witch Project,” featuring an even more sinister tree. The cello drone is a perfect match for the shadows and hollows. Bleak yet beautiful harmonies offset the darkness. The music is begins to lift beyond terror to transcendence. Close one’s eyes, and one can hear angels. These too are Trappes. Toward the end of “A Requiem,” one can still hear demons, disguising themselves in thunder and whisper; but there is an obvious struggle occurring, winner yet to be determined.
This struggle becomes even clearer in context, as one listens to the album without visuals. The album begins in low cello and tentative voice, each ceding space to the other, Trappes seeming to plead, to yearn, to search. Recorded in near-isolation, the album is a “cleansing,” a journey into the heart of personal darkness. The tracks, no longer isolated pieces, flow into each other like dueling traumas. Despite its title, “Second Spring” is laden with dissonance, while “Anchor Us to Seabed Floor” crackles like the wood in Davey’s Locker. There is grand intensity in the lyric-free vocals, Trappes’ siren voice on the sea, not a sailor in sight. The drone becomes denser than ever before, yet the diver remains steadfast.
Once again we reach the title track, in a better understanding of the overall arc. A soft rain falls on “Torc,” more welcome than intrusive, a purification. Then arrives the astonishing closer, “Thou Art Mortal,” which is Penelope Trappes’ “Now We Are Free” moment (referencing Lisa Gerrard’s classic “Gladiator” finale, which has proven as enduring as the film). The clouds break, the demons flee, and Trappes emerges from her solitude, triumphant. The majesty of this piece is heard in even brighter relief given all that has previously transpired. As she sings of a bay by the sea, calling upon the ancient tongue, one is left with a profound feeling of peace. (Richard Allen)
Mon Mar 31 00:01:00 GMT 2025