Pitchfork

"Every great or even every very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications," says Raymond Carver in an essay called "On Writing." I thought of that line when listening to Villa Claustrophobia by Tanakh, a project headed by Richmond, Virginia's Jesse Poe. Tanakh's first full-length release is the kind of album that feels less like a collection of songs and more like a window into a meticulously rendered universe in miniature. There are conventional songs here, and instrumental moods, and drifting ambient washes-- a typical proportion of tracks that make up an eclectic record. But these discrete components are designed beautifully to create the overall world of Tanakh.

Villa Claustrophobia is shadowy, menacing, and of indeterminate time and geography. East, West, past and future all collide as violin, guitar, hand percussion, sitar and horns blend with layered production complete with electronic touches. It's difficult to pin down a particular era in the music, though it's impossible to discuss Villa Claustrophobia without mentioning the word 'gothic.' Late-period Swans is one clear reference point, as are the poly-ethnic medieval soundscapes of Dead Can Dance, but these artists seem more like fellow travelers rather than direct inspirations. What makes Villa Claustrophobia is how it all comes together.

From the opening fade-in of "In Every Villa," it's clear that this is going to be a disorienting ride. The first sound heard is the coiled hiss of a sitar, and then the voice of a wailing woman, reminiscent of the wordless vocals so prevalent in the desert music of Ennio Morricone, tracing the outline of a near-East melody. Echoing guitars and a rusty pile of industrial percussion give the illusion of massive amounts of space, and the combined effect of the track is a sensual atmosphere shot through with danger and violence.

Villa Claustrophobia then shows just how improbably coherent it can be when Tanakh veers from the exotic mysticism of the opening track into the Texas-style folk of "Pharaoh's Lonely Daughter" (sung by Poe in a deep voice softer and more tuneful than Michael Gira, but with a similar sense of phrasing), then back to the wordless vocals of "Devil's Interval," this time with a Godspeed-ish backing of twangy guitar and nervous, uncertain violin. These opening three pieces, though drawing musical elements from a half-dozen sources from around the globe, seem indigenous to this place.

Brian Paulson engineered Villa Claustrophobia, and featured players include Mick Turner, Ned Oldham, David Lowery, and Jessica Billey, among others. It's not clear who plays what, but approximately two-thirds of the record is instrumental. These tracks are universally dark, ominous and cinematic in character, but range in tone from vague drifts of cello, guitar feedback and sitar to clanging passages of metal-on-metal percussion set against radio static. The proper songs seem to fade into view when a dense cloud of sonic fog periodically lifts.

My favorite of these is actually a cover of an olde English folk ballad called "Gently Johnny." There's an unreal amount of tension in the lyric narrative, which details the ritual of an erotic encounter: "I put my hand on her hair/ She said, 'I like it there,'" eventually leads to, "I put my hand on her belly/ She said, 'Do you want to fill me?'" These exchanges are carefully phrased by Jesse Poe in a deep, booming voice, accompanied by acoustic guitar, violin and trumpet. My other favorite is "Prayers in the Pavilions," which is like a four-inch-thick slice of 4AD heaven. Evoking the desolate folk of Mojave 3 mixed with the rock reverence of Opal, the track has the feel of a post-apocalyptic ballad-- "Morning Dew" for the new millennium.

It should be illegal to play Villa Claustrophobia in the daytime. This is not a summer record, but as the year wears on and the days grow shorter, I know I'll be drawn deeper into this world. A record this dark, frightening and sexy doesn't come along very often, and it needs to be savored in the proper (black) light. Hang out in this dim space long enough and your eyes will adjust.