Pitchfork

On their debut, Providence-based Black Forest/Black Sea offer seven chilly field recordings placed within a half-improvised framework of guitar, cello and sundry accented glitches. After piecing together a magnificent patchwork tent of bark, calico fabric, twisted vines, and fallen stars, the duo-- featuring ex-members of experimental folk troupe Iditarod-- sets up an austere camp in the enchanted psych-folk glen also inhabited by Ghost, Charalambides, Six Organs of Admittance, Fursaxa, and the Jewelled Antler Collective. In addition to Jeffrey Alexander's guitar (finger-picked and bowed) and Miriam Goldberg's cello (pitch-shifted and ring modulated), Black Forest/Black Sea incorporate hissing short-wave radio, omnichord, haunting vocal melodies, saxophone, rusty percussion, 8-rpm phonograph, reel-to-reel noise, drone, feedback, fireside crackles, and some general knob turning.

Catchier, darker, and less composed than their Iditarod forebears, Black Forest/Black Seas's diminutive freak-outs are surprisingly addictive. "Sevastopol", which reverences the Ukranian Black Sea fishing port, is an autumnal patch of creepy chamber-music woven with repetitious arpeggios, sturdy cello, backward loops, and the scent of a woodsy bacchanalia. The heavily-plucked "Blackbird on Gray Sky" employs female vocals and swirling instrumentation to lock into its groove, a straightforward troubadour piece until the vocals double and crunchy percussion begins to accompany what sounds like a warped singing saw, bird calls, spectral voices, and shimmering electronics. "Beautiful Here", meanwhile, is more trebly and compressed, a muffled sonic effect like the strains of Medieval bards leaking to your eardrum from someone else's headphones. The lyrics capture the deceptively simple remembrance of a forestal epiphany: the song ends with a field recording of birds, breezes, trees. Here and elsewhere, Black Forest/Black Sea tweak a silvan melancholy; even when the players are happy, it's depressing.

Though each song is successful in its own small way, on "Sunday Market", the acid-folk finally explodes outward with a jangling astronomy. Locating the bedroom version of Magic Hour's transcendent density, a quick Casio beat and snowballing of layered sounds-- alto sax, jarring spring reverb, and caterwauling feedback pretending to be a pack of crows-- catapult the listener into quaking treetops. If every track reached these heights, this record would be required listening; triple the length of "Sunday Market" and godhead is not simple hyperbole. The finale, "Lump in Throat", neatly brings the vibe back down to earth; its organ drones and synthesized drum beat lay a foundation for end-time stargazing, intuitively capturing the fragile rhythms of cracked branches: place a pillow over your head, grab your water-damaged copy of The House of The Seven Gables, and await your next personal witch hunt.

Regardless of the modest earlier tracks and the brevity of the whole affair, there's plenty of beauty shot through this old-world sleepwalk. Especially impressive as a debut, at this point Black Forest/Black Sea offers a gorgeous snapshot of the free psych underground, one of the purest spaces of otherworldly terrain in the current musical landscape. I look forward to future incantations.