Pitchfork

This eight-song, 27-minute LP is clearly of a particular time and place-- not so much historically as personally. It's an intimate moment captured in sound. As Archer Prewitt himself accurately phrased it, these songs are "documents." Recorded live to eight-track in March 1999 (with a little post-production overdubbing), Gerroa Songs arose out of a vacation of sorts. Tony Dupre, a friend and engineer, invited Prewitt and others to a haunted, dilapidated ex-Nunnery by the seaside cliffs of Gerroa, New South Wales, Australia. During the day, they swam, relaxed, talked, watched leaping dolphins, and recorded pleasant songs. During the evening, they watched the house become dark, listened to insects drone on, and recorded gloomy songs.

They never saw the much-rumored "phantom lady" who supposedly appeared in a chair at the end of the long dark hall. But she seems to have surfaced on the opening track, "Gerroa." Two computer glitches and an abandoned drumbeat pass by before the song ascends into waves of rattling and whirring machinery, like a specter floating among the hanging pots and pans of an industrial kitchen. It's hard to say if this is intentionally orchestrated or if it's the ambient noise of the building. That it fades away for a quaint guitar and simple percussion suggests the former. But the noises return, this time accompanied by a cacophony of deep cello notes, eerie moaning, and discordant noises reminiscent of parts of Jackie-O Motherfucker's Fig. 5. As the guitars and drums reenter, these sounds pull out again, but for one high, sustained violin stroke that holds for the last minute of the five-minute song.

Following "Gerroa" comes "The Bay," an brooding two-minute guitar instrumental that sounds recorded in a large, empty room with a bare wooden floor. Waves, wind and birds are barely audible in the background, adding a natural depth to the sound that, while completely opposite from the studio depth of his finely-crafted sophomore album, 1999's White Sky, is equally effective. On "Meant to Be," these ambient sounds are even more audible, as are the insects that Prewitt alludes to in the liner notes. Finally unveiling his soft vocals, he sings, "Meant to be, yeah, you were the one/ Meant to be, now never." This must have been one of the night songs.

"Along the Coast" is the first song that one can be sure was recorded in the afternoon. Featuring only Prewitt's deft guitarwork and the occasional interjecting cello or background harmonies, the song is like much of his other work: subdued, but not sad. Likewise, the strings and guitar of "Waves Waltz," the Nick Drake-ian fingerpicking of "Tell Me Now," and the beautiful, personal closer, "Her Magic" are more similar to the pensive, autumnal White Sky. However, with the exception of "Her Magic," these entries aren't quite as engaging.

But the EP's standout track, "Another Peace of Mind," is among Prewitt's best efforts. A simple drumbeat returns-- bass drum, hi-hat, snare-- as does light guitar strumming. "The time it takes you to be late," sings Prewitt. "Beware the folks that you berate/ Take care the steps you have to take." The song then leaps down into a sublime epiphany of deep bass, evocative strings, and the worrisome lines, "Never going to find/ Another peace of mind."

Surprisingly-- given the mellow, lush White Sky-- gloominess and underproduction suit Prewitt well, but this different approach allows for decidedly less hummable melodies to balance out the quieter, sunken confessionals. Still, Gerroa Songs is successful at what it attempts to accomplish. And while Prewitt's experience recording Gerroa Songs is probably more memorable than our experience listening to it, that he would share his pleasant, creepy vacation with us is enough to warrant appreciation.