The Black Heart Procession
1
Solid Brass Records
The winds are howling in the ominous “Stitched to My Heart,” as The Black Heart Procession battens down the hatches. “They’re lonely rain drops,” intones Pall Jenkins, repeating the words, possibly gone mad with melancholy, the weather not helping and a swinging metal gate in the distance in need of having its hinges oiled. The eerie piano – dramatic, all ghost-dancing minor chords and stylish mystery – has been drinking … perhaps because its forlorn heart has been thrown down a well.
There’s always been something deliciously unsettling about 1998’s 1, the inky, newly reissued debut album of drawn-out, gothic Americana that’s risen from the grave, the darkly romantic soul of Edgar Allen Poe inhabiting Nick Cave here and calling out for reappraisal. Made over, with refreshed artwork, the ravishing and experimental 1 is a solemn occasion, breathing in sepia-toned atmospheres of vintage cinematic horror masterfully conjured by co-founders Jenkins and Tobias Nathaniel, who both have done time with the San Diego indie-rock outfit Three Mile Pilot. They could have been justly accused of witchcraft.
Digging into their bag of old black magic tricks for 1, the first of their varied LPs of slowcore spiritualism, The Black Heart Procession pulled out deep vocals, tendrils of floating guitar reverb, and spare piano melancholy, the tortured drag, descent into insanity, and theatrical menace of “Stitched to My Heart” capturing the essence of their aesthetic. “In a Tin Flask” is similarly downcast – hair of the dog, musically speaking – but 1 is more than bleak bucketfuls of wailing misery, as the all-consuming, lush sweep and unexpected pop burst, however shadowy, of “Square Heart” suggest not all is lost. “Release My Heart” is just as sumptuous, swimming in criminal noir, and “The Waiter” walks out in a surreal, music-box dream, while “The Old Kind of Summer” lazily waltzes in a ghostly klezmer reverie.
A drowning occurs in “Blue Water, Black Heart,” the most elegantly rendered and powerfully compelling track on 1, the narrator closing by singing, “I was out on the jetty / When I lost myself / Into the water,” keys pounded hard in stormy surges. Heady stuff these meditations on obsession and death, full of dread and longing, melodic and intimate, and absolutely timeless. 1 just might be the loneliest number.
