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What better way to deal with the burgeoning summer than to attempt to
psychically reclaim some cool by listening to a band with the word winter in
their name? As it turns out, you could do worse than listening to The Declining Winter's Haunt The
Upper Hallways. It may not cool you down totally, but this sweeping record
will certainly have you idly snoozing through the heat while you chill out
and ponder less fiery surroundings.
The Declining Winter is just one of the ways that Richard Adams vents his
musical vision, the other being Hood, just one of the Domino label's more
cultish acts. With production values that are decidedly based in the bedroom, there is a
distinctly DIY feel to proceedings.
This is not to say that The Declining
Winter are myopic in their vision; indeed this is a very ambitious record.
From the outset these spindly folk tunes aspire to be epic. Adams' vocals
drift across these soundscapes like a barely heard whisper, which is
something of a blessing seeing as his voice is not the most incendiary. When he's present vocally, there's a distinct shoegazey
appeal to proceedings. There's also a nagging wish for him to
bugger off and let the songs develop instrumentally, as that's when things
are at their most interesting.
The throbbing bass, gentle strings and guitar motifs of the title
track are perfectly judged, creating a somnambulant atmosphere that drips
with opiate influence. Where The Severn Rivers Tread is a wonderful amalgam
of staccato strings, swelling bass, jazz infused drums, and all manner of
percussion. If Adams could have kept his peculiar wailing voice in check,
it would have been perfect.
At times his ideas seem to have been clipped before they've been allowed
to expand. The backwards guitar and strings of Red Brick Houses is mildly
unsettling but also hypnotic, but it's over before it begins and never
really grabs hold.
My Name In Ruins has the capacity to incite a fuming hatred in the
listener by including some horrific guitar "twangs" that are wilfully out of
tune. It's like some kind of satanic sitar emulator, which emits effluent
over any track it's being used on.
But for all of these gripes there are plenty of nice touches on Haunt The
Upper Hallways. It is a fleeting lullaby that passes by discreetly,
encouraging the listener towards sleep. In this heat it's easy to be drawn
towards The Declining Winter and then onto Richard Adams' ever so slightly
skewed dreamland.
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