Have you ever just sat and watched a spider spin its web? Until very recently, no, us neither. But sit we did, and we’re as arachnophobic as they come (we figured it would be busy enough with the task in hand). And it’s fascinating, absolutely fascinating viewing. And it takes forever. It’s meticulous, drawn out, unforgiving work, though it has natural momentum, involving such intuitive skill. And when it’s done, though fragile in appearance it takes all that nature can throw at it, exhibiting properties more akin to steel, or that rope used by lunatics for bungee jumping into canyons and suchlike. And the looming, many-limbed architect rests ostentatiously at the centre like a king waiting for the harvest to come to him. Beautifully self-sufficient, isn’t it. ‘Dreamt For Light Years In The Belly Of A Mountain’ is the latest bespoke spider’s-web courtesy of the painstaking craft of alt-country recluse Mark Linkous, aka Sparklehorse.
The last Sparkhorse album was 2001’s musty, introverted ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ and a long five years later he finally cedes ownership of a follow up that continues with and builds on that same lonely, cavernous internal dialogue. The world may have changed significantly in that time, moved on, shuffled backwards, found new targets of hate, whatever, but his hasn’t. He simply continues refining his capacity to emote, tenderly, expressively. And that is no criticism. This record carries the air of someone who hasn’t been disturbed in a very long time, and it is all the richer for it. Take it apart and every note is struck precisely, delicately, premeditatedly. Each melody is like a single strand running towards the centre, or circling it. It is only what it is because of how these are all gathered together and find a shared strength.
People often wonder outloud as to why Sparklehorse have never quite attained the same renown as peers The Flaming Lips, Grandaddy, Eels or Mercury Rev, and the answer is really the same as it ever was. He’s never strived for that kind of individuality or definition, he seems happy to plagiarise so long as it can be spun into something beautiful. That’s all that matters. Or maybe he’s just never formally claimed the sound as his own. But either way it’s all about the ends. But it’s hard to argue that no extra distance is covered when ‘Ghost In The Sky’ is an improved rewrite of the already blistering, melodically generous and presumed perfect ‘Hammering The Cramps’ and that ‘Some Sweet Day’ is one of his most beautifully balanced songwriting displays yet, like Jonathan Donahue taking on the defiantly melodic Beatles that Elliot Smith so favoured. Related frustrations aside, this album’s intricate end absolutely justifies the elongated means.
share this:
