From the beautiful city of Brno, Czechia comes the new two-part album from Barbora Hora. Actually, two EPs (the first part, songs 1-4, was released in December last year). She channels the spirit of Kate Bush, combining it with the vigour of Martha Wainwright and the eccentricity of Joanna Newsom, and has produced a record of shimmering, stunning beauty.
Red Ribbon is a pensive, passionate, ethereal anthem. The instrumentation sounds, at times, rather country-inspired. When you mix that with the layered vocals, it creates a wonderful, comforting, and familiar-feeling tapestry that feels like it could have come from Emmylou Harris’ excellent Daniel Lanois-produced Wrecking Ball album.
Perseids begin with fingerpicked acoustic guitar and ambient noise that almost sounds like tape being manipulated. There’s a wobbly, underwater-like quality to the atmosphere that’s quickly complemented by meditative bass, which keeps it all together and structured nicely. As the song progresses, it comes into its own and blossoms before you like a flower. The addition of further vocals and the music dropping away for a brief cappella moment around two-thirds of the way through is an undeniable thing of beauty. After this, an organ is introduced, and the track is elevated even further. Awe-inspiring stuff.
Lullaby feels like just that. Although one that you might perhaps hear at sea. On a pirate ship. Whilst clinging to the last moments of your life. It’s Lykke Li-esque in its whispering, macabre tone and is as haunting as it’s charming. The cello is the star of the show. It paints a picture in broad, deep, dark strokes that you don’t often see or hear. Barbora’s vocal soars towards the end, breaking through the darkness as a brilliant, bright beam of light.
Continuing in this vein, Other Girl is a delicate, tender acoustic lament, and once again, Barbora’s voice is stunning. The sparseness of the instrumentation and the vocal gymnastics in the first minute or so of the song are particularly enchanting. The piano enters and is joined by some drums, and the minimal yet perfectly balanced arrangement is complete. As the song reaches its midpoint, it picks up the pace and takes on more of an American indie rock vibe.
So Little To Say is the first of the new songs. It starts small and ends big, treading the path carved out by the previous EP along the way. There are the country elements again, as well as quite epic-sounding – almost post-rock – parts that come in around a third of the way through. There’s an intimate and intense atmosphere here that takes different forms at various points throughout the track, but they are all equally engaging.
Dove feels almost nursery rhyme-like as it starts. It slowly spirals and becomes increasingly wild as time passes. It culminates in becoming the kind of song that The Decemberists would be proud of. Barbora and her fellow performers skillfully incorporate a pounding bass drum, gorgeous strings and what we think is a banjo to make a most satisfying sound.
Shadow is almost jaunty. The bass walks (or should that strut?) all over it, and the drums are persistent and joyous from the outset (shout out to the rhythm section). The strings are as gorgeous as ever, as is the combination of Barbora’s ever-dependable voice and acoustic guitar. This is as close as the album has come to a poppy-sounding song, and it’s rather glorious.
Love Like An Angel Falls is the last track – for all good things must come to an end. There is a Coles Corner-esque beauty to the reverb instrumentation here. The male and female vocals work beautifully together in the chorus, and the violin takes centre stage at around halfway through. This feels like a fitting end to a surprising release that we had no idea how much we needed in our lives.
Written by Kinda Grizzly
