Sings the Passing by Songs of Green Pheasant (Review)

A British expat I know once said that one of the things he missed most about his homeland was the countryside, and more specifically, the ability to easily wander all over it. Back in the UK, he was never more than five minutes away from some open countryside that he could freely amble through courtesy of the national public footpath system.

It’s easy to imagine that Songs of Green Pheasant’s Duncan Sumpner has, himself, spent lots of time ambling through the English countryside. His music has always possessed a dreamily meandering aspect ever since 2005’s self-titled debut on FatCat Records. Together, Sumpner’s lo-fi production, “Nick Drake meets Flying Saucer Attack” arrangements, and hazy vocal harmonies create songs that exist somewhere in that wide open space between folk, psychedelia, post-rock, dream pop, and experimental music, albeit with a homespun quality that avoids genre clichés.

That said, Sings the Passing might be Sumpner’s most shambolic release to date, featuring fully fleshed out versions of several songs that originally appeared on Mullock and Moil, a limited edition illustrated book and accompanying mini-album that Sumpner self-released in 2015. As such, it might not be the best entry point for newbies. (Start with the self-titled debut, instead, and work your way forward.) More than half of the album’s seven songs cross the six-minute mark, with most of them — like the nearly 12-minute “Private Prophecy” — going down any musical footpath that piques Sumpner’s curiosity, for better or worse.

Indeed, the first few minutes of album opener “Dark” are a collage of eerie, echo-laden tape recordings, ominous drones, threadbare strings, jangly guitars, whispered vocals, and horn arrangements. Similarly, “The Visiting Hours and the Rain” takes time to develop, its initial moments devoted to ghostly pipe organs and warped vocal loops before Sumpner’s acoustic guitar makes a tentative appearance. Even then, the song remains furtive, slowly weaving in strands of piano, trumpet, and field recordings before completely reinventing itself in the final minute.

Centerpiece “Whitsun Girls” is the album’s most straightforward moment — for awhile, anyway. The gentle ballad finds Sumpner musing about the mysterious ladies (“We don’t need gold/We don’t need pearls/We watch the wonderful Whitsun girls”) as if revisiting long-lost memories, all the while backed by a delicate lattice of spectral guitars and willowy horns. In keeping with the rest of Sings the Passing, though, the song’s second half fully embraces psychedelia, with Sumpner’s wordless vocals subsumed under growing waves of abstract sound.

If there’s one potential criticism of Sings the Passing, it’s that Sumpner doesn’t seem willing or able to suppress or edit himself. Every musical idea that came into his mind got committed to tape, it seems. Which means that even longtime fans (yours truly, included) might occasionally struggle to make sense of things as a song heads down yet another rabbit trail. Here’s the thing, though: Sumpner’s rabbit trails are intriguing, more often than not, such that once the initial confusion subsides, I’m glad to sit back, enjoy the ride, and get lost amongst Sumpner’s lush, if oblique, sonics.

With its stuttering beat and rolling piano melodies, “Have Patience,” is one of Sings the Passing’s best songs. It’s also the key, I think, to understanding the album. In one of his most straightforward vocal performances, Sumpner sings “Everything comes to those who wait/Just have patience/Silently await the arrival/It just takes a little time.” I recommend taking that advice upon pressing “Play” and allow Sings the Passing to work its meandering magic, however long that takes.