We slept and we are sorry. That album you see up there? That album’s very good. That album was sent to us a while ago in the depths of our winter hibernation. It rested, propped against our slumbering hard drives, melting the snow around it with its radiated pop joy. Pop joy being a naturally occurring source of heat, after all.
We are sorry because it is great weird pop for people who don’t like pop, and the rest of us who are bemused by why anyone would care to make the distinction.
Lindsay Powell’s Fielded have appeared on these pages before. First as spectral-Folk: brittle and intricate. Then as Jodorowsky-baiting power-Prog (Powell is also in Ga-an) with The Horse (lengthy, astral spoken word intro and all). Now, having passed through onto the Bush-Nicks plane she finds herself master of the hook. Master of well placed sax solo. Master of the sing-song earworm which, like Shai-Hulud, she tames with the sound of her voice.
Eve of a New Moon begins with a dusty keyboard melody before layers of warm bass envelopes like a beautiful 70s embrace. Powell’s vocal rising and falling and rising and triggering sax solos at will. The eventual appearance of electric guitar chords dancing around sparkling synth fills could make this the best intro to pre-Star Wars Space Opera that never was. If Solaris has started not with a pond but with a helicopter shot, following the breaking waves up the Maine coast, which ended at the rain-drenched launch pad of a gigantic battle cruiser, piloted by Crockett and Tubbs…then this would be its opening theme.