Snowpoet (Lauren Kinsella & Chris Hyson): Heartstrings

If the soul of a poet is determined to follow the muse anywhere, that means being ready to accept some emotional ups and downs—or if not always ready, then willing to take the ride anyway. Wordsmith Lauren Kinsella and sonic craftsman Chris Hyson have certainly taken their share of creative swings under the Snowpoet name, crossing her emotive musings with his instrumental backing of experimental-electro-chamber-folk. It makes for a colorful and often whimsical melange, like an exhibit of impressionist paintings come to life, and yet this collective has still never sounded as up-close and personal as it does with Heartstrings.

Such a heart-on-sleeve outfit would not choose such a title lightly and, sure enough, their fourth outing is a work more unreservedly emotional than ever. If 2021's Wait For Me (Edition) evoked wide landscape paintings full of bright and dazzling brush strokes, Heartstrings is more like a series of domestic still lifes. Her streams of consciousness are disarmingly ordinary and simple. These are images of people in bedrooms or cafés or enjoying time together in the car, usually soaking in life's most ordinary moments, sometimes grappling with bigger feelings of love and loss. It is pretty rare here (though not completely unheard of) for the words to form into tidy rhythmic rhymes; for the most part her prose simply dips and wanders without particular patterns, and with a minimum of vocal dramatics.

In much the same way, the musical backing feels more organic than ever. Although Kinsella and Hyson are the masterminds, the rest of the quintet (Matt Robinson, Dave Hamblett and the ever-versatile Josh Arcoleo) know all the ins and outs after being in place since their debut. This is the first recording that was grown by all five working together, and shows a new natural instinct for feeling just where each element belongs. Hyson's production underscores the contemplative themes by following their respective tones; thoughtful piano for the mournful "New Tree 109A" or the calm "forest_bathing," Arcoleo's horn quietly blending with the synth backgrounds as often as not, Hamblett saving the rare powerful grooves for spots like the echo-drenched "Host" with its musings on relating to the universe.

Any electronic touches are blended smoothly with the natural tones, as in building layers of lush synth backings or coloring the wistful "Living to Live" with robotic ghost voices. Each detail is carefully chosen to make Snowpoet's unique picture as peculiar and fanciful as it can be. This is the sound of a group thoroughly comfortable in its own skin, not gaudily pulling at the heartstrings but reaching them through simple honesty.