Songs Of Green Pheasant - 'Gyllyng Street' (Fat Cat) Released 20/08/07

Rarely has the phrase 'does what it says (or in this case, shows) on the tin' been as appropriate. The cover of 'Gyllyng Street' sports a snap of someone standing at the end of a pier in drizzly pre-dawn murk, and the music found on Songs of Green Pheasant's second full-length is a perfect match for the photo's deep blues and wind-beaten grays. Needless to say, the mope-o-meter is in overdrive here, but the latest offering from South Yorkshire based multi-instrumentalist-songwriter Duncan Sumpner (the talent behind the colourfully feathered alias) couldn't be further removed from generic angst-by-numbers. 'Gyllyng Street' is the most rewarding batch of aural sadness since Lambchop's cruelly ignored 2006 return-to-form 'Damaged' or Richmond Fontaine's hard-luck opus 'The Fitzgerald'; a consistently stunning, often heartbreakingly beautiful patchwork conjured on eight-track by Duncan at his house in rural Sheffield.

Inspired by Duncan's experiences as a Cornwall art student in the mid-90's, the album being named after the Falmouth street he then lived on, 'Gyllyng Street's sombre mood suggests his student years were either a relentless litany of disappointments or so fulfilling he's spent the subsequent years trying in vain to live down the unreasonable expectations they instilled. Whatever the case, and it's hard to tell what the songs are about exactly due to Sumpner's whispery way with the vocals, the reminisces have inspired a dramatic widening of scope in Songs of Green Pheasant's sound. Gone is the fingerpicking avant-folk delicacy of 2004's eponymous debut and the work-in-progress feel of last year's odds and ends collection 'Aerial Days'. 'Gyllyng Street's downbeat default setting is perfectly complemented by astounding sob-operas, immersed with a hushed majesty as they glide quietly towards the prettiest regions of the sonic stratosphere.
 
Assisted by a handful of guest musicians, Sumpner creates a seamless union of traditional tunecraft and distinctly modern home studio skills, piecing together cohesive tracks from countless miniscule ingredients with richly detailed results that practically throb with warm small hours ambience. Although highly singular, 'Gyllyng Street's dusky introspection isn't completely without forebears. The trumpet-enhanced minimalist masterpiece 'Alex Drifting Alone' and gracefully soaring opener 'Boats' both carry a distinct whiff of Talk Talk's 'Spirit of Eden'. The harmony-coated 'Ballad of Century Paul' is reminiscent of the bleary-eyed desolation of David Crosby's 'If I Could Only Remember My Name', whilst the all-pervasive melancholia of Red House Painters is never far from the surface.

The expansive 'West Coast Profiling' sounds like uncharacteristically maudlin Flaming Lips channelling bleak, Joy Division-indebted 80's permafrost-indie, before the coda's jaw-dropping slo-mo swirl of guitars, recorders and percussion drops the pulse to the glacial regions frequented by Sigur Ros and Icelandic slowcore champions Staffraenn Hakon. Best of all is the superlative-exhausting mini-epic 'King Friday', which squeezes a gluttonous abundance of magnificent movements to its three-and-a-half minute duration, culminating with the final segment's spine-tingling jangle. Most acts would milk this kind of shiver-inducing beauty for aeons, but Sumpner discards the incredibly moving melody after a few bars.

There should be laws against such waste, but on the other hand 'Gyllyng Street' is virtually overflowing with similarly stirring moments.