Remote Islands Days of Heaven

With roots in unnerving and willfully lo-fi experimental indie folk-rock, Philadelphia’s Remote Islands - essentially one-man-band and multi-instrumentalist Colin Pate - release Days of Heaven, their first album since 2005’s Smother Party. With him are a group of musician friends playing various folk-baroque staples such as Wurlitzer electric piano, banjo, accordion and flute, accompanied by Pate’s slightly off key, weathered and shadowy vocals. The 12-song album (cassette) is available through the reliable Stunned records (who said this was the “best unsolicited demo the label has received in three years of operation”) and is making an impact - and worth blogging about - on the Inter-ground, with a track or two in free listening format via Bandcamp.

Limited to 222 pro-dubbed and imprinted c46 tapes with double-sided J-card and insert, Days of Heaven, like the cover art by Phil French (the man behind the label), is fuzzy, intricate and difficult to navigate. The twelve psychedelic, melancholy sea shanties jump from one idea to another seemingly without warning, and the multi layered mandolins and banjos borrow heavily from the retro-cinematic sounds of On the Beach-era Neil Young (the band had previously received quite a bit of press over their cover of Neil Young's Philadelphia). Despite one or two traditional passages and occasional echoes of Syd Barrett, like the orchestral rock of Ladies Auxiliary and wobbly 60s folk of album opener The Story of Chairs, Days of Heaven is hung drawn and quartered pop music, delivered via irregular rhythms and silvertone organ, providing a lushly minimalist (but frankly repetitive) production.

A curiously enervating affair, Days of Heaven does not offer many variations however the conventional tracks such as Sure Like to Run and album highpoint There’s a Cost Associated, deliver moments of tension and drama, preferring to build a melancholic atmosphere that’s understated but potent, a good fit for the miserablist chamber-folk of the songs.