Mary Lattimore / Elysse Thebner Miller - And the Birds Flew Overhead

Pitchfork 78

Mention the harp, and it conjures images of angels aloft at the gates of heaven. Despite a CV that includes the likes of Thurston Moore, Kurt Vile, and Sharon Van Etten, the harpist Mary Lattimore has her work cut out for her, as far as escaping the tendencies of such history to position the instrument as merely a placid, New Age-friendly sound. Her music can be deeply relaxing, but her strings never feel escapist.

For all the images of clouds and light-filled vistas that her chosen instrument can imply, Lattimore’s work is evocatively tethered to life on earth, be it the “Wawa by the Ocean” on the Jersey Shore that she once frequented or “Jaxine Drive” on the opposite coast. While And the Birds Flew Overhead is specific—a recording of a 2016 live performance between Lattimore and keyboardist Elysse Thebner Miller during Three Lobed Recordings’ “Sweet Sixteen” series of concerts at King’s Barcade in Raleigh, N.C.—the two extended pieces evoke a more ethereal state. Recorded by the ubiquitous NYC Taper and pressed by Wooden Wand on their Footfalls label, Overhead captures a magical live performance, one that might’ve evaporated otherwise.

Improvisations between two stellar players tend to fall into two camps. In one, the players stake out their respective territories, feel each other out, and then attempt to find some middle ground. The other, which is far rarer, involves a subsummation of ego wherein they instead move like longtime figure skating pairs, gliding as one towards a higher ground. The press release for Overhead cites Cluster and Fripp & Eno, duos who also moved as one, but the comparison that holds the most water is Raul Lovisoni & Francesco Messina’s Prati Bagnati Del Monte Analogo, a late 1970s album of Italian minimalism that also uses harp and synthesizer to sublime effect.

The opening moments of “Grips on a Baby” reveal Lattimore and Thebner Miller already perfectly in sync and ascendant. Thebner Miller’s slow-morphing chords provide a gentle foundation while Lattimore’s plucked strings rise and billow like gauze curtains, or like a tiny set of chimes, nudged on by the wind. The serene vibe established, I wish it were possible to give a blow-by-blow of what transpired over the next 18-minutes—but the two move so effortlessly that even the most-discerning ears will find themselves unplugging and simply going along with their drift.

Strings gurgle like a wellspring underfoot, mechanized purrs arise like an outboard motor from across a great lake. Whether listening back to a Soundcloud link or to the sidelong vinyl, there always seems to be an unaccounted-for length of time, the soundwaves on the former all orange and the latter nearing the label. Soon there’s the sound of applause, marking the sudden end of a seemingly infinite journey.

“Victor, 1993 (End of a Holiday)” is a briefer trip, but it’s no less immersive. Lattimore’s rings rap against the wood of her 47-string Lyon and Healy harp, giving the piece a more percussive element; she then deploys electronic effects to add psychedelic eddies to those strings. As the piece continues, Thebner Miller’s droning chord organ mirrors Lattimore’s melodic figures and the two move at a more stately pace, slowly allowing space to emerge between the notes before the piece draws to a close.

There’s been no shortage of music from Lattimore released in the past two years. But this album is a breathtaking example of a spontaneous musical performance that pulls off that rare feat of transporting its audience nearer the gates of heaven.