Think of all the music Mother Earth creates: the sounds of streams, the rustle of leaves, the songs of birds, crickets and owls. They are easily overlooked, easily overshadowed by the songs of modernity. The musicality is subtle and absolutely amazing if heard by the right ear.
Opening their debut album Through the Distance and the Dark with nighttime sounds of chirping accompanied by a simple, pristine strumming of a guitar, Fermata introduces listeners to a kind of earthy, organic rock. Simple, streamlined sounds compound to create intricate, full songs.
As that commencing guitar — intensified by the introduction of the bass — flows surely and steadily beneath the vocals, "Zura" takes on an almost tribal edge. Instead of the pared-down sound coming across as the raw grittiness of garage rock, it takes on an aspect of elemental purity. As vocalist Sara Weiland sings — intensified by the sounds surrounding her words — "It was a hot Missouri July night / the sweat and the fireflies / all night the town looked for them / they were nowhere to be found / and when it rains, you can't tell the difference / because the footprints became the stains / of a growing resilience," the tale transforms into a mystical, haunting entity.
With Weiland's words becoming accusatory and abrasive in "The Black Key," drummer Noah Buckley-Farlee steps up his beats to match the intensity. The craft of this track is in the percussion taking a role in the duet, as central as the lyrics: "Are you too slow to recognize / just how much you are despised? / Stars are bombs falling from the sky / and there is no end in sight / I want to cut you down to size / hope you choke on your lies / as you hide in the countryside." It is the eagle's warning cry, the hooves of a herd pounding the soil.
Following the overt fierceness of "Black Key" comes a much more subtle strength through "On a Clear." Epitomizing this organic vibe that gets as near to bracketing the Fermata sound as anything, the musicality is subtle. The creation is absolutely amazing when heard by the right ear. The purposeful marching percussion, the incorporation of the French horn with a soft acoustic guitar amid the harmony singing "this is letting go," comes across as so natural. The words with any other guitar would be off. The drums paired with another lyric would not quite survive.
The strength of Through the Distance and the Dark lies in the deliberate development of each and every track. No note is extraneous, no word extravagant. Though criticism could be garnered from the slim just-over-20-minutes playing time, kudos can also be offered for the decision to not include any fillers. Throwing in half-developed songs, lacking in lyrical cohesiveness or synthesized sounds, would simply not be in the Fermatan philosophy. With only six tracks, the seventh or eighth could make disposable a very solid album. Instead of striving for quantity, band members Jon Koschoreck, Jared Schwert, Weiland and Buckley-Farlee find themselves the craftspeople of quality.
Primary to this quality is the poetry of the lyrics. Steering away from abstract philosophies or arrogant boasts, the lines have a way of evoking emotion without being trite or clichéd. Take a few lines from "Silent City": "When night comes it holds me in its sweet embrace / translucent memories / They take hold of me as I walk these lonely streets / Now it seems so calm, but I can hear voices all around / of those who hunt for innocence / But they won't find it in me." Standing alone, they are profound. Coinciding with the music, they are powerful.
Similarly, Fermata sets to taking a piece and making it more than a simple song, making it a story, a living thing. They find themselves dabbling with instruments and effects beyond their own specialties. Such willingness to explore elements in addition to the drum, the guitar, the bass, the voice, adds a certain richness, offers a depth of sound. The orchestra introducing "The Black Key" is incredibly faint, incredibly delicate and incredibly effective in producing the drama, which develops and delivers over the next few minutes. Likewise, the calling French horn during "On a Clear" brings a crispness, a purity to the song.
Closing Through the Distance and the Dark is "The Woodsman," a track as intentional as it is unassuming. Following songs that boast of fullness from the instrumentalists, "The Woodsman" is the calm after the fascinating storm. Adding a chorus of voices to Koschoreck makes for a return to the naturalness, that organicness which finely penetrates the album. Following songs that boast as slightly more rock-oriented, "The Woodsman" offers a moment of appreciation. It is as if the sounds of modernity are quieted. All that sings are the streams, the rustle of leaves, the songs of birds, crickets and owls.
Club-goers can see Fermata for free at The Klinic with a student ID March 30.
Rating: 4 out of 5
