Alt folk was the domain of fringe ideals and ideas. So it’s a paradox that just as musical inclusive-ism turned its palms outward in the 21st century, genre niching dug in its heels. Yet, to hide within these cloistered nooks is to fail to reach the summit of the Munro Tops from whence The Daughters (or at least one half of the duo) hail.
Comprised of Martha Middlemiss (vocals/piano) and Mary Moira McKay (vocals/acoustic guitar), this Scottish-based group recorded their debut Golden Shore while trapped in the kind of headspace that exists among rural pandemic lockdowns. Spanning 12 tracks, their album speaks with “tender insight to our humility and hope.” And while that’s a nice euphemism for those who like to be cradled, head-to-heaving bosom, it’s also a war cry for re-emerging from a Covid-19 winter with a greater sense of self. We are, after all, assured “honest grit and vulnerability” on this collection, and the promise is delivered in spades. For roughly 45 minutes, Middlemiss and McKay stay bolted in harmony, echoing the vintage style of attic-born marionettes, uncertain necks a-sway. This formula hardly wavers, as wintry keys and sparse acoustic guitar conjure the nail-bitten sparseness of the Highlands. Their opener, “Here Is The Highway” is one of the strongest adherents to this blueprint, although “Choose Wisely” employs a fun, klezmer-type rhythm which gets especially playful around the three-minute mark. Whether colored by the warmth of cello (“Left Over Love”), the lovelorn sway of accessible country (“Doves On Her Rooftop”), hushed beauty (“Where Only Fools Go” and “How We Dream”) or a Tori Amos-like piano lick (“Warm Island Light”), The Daughters mesmerize – and often tranquilize, in the best sense of the term – with a compelling intensity that hides behind the loveliness of each duet. Still, moments of verve do bleed through, even if on occasion. “The Mountains,” for example, is a welcome evangelical praise-up, and the group’s finest attempt at laying a groove, despite images of quilted dress solemnity. As the Scottish answer to Jewel or Beth Nielsen Chapman, the Daughters fit right in among the Lilith Fair demographic that rose in power just as grunge was ebbing into designer flannel. Although their candlelit harmonization sounds impeccable, it can – in spite of the lyrical heavy lifting – also feel too tight at times. It might be fun to hear these ladies unbutton things a touch, vocally, and experiment with looser arrangements. Surely, they boast the chops. Give it a spin, progesterone be damned.
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