McCormick's second album, which appeared a year before the formal founding of the Kevin McCormick Ensemble, is a mysterious, delicate treasure, with his background in classical composition and world music very much to the fore. Backed by 20 musicians who contribute everything from fretless bass to the shakuhachi, a Japanese instrument, McCormick's song cycle is uplifting in the best sense, offering connection instead of hollow happiness. The comparisons regularly made to late Talk Talk certainly apply here, though it's at heart a matter of inspiration instead of cloning -- McCormick as a lyricist has his own mystic focus, while the music's lushness and detail draw on a variety of sources. He and Mark Hollis definitely share a tenderness and warmth in their voices, though, rich without being showy (a definite plus after the turn of the millennium's rash of Jeff Buckley clones). With the brief instrumental "Gathering Clouds" serving as an understandable starting point -- the combination of keyboards, strings, bass, and more does very much feel like a slow-building storm -- Squall starts on a high point that doesn't disappear. The grace of songs like "The Swell," a beautiful instrumental with woodwinds providing the haunting lead melody, and "Storm Front," with its dramatic swell of strings leading into the main performance, is reason enough to listen. Other strong parts include the solo piano composition "Arroyo," which suggests everything from Asian melodic scales to Harold Budd's minimal piano work, and the title track itself, easily the core piece of the album, which flowers into a massive, majestic conclusion, electric guitar, flute, strings, and more turned into beautiful tension and release. At his deft best, McCormick recalls a partially symphonic, partially man-and-guitar take on the late-night moods of, say, Miles Davis as seen through the filter of Bark Psychosis -- mysterious but not inapproachable, suddenly intense but never overbearing.
© Ned Raggett /TiVo