Spell Songs – Cadogan Hall, London 01/02/2022

The Lost Words, a book of poetry and paintings by Jackie Morris and Robert MacFarlane began as a response to certain vocabulary being dropped from the Oxford Junior Dictionary.  It became a quiet yet powerful celebration of the trees, birds and animals that surround and sustain us.  It was followed by a second book, ‘The Lost Spells’, and the Spell Songs project, on which the artist and poet collaborated with a carefully handpicked band of eight musicians (we’ll come to them in a bit).  The slow burning popularity of the resultant first album, Spell Songs has no doubt been fuelled by a worldwide reconnection with the natural world.  As lockdowns had us trading crowded nights out for solitary woodland walks to preserve our sanity, a newfound appreciation and fascination for these wild and delicate delights took hold and, for many, has refused to let go. 

On an unseasonably warm February evening, these are the people I find myself among at the extremely refined Cadogan Hall, on the final night of a tour in support of Spell Songs II – Let the Light In.  By way of an introduction, there’s a Q&A with Morris and MacFarlane.  There’s an easy camaraderie between the pair and a pleasing eccentricity to Morris in particular.  They say they always intended this work “to sing in hearts and live in minds; to heal”.  Given the dizzying array of other associated projects and initiatives The Lost Words has spawned since 2017 it looks as if they’re well ahead on the brief.  But the singing bit is what tonight is all about, and the duo make no delay in making way for the musicians. 

 Karine Polwart, Kris Drever, Seckou Keita, Jim Molyneux, Julie Fowlis, Beth Porter and Rachel Newton arrange themselves in a neat semi-circle on the instrument-cluttered stage, while Jackie Morris takes her spot on a riser behind them, overlooking the band - her band - maternalistically.  She will be there, painting along to the music for the duration and we’ll be treated to intermittent glimpses of her brushwork on the enormous projector screen hanging above.  Just your ordinary gig, really. 

The piano and Unthanks-like plainchant of opener ‘Bramble’ strikes a solemn, ominous tone.  It is punctuated by Fowlis’ otherworldly Gaelic bird-singing and its inexorable thorny march is mirrored in militaristic snare.  A powerful start.  Rachel Newton then takes the helm for ‘Swifts’, her harp chattering against Seckou Keita’s kora and it’s here we get our first taste of the group’s massed voices.  ‘Kingfisher’ channels Penguin Café Orchestra as Drever’s circular guitar pattern and the glitter of the kora underscore Fowlis’ spoken word.  Porter’s cello swells and falls.  Add Molyneux’s cascading piano and you have, recreated in sound, the ebb and flow of wind, water and wildlife.  I’m starting to believe in the magic. 

Jim Molyneux’s honeyed vocal on ‘Little Astronaut’ bewitches me further.  The song’s sparse verses bracket a central crescendo with two overlapping refrains: “right now, I need you” and “little astronaut, sing” and we’re washed by wave upon wave of vocal beauty.  Flashes of the US baroque-folksters Darlingside are brought to mind.  But Beth Porter swiftly returns us to the UK, as she downs cello in favour of ukulele to accompany her vocal on ‘Charm On, Goldfinch’.  The melody feels ancient, hypnotic and very – I hesitate to type – English, in contrast to the generally Celtic thrust of the sound (four of the Spell Singers are Scottish).  There is whistling.  And an unfathomable rhythm handclapped by Fowlis.  I cast about to see if anyone has a finger in one ear as they sing.  Phew. 

Jackie Morris becomes the focus next, as the overhead screen shows her casually inking a pair of watercolour otters, frolicking in the depths.  Doing this live on stage would be impressive enough on its own, but she produces the work, apparently effortlessly, while also reciting the Otter poem in its entirety.  The band remain part of her muse (Morris routinely works to a musical soundtrack in her studio and joined the band for both of their songwriting residencies) and they dutifully provide an instrumental accompaniment.  In just these few minutes we’re literally shown how the elements of this artistic endeavour coalesce. 

One of the standout tracks from the first record, ‘Selkie-Boy’ is up next.  To save you Googling, a selkie is a sort of oily, shapeshifting, mythical male mermaid.  Karine Polwart is doing something with the harmonium, while delivering harmonies; Kris Drever has cooked up some welcome distortion and harmonics on his guitar; Beth’s cello performs some delightful underwater groaning and Jim’s doing that thing of playing the piano and drums at the same time.  And, just as I’m simultaneously thinking “whoah, this is good” and “these people need to stop showing off now” I fall, once again, completely under Fowlis’s vocal spell.  She’s worked a traditional Gaelic seal song into the performance, you know, ‘cause she can.  Just to be clear, Rachel and Seckou aren’t sitting this one out; their respective harp and kora sprinkle their fairy dust on top. 

I could (and probably will) go on but hopefully you’re starting to get the idea.  This is pure, organic folk loveliness of the highest calibre.  There comes more painting - a fox, now - with Morris saving a shock of red until the exact moment the lyric hits in ‘Red Is Your Art’.  Rachel Newton speaks fondly of the band’s creative meetings; the songwriting and recording sessions where they wrote, sang and played as Jackie painted.  Karine makes special mention of their lost member, the writer and composer Kerry Andrew who, due to illness, was only able to attend a small portion of their initial residency.  The show continues with an embarrassment of highlights, including the breathtaking Polwart-led ‘Heartwood’; the quirky female barbershop of ‘Daisy’; the struggle-affirming ‘Thrift’; the sweltering Senegalese swagger of Keita’s ‘Jay’ and the mournful and portentous ‘Bird of The Blizzard’.   

The set closes with the suitably reverent ‘Lost Words Blessing’.  It acts as a summation of the project’s ethos; a mission statement.  Its call to “sing your heart to all dark matter” is one we’d all do well to answer.  I can’t be alone in wanting simply to climb onto the stage and join in.  The entire audience rises to its feet before the final note fades, and there we stay until the ensemble return for an encore in the form of the Drever-led, Americana-tinged ‘Oak’. 

 These Spell Singers are not so much a folk collective as a hive mind of expert musical creators and curators.  A supergroup, of sorts, but one without ego or pecking order.  Each member is a well-respected and prolific artist in their own right but their commitment to serving the source material in a thoughtful, generous and truly collaborative way is obvious.  Each introduces the particular ‘spell’ that stirred them into creativity; each takes a lead vocal, and each is integral to a shared sound.  That this sound manages to have such a strong coherence is remarkable.  I feel blessed to have been here to rediscover these lost words and fall helplessly under the spell of these songs.  It’s a show that has made me feel small in all the right ways. 

Review by Rich Barnard

https://www.thelostwords.org/spell-songs/