Engelchen

Alison Cotton’s Engelchen is both a threnody and celebration, heartfelt, intense and deeply moving in its struggle through darkness to meet the light. The ‘little angels’ of the title are two sisters – Ida and Louise Cook – from Sunderland whose love of music took them across pre-war Europe, using their dilettante passion as a front to help dozens of people threatened by the Nazis to flee to safety. The opening ‘We Were Smuggling People’s Lives’ – at 20 minutes, it’s fully half of total playing time – is as intimate as it is epic – a cinematic elegy laced with menace and sorrow.

The six miniature episodes that follow find Cotton’s vocals variously lauding the sisters’ courage and fearing for their lives, with lurking threats forever haunting their secret endeavours. The title-track is as plaintively sweet as a Christmas lullaby; ‘Crépuscule’ a subtle re-working of a Massenet aria; ‘Dolphin Square’ a poignant portrait of the London safe house to which the Cook sisters brought their refugees. Especially evocative on Engelchen is the dolorous ‘The Letter Burning’ which drapes Cotton’s a cappella vocals in dyspeptic drones, keening accordion, tremulous strings and synthetic sounds pregnant with remorse. It’s an unsettling listen and often, in its rawness, an unbearable one. It’s also a laudable tribute to quiet heroism.