Preludes

On this succinct debut, multi-instrumentalist and painter Realf Heygate attempts to map the rural psycho-geography of his experiences growing up in the Leicestershire countryside. With glistening acoustic guitar arpeggios and languid piano chimes he weaves a series of unfussy melodies, situating them amid field recordings of church bells, sneezy hounds, avian choirs and children-at-play to denote summery idylls gone by. But something eerie lurks in Heygate's uncluttered remembering. Ominous stabs of ivory and wraithlike drones of saw-toothed cello become increasingly pronounced as Preludes progresses. Pastoral tranquillity cedes to darker forces. The brooding ‘Magnolia’ hints at Albion's gnostic underbelly like a hauntological artefact plucked from Ghost Box's catalogue, while the layered strings and dancing ivories of ‘Follow’ conjure the myth-rooted field-in-England fantasias of Alan Garner and the impish sport of Arthur Machen's ‘Little People’. What began as another bucolic frolic, ends up being altogether more enigmatic and engaging.