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As First Star Wakes, She Wanders There - Volume 1

by Robert Scott Thompson

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Lonnen 00:49
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Dark Hedges 05:43
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Gracehill 07:45
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about

As First Star Wakes, She Wanders There is a pean and homage to the myths and legends of East Antrim, Northern Ireland, my ancestral home. The title refers to the Grey Lady, the stunningly beautiful apparition clothed in the fragrance of bergamot, who traverses the mists of the Dark Hedges of Gracehill at twilight.

The recording is presented in two parts. Disc 1 is conceived as one chapter of the work and is more in the realm of classical ambient, while Disc 2 is more expansive and includes pieces that move a bit farther afield. There are points of contact between the two parts though they are somewhat disparate and intended to function independently in conception.

Various modular synthesizers were used (ARP 2600, VCV, etc.); also notable is the role of now antique analog synthesizers such as the original Sequential Prophet 5 from 1981. Complementing the sound sources, layers of resonant sound processing, using various approaches to multiband sound analysis and resynthesis, aided the development of textures.

Recorded in 2021.



Through a Wood Darkly:
The Journey of As First Star Wakes, She Wanders There

— Eric Hil, 2023 —

“Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura . . .”
Dante Alighieri

“I am a memory come alive.”
Franz Kafka

Remembering is an act of resurrection. If it produces an imperfect resurrection, this is only because nothing material can ever be salvaged from the past, only the ghosts of then. Yet, it is this very imperfection that makes art so essential. Proust’s narrative uses the alchemy of teatime; armed with nothing more than a spoon and a madeleine, he is able to resurrect and transport the reader to an entire childhood, a city, a cultural moment lost in time, and all of this through that dreamy lens of an imperfect memory. This requires a ritual of séance, of metaphor and poetry, the tools with which the writer paints these reminiscences in a far more meaningful way, even more so than they were at the time. The patina of memory takes that which was lost and turns it into rare work of beauty that even transcends the inspiration. Our ghosts are so much more aesthetically durable than we are. How we live is a work of art; what we leave behind speaks to the future.

The artist must use the metaphysical to recall the physical, thereby sacrificing what we thought was more “real”; in this process of stripping away of the material through literature, music, art, we are left with emotions that are a mixture of fondness and grief. The final result must not merely resurrect the past, but ultimately it needs to transport the listener there.

As First Star Wakes, She Wanders There is an epic 2-volume work from Robert Scott Thompson, one that wordlessly recounts a journey through stolen moments, legends, and overlapping landscapes. The moods here move from the peaceful to the sublime, from the gorgeous to, at times, the menacing – sometimes all within a single track. The fact that this journey is aurally transmitted becomes incidental as we begin to experience it through synesthetic evocations; textures, images, and scents arise and surround us from each track, as we wander closer to the dark wood. These sounds take the form of autumnal and nostalgic fragments: a place, a memory, a dream, all carried on a sharp, steely air that cuts the cheek and lung with the acrid-sweet scent of woodsmoke, fallen leaves, and smoldering candle wicks. These tracks are incantations that conjure up a thousand childhood ghosts, memories that are at times familiar, at times borrowed, yet always just out of reach.

Volume one begins with “Through Circle & Shadow,” which beckons us with a soft, crepuscular mood, inviting us into the overture of a long journey. These pleasant pulsations take us on a path of mystical exploration, where we wend around dark corners illuminated by snatches of moon and starlight. While comforting at first, this track seems to have some distant underlying omens that softly echo throughout the pleasant tide of chimes, swells of gorgeous and comforting textures.

What follows, “As First Star (East Antrim mix),” might be one of the most resplendent cuts, one that would tempt any listener to play over and over on a loop (at 6 and a half minutes, it feels all too short given its gorgeously rich and textural palette). This is one of those landscapes you want to inhabit for as long as you can. The experience here almost feels as though one is drifting on a raft under a breathtaking night sky, slowly rotating beneath a frozen fireworks display of the Big Bang, a moment of pure peace, comfort, and awe.

As we delve deeper in the journey, the dark alchemy of Thompson’s lab sets us riding upon the swells of chimes and long, luxurious textures; yet, there is something beautifully amiss here, as we ride through this one, we are kept in the dark by the distant dissonance of uncertainty and underlying echoes that keep us wondering where we are: It is here and now we begin to realize that we are “lost in a dark wood.”

Both “Lonnen” and “Dark Hedges” function as dark segues. These spectral passages reveal the point of no return; we are passing through the gates where, “Something evil this way comes.” As soon as begins, we are confronted by a full spectrum of eerie realizations. There are the spectral whispers that pass before our eyes, echoes that, at times, light the way like lightning bugs, that buzz like mosquitoes and flies in the background, all accompanied by what can only be described as an unnerving funerary tolling. We have arrived at a obscure place, a place where safety is abandoned, and intrigue takes over. Yet, as with many of Thompson’s darker passages, this too feels like a place to revisit, of slowing down as one might do flipping the pages of Paul Gustave Dore’s illustrations of Dante’s Inferno; we are wonderfully frightened, drawn by the thrill of feeling challenged and unsafe.

“Of Bergamot and the Grey Lady” enters as a musical reprieve, as if a passing band of minstrels is playing a subdued and otherworldly version of Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” or a Bach canon from a parallel universe. This cosmically carnivalesque interlude lifts us out, at least for a moment, from the shadows of “Dark Hedges” and into a dream-like state of playful abandon.

Many of these tracks are ineffably complex: sad, soothing, nostalgic, an intersection of worlds where we are presented with a foreground of lilting nostalgia that comes and goes like the tide, punctuated by fragments of music as heard through a cloud, a choir from a concert hall nearby, periodically breaking through just long enough to remind us that we are at the crossroads of more than one reality.
“Broughshane,” for example, is a memory that we borrow just long enough to inhabit a profound grief that is kept just out of our reach, the familiar strains and colors of a beautifully heart-breaking nostalgia for a place and time we mourn without really understanding why – while “Jackdaw House,” another short yet powerful piece, has a triumphant tone. It is the sustained echo of a battlefield where the ghosts of the fallen play out, again and again, the sacrificial victory. Like many of the tracks on this project, this is a borrowed memory that keeps itself just out of reach so that we must continue the journey, if for no other reason than to find answers to this musical and emotional conundrum.

“By Ancient Stones” is reminiscent of “Through Circle and Shadow,” almost a leitmotif, with its lilting tide of swells; both pieces contain a magical quality, something spiritually present and transformative. Yet, it gradually becomes apparent that the mood here has shifted, and we are carried along the path to superimposed memories that interrupt the foreground of calm with what can only be described as the transmissions of some shortwave chatter from another time, voices that strain to take shape and be heard. The tension here is brilliantly created by these two extreme moods: calm and panic, while the latter is subdued to the point of merely revealing the underlying cries of a disturbed world that is being filtered through memory and longing.
“As First Star (Bergamot mix)” gorgeously segues out of “By Ancient Stones,” presenting us with a familiar lullaby, again, made all the more poignant by strains of lost youth, memories that refuse to be resurrected except through musical alchemy, just close enough to evoke the beautifully rendered sadness that always accompanies genuine nostalgia. The piano and orchestral elements here take the journey into the type of maturity and splendor that can only be experienced by those who look back with longing and fondness. This sense of longing is mirrored as the piece ends, and we hit repeat to remember that feeling over and over. And as is the case of all manner of nostalgia, we don’t just want to remember, we want those memories to come alive; we want to be the memory once again.

“Sun Upon the Brae,” one of the more subdued tracks of the journey, gently swells and rings throughout a chamber of memory. This piece speaks of dawn. It is a cycle of memory that covers so much emotional ground and all within such a short time, less than three minutes. As with many of Thompson’s pieces, this is deceptively simple, and bears several listenings.

Thompson’s pieces traverse several landscapes, going from the ethereal to the nostalgic to the terrifying to the triumphant. There is something transportive here, as though we are approaching a portal that will take us to the next level with each track.

“Nafusi Ya Nje” and “Children of Lir,” for example, are unapologetically tribal, almost aggressively primal and ancient in their rhythms and mood. These convey a sense of having stumbled and intruded upon a ritual in progress. Yet, where as “Nafusi Ya Nje” comes to us in distant revelations of texture and dream, “Children of Lir” takes us into the thick of a strange and threatening dance. This track is so cinematic that it seems to evoke images of flames, smoke, wings, sacrifice, and ancestral conjuring. It creates a trance that is difficult to break away from.

“Metalanguage” is a hauntingly gorgeous piece that plays out like the soundtrack of a dream, drifting through snatches of conversations and forgotten melodies. Composed of the remnants of voices, scenes from multiple time periods, all superimposed and swirling over imagined pastures, this is the language of clouds that call out to us in dreams, of memories longing to be reborn.

Thompson’s sonic sensibilities are like wordless hymns; there is something astral here, something that speaks of stars, a gentle twinkling, as it rises and fades from blue to black. Ascending on choral wings, it takes us into a sanctuary of reverence and remembrance, followed by a slow tidal motion, waves of echoes that break softly on the shore of memory. There is an undercurrent of nostalgia and loss, even fear; this feels like drifting off into a dream that comes from and becomes the sea.

The final track,“Resonances,” has a distant Celtic mood that is perpetually moving just beyond the horizon. Since it closes the journey, it’s hard not to think of it as a kind of resolution, painted with wistful echoes of what we have travelled through. It is certainly a pleasantly gentle denouement to a complex journey. These are decrescendos of mythos and reflection, moving outward like concentric circles of longing, a bittersweet resurgence of longing and fond memories.

As First Star Wakes, She Wanders There is a complex journey through the dark wood, yet for all its moody and sometimes sinister undertones, we are left with a mix of emotions both haunted and nostalgic. This is an epic and poetic map for a journey, one that we come out the other side with a longing to return.

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released May 23, 2022

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Robert Scott Thompson Atlanta, Georgia

The term musical alchemist best describes modern music composer Robert Scott Thompson. Combining his mastery of the electroacoustic, contemporary instrumental, and avant-garde genres into a swirling cohesive whole, he is an important pioneer on music's new frontier.

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