As much as the act of diving below the sea of soil that is the flesh of the Earth may sound like an act of retreat, but there are aspects of Phoenix that lead me to believe otherwise. In fact, the relatively unadorned (for Drewchin anyway) acoustic quality tells me that she no longer has anything left to hide. In fact, these tracks express her moods in relatively straightforward ways. Announcing her desires. Documenting the dividing lines of her territory. Extending an olive branch to some, a cold glance to others.
This directness of her intentions can be felt throughout Phoenix, but forms a significant locus of entry for the listener on the track "Diamond in the Bedrock," where she examines her own creative processes and affiliation with her resident Callope, while marking out a boundary for others that reroutes the flow of energy that might extend to other relationships and reroutes it back to its source. It's not an act of narcissism as much as a realization of the psychographic space she requires to thrive. It can also be interpreted as an act of love, for in forsaking the affection of one in particular, she opens herself up to the love of, and for, all.
The energy on Phoenix is irrepressible in its clarity of vision. The rumble of drum machines rushes in like the mother-wind to give a lift to the slow aerial choreography of "Faith Consuming Hope" providing a sense of motion like a crystal ballerina, twirling on the head of a pin in the waxing moon light. Her brushing, lapping chords and piano accents give a molten, vaporous intoxication to the wishful yearning of the cataclysm courting "Volcano." The vivacity of the album almost feels destructive at times, like on the cindery cloud of confrontational electronics that greet the listener on "Burning Feathers," or the blade-sharpening sounds and reapter beats on "Kiss the Pheonix," both of which provide an interesting thematic complication and compliment to the coiling, wolfs-purr, spiritual immolation and fiery resurrection of "How to Fight."
Cracks, crags, cascades and all, you see a lot of different sides of Drewchin on Phoenix, from her most vulnerable to her most deadly. A whole human catastrophe, defying you to look upon her with anything other than appreciation of her grandeur as her creative essence erupts forth from the furnace of her organs in a rejuvenating shower of golden light.
Get a copy of Phoenix: Flames Are Dew Upon My Skin from Pan Records.
