Cormorant 1

The first installment of a two-part release that revolves around themes of childhood and loss of innocence, Cormorant I sees the ever-evolving Ellis Ludwig-Leone-led ensemble deliver another richly detailed set of sinister/sweet chamber pop confections. A fitting avatar for a deep dive into the unreliable nature of memory, the mercurial cormorant has been casting its shadow over art and literature for centuries, appearing in medieval heraldry as a symbol of sacrifice and serving as a vessel for Satan to spy on the nascent inhabitants of the Garden of Eden. Written in a small fishing town in Iceland where the spectral, hook-billed birds would make daily trips to the docks, the eight-track set, despite its sweeping sonic vistas and ebullient arrangements, feels downright ominous. Utilizing longtime baritone Allen Tate and a rotating cast of female vocalists that includes violinist Claire Wellin, Karlie Bruce, Sarah Pedinotti (Lip Talk), and Samia Finnerty (Samia), San Fermin has crafted a deeply felt and unwaveringly honest meditation on the passage of time. Stocked with the usual gallery of ghouls, ghosts, and mythical beasts, death is always looming over the proceedings like a massive storm front, lending the albums more palliative moments, like the Tate-led Cerulean Gardens, extra hues of grey, and the otherwise luminous title cut with an undercurrent of existential dread. At just over 25 minutes, its tempting to wish that San Fermin had just dropped the whole thing off in a single package, but perhaps Ludwig-Leone has a narrative arc to complete, and part one is simply the preamble. Either way, its another compelling and reliably idiosyncratic effort from the group. ~ James Christopher Monger