Like the Romantics in the mountains, Phil Elverum sounds so awed by the world that his break-up songs have little use for production, and take natural phenomenon as heavy symbols (cymbals?), or transmute them into fantastical characters. The publicist would say that Wind's Poem was inspired by -- and based on sounds heard during -- two years of standing in the backyard, at the edge of the forest. But the moving opener "Wind's Dark Poem," with its maelstrom of bass and drum, hints that the Pacific Northwesterner is at the edge of something much bigger, with his eyes narrowed and fists clenched. The epic, headphone-demanding album that follows owes less to "black metal" (the publicist again) so much as to "black wood" (Elverum's words) or maybe "black mettle" (mine, sorry).
After channeling the wind in "Summons" -- which takes the logic of Jay Z's kiss-off "Song Cry" into the woods -- and invoking, quite literally, the theme of David Lynch's Twin Peaks in the hypnotic "Between Two Mysteries," Elverum returns from the brink, wearier but humbler and wiser. His weird tale sings of the awe the world inspires when we get close enough, and the threats it poses if we stop caring about it. Or: try to break up with anyone, and especially nature, and you may realize how close you really are.
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