Reviews

BB Gun Magazine review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"

Local boys Stephen Connolly along with guitarist, Frank Murphy and a few others, combine beautiful folksy experimental ingredients and created

an absolutely exquisite masterpiece.  I wish I could compare this to something but I can't and what can be better than that. Great music to just be laid back, space out and contemplate life to.
- Bob Bert

Dream Magazine review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"
Built around the creative core of ex member of The Gwens Stephen Connolly, friends Scott Freyer, and Frank Murphy playing an assortment of electric and acoustic instruments. In just under 40 minutes these sneaky bent folkies make some lovely and slightly twisted music over the course of the nine songs here. With assistance from past and present members of PG Six, Tower Recodings, Rex, Timesbold, Elf Power and others, this album is richly illuminated by it's instrumentation. Hallucinatory and lovely, with ghostly details and haunted moody atmospherics. Songs like slightly sinister lullabies that emerge from the ground as vapor, or reel around the ears like surreal dry land sea shanties. Spirits circle the house all night moaning, while random scree and possom caught in a garden of wire shifts to slurping soft nose cones out of a hookah made of phosphorescent yellow crystal that pulses a soft rhythm into the warm night air and soothes all the tired ghosts to sleep.

-George Parsons Dream Magazine #4

The Ptolemaic Terrascope review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"

Pothole Skinny was founded by multi-instrumentalist Stephen Connolly in the late 90s as vehicle for what could best be described as pastorally-inclined acid folk explorations. After a recommendation from friend Pat Gubler (Tower Recordings/P.G Six), Pat’s Tower Recordings’ band-mate Scott Freyer was added to the line-up on percussion. The current incarnation of the band was completed by the addition of Frank Murphy on guitar. Back-porch Kosmishe-leaning folk collectives seem to be sprouting up all over the place in a manner pleasing to mycologists everywhere, but this one has impeccable bloodlines and the result can definitely be heard in the grooves. Acoustic textures are mixed organically with field recordings on the opening track ‘Krogh’s Whisper’, which leads into the relaxed vibe of the ‘Sussex Railroad Song’ and the parallels with the Tower Recordings/P.G Six axis are apparent but not programmatic. The track soon evolves in a skyward-dreaming direction that will be familiar to those lucky enough to have encountered the past few Fit & Limo records – a far more apt reference point. The creaking woodshed ambience of ‘Dream of Labia Lament’ reminds one a little of the Iditarod and the great but virtually unknown Verdure (see feature this issue!) but is merely a bridge to greater things. The record carves it’s own place in legend with the extraordinary eight minute centrepiece track ‘Antique Gasoline’. The vocals, though not strong, lilt in the most compelling way imaginable through this acoustic odyssey; core instruments supplemented by spectral sounds made on harmonium, psaltery, gopichand, cello and flute, and the ubiquitous Mr. Gubler contributes immeasurably on harp. I hesitate to conjure the spirit of the Incredible String Band, but the track really is that good. That vibe is maintained in the excellent ‘Scroll of Westport Quay’ before jagged shards of electric guitar erupt from speakers in the murderously key instrumental/chant ‘The Ernest Equinox’ which is all pagan darkness and druidic sacrifice. By contrast, ‘May-Gun Explosive Flower’ is a rural rumination that doesn’t sound anything like you imagine it might from the title. ‘Beneath the Frozen Pond’ is as close as the record gets to conventional rock albeit in a primitive VU mould and is one of those tracks that changes character depending on what volume it is played at. As loud as you can stand is a good way to experience it. The haunted-porchlight elegance of ‘Morpheus Calls For Slumber’ brings the record down nicely in a nearly corn-field, spinning up a few puzzling geometries as it comes to rest.
-Tony Dale (RIP)

MAGNET Magazine review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"
Call them porch minstrels-collectives like PG Six, Campfire Songs, Cerberus Shoal and even Japan's Acid Mothers Temple during their more subdued moments: These folk-influenced enclaves camp out in a "natural" environment while letting their music evolve organically and be fed by its surroundings. On Time Shapes The Forest Lake, field recordings join vocals, acoustic and electric guitars and a host of other eclectic instrumentation, from cello to banjo to gong to bowed psaltery, all expertly played by this roving horde of maypole-dancing troubadours. The group revolves around the nucleus of Stephen Connolly, Scott Freyer and Frank Murphy, three guitarists whose own interplay can at times evoke everything from the Velvet Underground during its primordial Ludlow Street days ("The Ernest Equinox") to the somber, hypnotic prisms of '60S folkies like the Incredible String Band ("Antique Gasoline"). Like all latter-day wayward folk offerings, there's no shortage of pastoral Fairport-esque plinking and ethereal vocal harmonies ("Beneath The Frozen Pond"). Good-timey organ invades "Beneath The Frozen Pond" a la the Grateful Dead, and parts of this LP possess the same psychedelic sense of cryptic envelopment as early Dead opuses like Anthem Of The Sun. As an exploratory venture, Time Shapes The Forest Lake is like a stroll through the thickets with only a stethoscope to guide ye. Just don't eat the mushrooms.
-Joe S. Harrington

Tiny Mix Tapes review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"
One of the more puzzling products of the 1960s counter culture, it was, nonetheless, inevitable that folkies would eventually turn against the traditionalist and provincial themes that ran through the music and culture that they studied and give birth to a distinctively new variant. From the Fugs and the Holy Modal Rounders on the east coast to the Byrds and the Grateful Dead on the west, the sounds of traditional folk music began to crossbreed with electric instrumentation and a growing drug culture to create a rather paradoxical two-headed hybrid of psych-folk that soon dropped most affiliation with traditional forms in favor of a more rock-oriented sound. Those interested in folk music in England, however, held a bit more tightly to the traditional ethic (mainly the song canon, themes, and acoustic instrumentation of the tradition), and chose to augment those elements with the influence of other cultures and to refract those influences through the prism of their contemporary experience. And though not English, Pothole Skinny have far more in common with those English bands of yore than they do with any of the so-called American folk experimentalists of today.

Led by former Gwens member Stephen Connolly, the hypnotic three-piece (fleshed out by a small pool of contributors) makes a decided inroad into the experimental end of the psych-folk spectrum, sprinkling pagan pixie dust while largely relying on exotic acoustic instrumentation and mysterious, faux-medieval imagery to place themselves squarely in another conceptual dimension. Founded largely upon eerily earthward elements (plaintively picked acoustic guitars, far off clucking banjo, ominously swooping cello, and otherworldly flutes), the arrangements flow and recede, changing tempo and texture while the melodies swirl and bend around each other as if twisting around the spires of a gothic cathedral.

Much like the Incredible String Band, the ominously wispy quasi-chamber-pop “Antique Gasoline” unravels over eight minutes of complex finger-picked acoustic guitar arrangement augmented by a bowed psaltry and a gopichand. Similarly representative, “Scroll of Westport Quay” rides dewy electric guitar lines over shuffling percussion and field recordings, hypnotically swaying into unexpected passages while devolving into its constituent parts. Such is the subtle addition and subtraction process that informs the unpredictable aesthetic of the album, reaching an odd compromise between English folk, psychedelic exploration, and progressive rock.

Even though they can tread into fairly conventional territory with the growling distorted guitars of “The Ernest Equinox,” there is always a vocal drone or ominously dissonant clattering of the convergence of cello, acoustic guitars, and drums to create a dreamlike haze that hangs over nearly every ornate corner of these nine compositions. Add lyrics which elliptically tend toward the fantastic and you have a listening experience that takes you well beyond the commonplace and surprisingly close to the transcendent.
-Matt Fink

Erasing Clouds review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"
After 30 seconds of chimes deliver a warning notice that something ominous is to come, Pothole Skinny's Time Shapes the Forest Lake starts things off with a song that is, at first glance, a pleasant, melodic pop-folk song in the tradition of someone like Elliott Smith or Iron and Wine. Listen closely, though, and you'll hear words that are creepier than you might expect: "The thieves are gone/they're down at the pond/it's ten of them to one/but I got my shiny gun." The last two minutes of the song turn it into a slightly psychedelic jam, giving a strong sign of what's to come. Pothole Skinny's music is pretty, but it's not easy; the stories it tells are harsher and weirder than the ear-pleasing surfaces suggest. They're less a pop band than an art-folk group in the tradition of Ghost or Pearls Before Swine. A hazy mood hangs over everything, and it's either one of terror or peace; you decide. Their lyrics bear the air of fantasy tales or mythological legends (notice song titles like "When Morpheus Calls for Slumber"), but also a heavy portion of surrealistic ambiguity. Pothole Skinny use primarily acoustic and electric guitars, but also banjo, organ, cello, flute and more, to explore the ways that music can be both alluring and enigmatic. They take dives into dark psychedelia here and there, but even a gentle acoustic guitar can be bone-chilling if it's played right. Time Shapes the Forest Lake is unsettling and drop-dead gorgeous, often at the same time.
-Dave Heaton Erasing Clouds

Psyche Van Het Folk (Belgium) review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"

A beautifully designed cover, for a group with a beautiful name, "Pothole Skinny", a name that reminds me both at potheads like Gong as it gives me the impression this must be a name for a psych folk pop band. It is in fact even more directed to acid psych folk through very moody instrumentation, with a feel for both pop song structure as with an openness to create various colourful moods, with harmonium, bowed psaltery, gopichand, harp, acoustic guitars, and cello, especially on "Antique Gasoline". It listens as a perfect soundtrack, not as accompanying music, but as WITH the movie and story and everything on it, with beautiful landscapes included, and with enough peace in within to enjoy each moment. What kind of movie, would you say ? Something with harmony with nature for sure, where "time shapes the forest lake". The songs itself are the humanly impressions, directing, and acting, communicating, where the instrumental passages are the colours of the environment bewelding human's comfort. The 6th track, "The Ernest Equinox with a distorted electric guitar and underground rock experiments (like early Sonic Youth) with additional layers of "stoned" ethereal vocals and experimental guitar coloured sounds is somewhat different, even more urban like. It is another creative "painting" of sound ideas for another similar mood, still creating an effect of colourful comfort. All ideas of Pothole Skinny are well balanced, and with clear expressions, always flowing gently as noon breeze and ever moving shadows of leaves with bright sunlight. A perfect listen. Highly recommended.

-Gerald Van Waes Psyche Van Het Folk

Fakejazz review of "Time Shapes the Forest"

With former members of Tower Recordings, Elf Power, PG Six, and Fable Factory in the ranks, this trio (Stephen Connolly, Scott Freyer and Frank Murphy) just may be the first wyrdfolk supergroup. Recorded in my home state (New Jersey), there are references to northwest NJ's premiere indie nightclub ("Kroghs' Whisper") and an old defunct rail line ("The Sussex Railroad Song"), but the music is universal and will appeal to avant-folk fans around the world. "Antique Gasoline" is a gentle folksong with a soft, quiet, sparse backing from initially an acoustic guitar, which gradually builds in emotion and instrumentation to include harmonium, flute, harp, cello and gopichand. Comparisons with Ghost, Atman, Magic Carpathians, In Gowan Ring, and Stone Breath are justified and the forlorn and mellow moods that are sustained throughout will appeal to fans of both the parent projects mentioned at the beginning as well as brooding folkies like Ben Chasney (Six Organs of Admittance), Fit & Limo, David Tibet (Current 93), and Martyn Bates (Eyeless in Gaza).

"Scroll of Westport Quay" is musical ambrosia composed for djembe, chimes, bodhran, udu and cello and continues the stoney vibe of becoming one with your easy-chair. If there is any downside at all, it is Connolly's effeminate vocals (which had me hunting through the credits trying to find out the name of the gal doing all the singing, although, to be fair, "she" may be uncredited) and the unintelligible use of field recordings that interrupts the smooth mood. This may, however, catch the ear of fans of Finnish avant wyrdfolksters, Kamielliset Ystevet and Origami Arktika. Others may want to jump to the next track at about the four-minute mark.

Frank Murphy's sharp electric guitar scraping on "The Ernest Equinox" is another buzzkiller, as are the guttural utterances, which yield to asymmetrical, Magic Band-styled guitarrorisms. It's not for the faint of heart and, in such harsh contrast to the rest of the album, seems to have been recorded by an entirely different band. Another prime candidate for the "skip" button.

But decorum is restored on the beautiful instrumental "May-Gun Explosive Flower," an exercise in contrasts, from its oxymoronic title to the romantically flowing cello work of Kirsten McCord. Finally, the closing "When Morpheus Calls for Slumber" is another candidate for that mix tape you've been building of the best songs to fall asleep to. In fact, the lengthy coda, which continues for more than half of its three-and-a-half minute length is the epitome of the stereotypical "speaker hum." Sweat dreams are, indeed, made of this fine entry in the ever-widening wyrdfolk canon, and while this one emphasizes the first syllable, it is still recommended to fans of the aforementioned artists.

-Jeff Penczak

Jersey Beat review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"

An absolutely gorgeous collection of folk-inflected melodies. If anyone's old enough to remember NJ bands like Speed The Plough and even the later Feelies, the feeling here is much the same. A talented ensemble playing cello, violin, banjo, harmonium, and a host of other folk instruments join Pothole Skinny's core three members on these recordings. Even the song titles speak of this record's tranquil, soothing feel - "The Sussex Railroad Song," "Dream Of the Labia Lament," "Beneath The Frozen Pond". As refreshing and relaxing as a perfect day in the country, Pothole Skinny offers the perfect alternative to the nerve-jangling freneticism of so much of today's indie rock.

- Jim Testa

Music Spork review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"
Folk music -- the kind made with guitars, a scribble pad, pot and whole afternoons of idle time -- has never really gone away. And while it’s played second fiddle to breakbeat and electronica as poster boy for the home studio movement, it has mutated in some delightful ways as the age of the independent artist continues to flourish. Pothole Skinny’s Time Shapes The Forest Lakes is certainly a folk record in the layman’s sense. There’s plaintive guitars and tentative vocal melodies delivered with reserve and self-conscious intellectualism -- the formula that has fueled every distillate of Anglo-Appalachian song through Dylan Nick Drake. But it’s also twisted through a lens that looks fondly backward on the less prominent mutations that have taken place since– the haphazard primitivism of Jandek and Syd Barrett, the zen repetition of Karutrock and Eno and the instrumental playfulness of psych-folk.

What makes Time Shapes The Forest Lake enjoyable is how it reflects its own time through those same component parts. It is a somber, wan and weary record -- an artifact for tired times. But the record’s weariness, at least on an instrumental and atmospheric level, is far from tiresome. "Dream of the Labia Lament," for instance, works spare electric and acoustic guitar lines around a tenor banjo loop that Daniel Lanois might have employed in one of his film scores had he been there first. And the pastoral gothic themes implicit in the arrangement are eerily heightened by the presence of a creaking rope that could be a lazily rocking boat, but is likely something entirely more sinister. "Antique Gasoline" achieves a similar spooky effect, creeping like a meditation on a 500-year-old English folk theme twisted up in a slow tangle of harmonium and cello.

Where Time Shapes… bogs down is in its vocal passages. "The Sussex Railroad Song," which may be the best of the sung contributions, evokes Isn’t Anything –era My Bloody Valentine in its best moments, but would probably benefit from the psychedelic haze and melodic sense that defines MBV’s unique vocal interplay. More often than not, Time Shapes… vocal melodies and delivery are a bit ugly and narrow -- recalling the pointless ironic delivery that fouled so much independent pop over the last 10 years. Worse, they often spoil otherwise well conceived instrumental passages -- such as the delightfully lazy guitar interplay on "Scroll of Westport Quay," which is fouled by the transition to a rudimentary, sing-song verse that follows the backing melody much too literally.

Interestingly, several tunes marred by Pothole Skinny’s less-than-crafty vocals often return to beautifully textured, extended instrumental passages that transform the melody entirely. As a technique that appears throughout the record, it’s an effective and welcome vehicle for transport. It also begs the question whether this is dynamic by design, fouled by a basic homeliness in Pothole Skinny’s vocal delivery, or a misevaluation of their own strengths.

Because what ultimately draws the listener back to this record is how the promise of this collective’s textural sense always seems to peek like sun from behind the clouds. It’s a strength Pothole Skinny would be wise to cultivate further as they head further into the mysterious twilight on their own road to folk mutation.

-Charles Saufley Music Spork 

 
Mundanesounds.com review of "Time Shapes the Forest Lake"
Let's talk about wonderfully strange records, shall we? This is one, for sure. This is psychedelic mind music, for sure--but it doesn't have that heavy duty drugged-out flavour, so that's a positive thing. Nope, Pothole Skinny go for a more organic trip, with such wonderful instruments as acoustic guitars, chimes, flutes, and banjos. You might be afraid of artistic overindulgence ala Elephant 6, but fear not, my friends. Their muse never leads them into the silly sound of worlds with gnomes or dragons or any of that kind of absurd "psych"-hippie vibe that others have ruined. They're lo-fi, but they're not crap, either--another plus for Pothole Skinny.

These things are indeed wonderful, but there's one major flaw with Time Shapes the Forest Lake. The only problem I have with them--and this is hard to say, because I'm criticizing one aspect of the record, and not the band itself--is the singing. They've made some really wonderful music, but the singing just takes away from their music. I've never suggested a band go all-instrumental, but Pothole Skinny probably would be better served in considering the change. The vocals just seem to be a bit out of place among the lush accompaniment. For instance, "Antique Gasoline" would make a wonderful instrumental piece, but the singing makes it so...common, so been-there, done-that, and it's disappointing, too, because I can tell they're much better than that. Indeed, it's no surprise that the instrumental numbers--such as the lovely "When Morpheus Calls For Slumber," and the downright beautiful "May-Gun Explosive Flower"--are the album's strongest songs.

As this is a debut record, some flaws are to be expected, and aside from the problematic vocals, Time Shapes the Forest Lake is a peaceful, quiet, tranquil record, one that owes more to Windham Hill or Hearts of Space than it does with Olivia Tremor Control. With a little change of direction, Pothole Skinny could produce really, really beautiful music.
-Joseph Kyle Mundanesounds.com