Tanakh Saunders Hollow by: Tim Clare Tue:10-Apr-07 Label: Camera Obscura Year: 2007 WB rating 42 out of 100

Saunders Hollow is a name that evokes beauty. It’s as if the cool breeze of the Southern Ocean is sweeping around as the name is repeated; meaning or context have no place as the sun’s warmth gently breaks through the sea-breeze’s caress.

Tanakh’s Saunders Hollow begins to seep out of the speakers, and such romantic notions are encouraged as gentle acoustic guitar arpeggios are plucked over the schreech and enchantment of musical saw and mournful violin; a deep brooding double bass is introduced alongside Michele Poulos’ breathy, cooing vocals. The headspace is lovely, there’s no hurry here, no rush – the ocean breeze and southern sun are close.

This is the vision of Tanakh: deep, tranquil, beautiful music, and as the 17 musicians create together, there are early signs on opener ‘Ladybird’ that this vision will be realised. The collective nature of the group should lend itself toward bold and creative music – each member is clearly competent at their chosen instrument – but unfortunately this precision and proficiency doesn’t quite reach this mark; unable to be validated by a vocal performance worthy of the sounds.

However as ‘Ladybird’ flows along, strings rise and fall, and the Latin-edged acoustic guitar that grows in prominence along the album introduces itself. Poulous continues with her muffled lullaby: “I’m so tired of waking up”. The lyric is clumsy, perched so far behind layers of sound and reverb that it almost works. The dream like state of ‘Ladybird’ tries as hard as it can to mask Poulos’ frigid tune, but the layered sound can’t conceal her. It’s this flat, monotonous and dull vocal performance, along with the continued inability to lyrically express the group’s desired vision where Tanakh ultimately fail.

‘Marcel Proust’ follows, contaminated again with aforementioned dreariness. Where a loving ode to a celebrated 19th century novelist could have been fitting, the track shows the group playing the Francophile card, which is totally irrelevant and unnecessary.  Why is it that arty types continually feel a need to validate themselves by using the French as their garden stake? The French aren’t the sole creative voice, and Tanakh elucidate their inadequacy as they project their utopia: “Think we knew Paris well/All up and down the Seine/My Marcel, my Marcel”. Rather than ushering the listener through the life of Proust, it reveals itself as wanky French name-dropping.

Despite their chanteuse and her tendency to slip into Norah Jones territory, Tanakh is sonically enjoyable. ‘Down’ is heartfelt and almost moving as it meanders through its sparse, string heavy arrangements. Here Poulos displays her ability to evoke emotion through voice. ‘Longer Than Sorrow’ uses harpsichord to affect as it leads in and is joined by upright bass, organ, strings, and percussion. The cut is interesting and layers are built as the collective gradually joins in, however the harpsichord is overused and what could have grown into a heartbreaking crescendo limps along as an annoying middle album track.

Here reveals another criticism of the group, there is an inability to determine when enough is enough. ‘Ladybird’, ‘Kept’ and ‘Illusions Of Separation’ all suffer this same fate as they needlessly exist beyond six minutes, where, in all cases, they could have been condensed to four. Tanakh insistence on repeated musical breakdowns (the Latino- infused instrumental ‘Saunders Hollow’ could be included) is also reflective of this criticism, these instrumentals never reach their potential, sounding tedious, wearing and exclusionary.

The illusion was enjoyable, but ultimately in word and sound Saunders Hollow promises much more than it delivers, making purposeful, repeated listens onerous. You’re mum might enjoy Tanakh’s collective sound for dinner party music, but parties are meant to be fun. The breeze from the Southern Ocean is actually a bitter gale, and the sun burns rather than warms.