Sandro Perri Tiny Mirrors by: Tom Perry Mon:15-Oct-07 Label: Constellation Year: 2007 WB rating 71 out of 100

Like many people, I’ve always got a real kick of discovering some of my fair city’s hidden inner-city bars. One minute you can be standing in a cobblestone alley staring at stencil graffiti, and the next you’re plonking yourself into a plush 5-metre long couch with a martini in your hand. And my favourite of these bars is one where you’re not waiting 20 minutes for a drink, the barman asks you how you’re going when you walk in, and he knows his wine list bloody well.

Sandro Perri’s Tiny Mirrors is the musical equivalent of one of these latter kinds of bars. When you’re part of it, it’s warm, cruisy, down-tempo stuff that makes you feel a little special, that little bit removed from the average punter – the air of mystique worth the heftier price tags. Like that bar, it also feels like a luxury. It provides a decadence that isn’t easily adjusted too, one that may be worth extra investment, but because of its hidden nature we’re probably not likely to.

It is a record that represents a strong change of direction - or at the very least an experiment into new territory – for Canada’s Sandro Perri. His previous guise, under the moniker of Polmo Polpo, provided complex ‘big’-sounding progressive electronic material, earning him performance spots at some of Canada and Europe’s most respected indie music festivals.

Under his own name, Sandro Perri’s work is much more traditionally complex, blending a plethora of instruments including brushed percussion, flute, euphonium, trombone, cello and a variety of guitars into an oh-so-chilled out, free sound. And this sense of freedom pervades Mirrors, giving it a definite flavor of improvisation and a deliberate lack of direction.

While that word of “improvisation” is often associated with the wank-filled environment of free-form jazz, it is definitely not the territory Sandro Perri heads into here. Because of the nature of records being just that, a recording, the ‘improvisation’ doesn’t feel forced, or like a bunch of musicians out-doing each other. It simply ensures the audience receives occasional surprises, with instruments and beats appearing oddly placed. These surprises ensure Tiny Mirrors has a slight sense of obscurity and unpredictability about it, most notably on Cuban-influenced ‘Double Suicide’ and Perri’s re-working of Harry Nilson’s ‘Everybody’s Talkin’’.

The most linear work on offer here are opener ‘Family Tree’ and the simply-strummed ‘The Drums’. Both play to Sandro Perri’s wonderful voice, ‘Family Tree’ in particular feeling like an adult singing a child’s lullaby. The key strength of Tiny Mirrors is its warmth. This is the sort of music we’d normally associate with shoe-gazing sad sacks. But driven by Perri’s terrific vocals and some beautifully measured percussion, there’s an underlying warmth and softness here. It’s comforting.

However these verges off the traditional path aren’t likely to please everyone. As my earlier bar metaphor suggests, there’s an element of inaccessibility about Sandro Perri’s recorded sound that will keep it from the masses. Still regardless, if you’re into M.Ward, Rufus Wainwright, Antony & The Johnsons or Devendra Banhart, then you’ll find lots of love here. It won’t have you singing along – it’s a little too obtuse or off-kilter for that. But if you’re kicking back, cocktail in hand at one of ‘those’ aforementioned bars you’d be hard pressed to find a better soundtrack.