Iain Morrison: SÀL

Iain Morrison SAL Iain Morrison – SÀL

Peat Fire Smoke – 8 November 2019

‘Good god, good god’. It was as if he had got a hold of these words on board and they had stuck in his mind. And he had no words except these.

In the early hours of 1 January 1919, the naval yacht HMY Iolaire struck rocks on its approach to Stornoway as it was taking sailors home to the Western Isles from the Great War. Among the 200 lives lost, was Iain Morrison’s Great-Grandfather.

The unique and utterly fascinating elemental power of Lewis born Iain Morrison‘s music has never had a more emotive outlet than SÀL. Commissioned by Stornoway’s An Lanntair arts centre as part of 14-18 NOW, a five-year arts programme marking the centenary of The Great War, SÀL (salt, in Gaelic) commemorates 100 years since the sinking of the Iolaire. An enthralling act of remembrance over four movements.

Alongside the sample of a 1959 radio broadcast (part of Iain’s translation above), Salm (Psalm) opens with an unearthly drone and haunting chorus that contrasts with brisk guitar and percussion. From its inception, SÀL takes what seems on the surface a sparse approach but is deceptively rich, charging the ensuing lament on small pipes with an ethereal power. The beats and double bass that seem tribal in places are, nonetheless, congruent with that lament, and its tenuous vocal echo.

Ise (Her) sets Lori Watson’s trembling vocal over shimmering strings. An injection of power and pace from drums and guitar sees cello deepen Pete Harvey’s string arrangement, heralding Morrison’s outstanding song writing

“You know how much I will you to return
You know if I could I’d walk beside you”

Emma Connell-Smith’s viola takes the theme offered by Lori’s vocal and stretches it to a long, dark night. Over a pulse of strings; voices and rhythms build to a discordant conclusion.

That discord becomes harsh and cacophonous for the opening of Cogadh (War), jarring the senses into a state of emergency with its unforgiving clash of electric guitars. In time, oil is applied to the troubled waters in the form of Iain’s soft acoustic guitar and gentle vocal.

There’s a return to more structured song for Codagh II, a piece that’s every bit as engrossing as the remarkable accompanying video from Matthew Dalziel and Louise Scullion; itself part of a more detailed and utterly magnificent series that provided a fascinating backdrop to the original live performance. Indicative of the breadth of musical components explored on the album, Codagh II flows through soft, symphonic strings, rich acoustic guitar and a heart-rending snatch of song…

“Oh how I think of you
In my head, colours colours
I’m howling with the shapeless moon
Oh how I think of you”

Roinn (Share), in four individual tracks, comprises almost half of the album. It makes extensive use of archive BBC Radio recordings, recalling how the darkness, the wind and the sea swamped the senses of the stricken sailors, and those on the shore awaiting their return. Low whistle and a mournful, almost menacing drone augment the recordings until drums guitar and vocal weave a song. There’s also poetry – thought-provoking and redolent of the fear and fascination the sea inspires.

The album’s closing section, Roinn IV, opens with acoustic guitar and Iain’s fragile, haunting vocal over a solemn chorus of voices. Song and strings flow with mesmerising intensity before an extensive closing sequence of brushed snares, double bass and song that reads like a prayer.

Emotional, emotive and exquisitely crafted, SÀL searches through the darkness that has shrouded the horrific events at the dawn of 1919, to speak from the very soul of the islands. Among a body of work that has always been impressive for its breadth of vision and vivid imagination, with SÀL Iain Morrison has surpassed even his own high standards in a work of unparalleled potency.