Heather Jones is the songwriter behind the slowcore project ther. Her second album, a horrid whisper echoes in a palace of endless joy, emanates a DIY aesthetic. Still, nothing seems to have been left to chance – even the sounds that seem accidental or improvised sit perfectly in the space that’s been carved out for them. Accompanied by five other musicians, the songs come together like a well-crafted recipe.
The opener, Kid, immediately sets the scene for the atmosphere of the record. It feels more like a short poem than a song, touching on the anxieties the younger generations are growing up with. Jones sings: “How strange to be born in a time like now/ When everybody’s freakin out”.
The second song, big papi lassos the moon, builds on the theme of anxiety around capitalism, the meaning of life and love, and – surprisingly but perhaps less so knowing Jones’ passion for it – baseball. The song starts with a reference to David Ortiz – a baseball player who was shot in the Dominican Republic, and continues by masterfully weaving a narrative of someone trying to hold on to life and what it should mean. It’s a delightful tune, with slow verses building up to upbeat, full-of-life choruses and unexpected quiet moments that catch the listener off guard. The saxophone, cello, and lead guitar add to a full and hopeful sound that allows Jones to talk about the bigger things in life without making it a heavy listen.
Water that you cannot drink is a gentler, intimate song with a guitar intro that evokes an association with a flowing river. With lyrics that resemble the midnight thoughts of someone trying to fall asleep, Jones sings: “You were my one bad dream the year that I was 23/ The chirp of a chickadee; you unmade a man of me”. The track is beautifully arranged – starting as a lullaby, the sound grows bigger and more disturbing, like someone’s thoughts spiralling out of control, carried by waves of saxophone and cello.
The guitar part on Love is Always is recorded with a hiss that feels like listening to someone’s voice memo. It’s an elegantly understated, heartfelt song supported by a cello weaving in and out and backing vocals that give the song the feel of a conversation. The lyrics are full of melancholy, love, and hope: “You could be a bird, high above your anger/ I could be a boat – I just need an anchor”.
The collection continues with impossible things, the first album single. It bounces back and forth between the theme of joy at human connection and despair about the world and the future. The pedal steel brings a dream-like quality, coating the song in bliss that the lyrics don’t quite allow.
“4 to the floor, a whiskey or more/ I moved my hips in a way I hadn’t before/ You matched my stride. I felt alive/ Finally knowing what beautiful feels like”, Jones sings on A brief moment. It’s a gentle love song that starts with carefully crafted, warm guitar melodies and Jones’ talk-singing like she’s sharing a secret with a friend. Like in the other songs on this album, A brief moment builds up towards the end, maybe because the songwriter can’t quite contain the fear despite the joy that comes with letting another person in. The final line in the song says it all: “I can’t believe the things that you say when I’m not around”.
A short interlude follows, preparing us for the nearing end of the record. It’s a tapestry of guitar, cello, pedal steel, and saxophone, swelling and pulsing with emotion unspoken. It’s a testament to the musicians’ bond with each other – a moment for them to shine together.
With you is a meditation on grief, written after the loss of two dear friends. The song pushes and pulls, with the guitar, piano, cello, and saxophone rolling in and out of the track. The forward motion of the instruments drives the composition forward, reflecting, as ther put it: “the process of pushing through the painful process of grieving to allow one to heal”.
The closing track, 2 holidays, circles back to the themes of anxieties surrounding capitalism and the state of the world around Christmas and New Year’s. Jones sings: “I like to believe that there is a moment in between/ Both the end and beginning, when we are all free”.
It’s hard to define the feelings that flow from listening to a horrid whisper echoes in a palace of endless joy – there’s despondency and grief but also comfort in the wrongs of the world being called out by someone who is just as scared and disappointed as us, by someone who feels human, complex, and honest. Jones ends the album with a promise: “There’s a whisper in my ear/ It only speaks to me of fear/ But I won’t pay it no mind”.
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