Troth

Troth

Idle Easel EP

Digital Regress

"A new EP from Troth, following up their brilliant third album Forget The Curse released earlier this year. An EP of sorts, as these six wonderful tracks clocks in at over 31 minutes! A double one-disc EP? No matter what, Idle Easel sees the band in a transitional period, as the duo of Amelia Besseny and Cooper Bowman left Newcastle for Hobart, Tasmania during the recording sessions. The record has this heavy feeling of leaving something behind for something new, a feeling that is kind of boosted by the rather melancholic, autumnal presence that runs throughout Idle Easel. Blasting these songs in a currently very rainy Gothenburg in full, blown-out autumn mode certainly adds, but there's more to it than that. "'Wolkenträume' blends prominent Tassie location recordings with sparse keyboard melodies and angel-like singing—which after slowly coming down from an intense Ron Nagorcka period feels like the perfect bridge back to the grim, cold, northern reality. 'Autumnal Hymn' is one of those rather minimal, lovely piano songs courtesy of Amelia, with harmonies that could only be Troth. Placed halfway through the EP, the peculiar 'Kind Of Cure' almost comes like a palette cleanser from the uniform. Exquisite thickness, while not exactly jolly, a sort-of eccentric and lush take on folk music. 'Angel Not So Easy' has that hazy club-feel, coming from the same place as the title track on Forget The Curse and the IDDB 7" A-side, always maintaining that glorious DIY-edge. 'Sunflower' further explores the mixture of beats...

Troth

Small Movements In Radiance

Not Not Fun

The latest by deep listening duo Amelia Besseny and Cooper Bowman aka Troth exists in the outer reaches of open air ritual and crouched quietude, born of the seclusion and slanted sunlight of their garden-shrouded shed studio in Newcastle, Australia. True to its title, Small Movements In Radiance unfolds gently and luminously, hushed ceremonies of haze, harp, glockenspiel, tuned metal, and field recordings, variously inspired by “sublime bushwalks in the Blue Mountains,” sonic sleep aids, and the notion of “ambient music for children.”  There's a uniquely ageless, sacred feel to the album's five pieces, lulling but liminal, alluring resonances heard faintly from distant hillsides. Elements interweave across long, opaque arcs, then elusively re-isolate in stark tableaus of hiss and absence. Bowman cites a desire to resist “a world inhabited by far too many negative forces,” which these vulnerable but veiled environments softly do – carving out fragile terrain for escape, reflection, or renewal.