Edition of 400 numbered copies. A kind of different album from A. Baker (Nadja) as it leans more into shoegazery and drone-pop songs. “Green & Cold” is the strength of strings proved by A. Baker. His soft lyrics suffuse weightlessly into a humming cloud of perfumed guitar scour. Yes, when gazed upon, these patent leather shoes really do reflect up. However, “G&C” is accomplishes much more than throwing Loveless lights back up to Heaven. An ass-load or so of previous avant-garde releases has developed in Baker a skill-set to be able to tweak normality. His 6 strings ring out like Echoes in a Shallow Bay in the year 4 A.D., but vox and drone are couched in subtly weird production. Over-emphasized Esses and Tees cross pollinate with the squeaking between-chord transitions, inventing a sort of clacking secondary dialog underneath the quieter songs. While other pieces play out into long, hyper-transcendent, cosmic vibes that end up in left field (see also Jim O’Rourke, Ben Chasney and Michael Gira). And, of course, there is other odd fragments sneaking around behind the curtain of each tune. Baker’s voice is calmly pleasing, and like Vini Reilly or Henry Frayne (Lanterna), his vocals often seem more like another frequency/rhythm than specific words. “G&C” is total radiance and not quite as heartbreaking as, say, Red House Painters, which is why it is still safe to listen with knives around. So, it turns out “Green & Cold” is neither. It is experienced and warm and suitable for disappearing into midnight to.
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