These days, describing something as 'lo-fi' can cover a multitude of sins and often be used to paper over the cracks of dreary, underachieving records: ones which may well be made without a budget, but also without the necessary creativity and desire to say something of value in the first place.
Thankfully, though, there are still ornery, maverick characters out there who can make records (sometimes literally) from the confines of their (bed)rooms and conjure rare magic from the simplest of instruments and arrangements.
SONGS OF GREEN PHEASANT (aka one Duncan Sumpner) is one such individual. By day, he's a mild-mannered 30-something artist/ teacher from Oughtibridge in Sheffield, but in his spare time he's been recording his eponymously-titled debut on a 4-track cassette recorded in his kitchen. It's been completed since 2002 and Duncan attracted the attention of the discerning Fat Cat label almost straight away, but thanks to communication problems (largely due to a duff e-mail address) it's taken a further three years for this elusive breed of bird to make its' fledgling flight in public.
But the wait was surely worth it. Recorded in rural isolation on the rim of the Peak District, "Songs Of Green Pheasant" recalls other intimate, home-recorded classics such as Adem's "Homesongs" and Fat Cat labelmates Drowsy's "Growing Green", but retains its' own special atmosphere as well. From what I can gather, Duncan plays everything himself, concentrating mostly on acoustic and electric guitar and embellishing when necessary with bass, drum machine, chimes, tambourine and drone-y noises. Vocally, he overlays his harmonies beautifully, creating something that's fragile, but often surprisingly warm too.
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Opener "I Am Daylights" sets the tone for much of what follows. It's gentle, mellifluous and takes the pace at an easy flow. It features rippling guitar, tremulous piano and Sumpner's mellow harmonising and is winsomely attractive in the best possible way. It absorbs you into Duncan's world without any noticeable fuss.
Which isn't to say "Songs Of Green Pheasant" isn't without its' challenges or its' darker side. Indeed, songs like "Nightfall (For Boris P)" feature vulnerable vocals reminiscent of people like Mark Hollis and Dean Wareham and quietly snag your heart, while th skeletally pretty "The Burning Man" is chillingly intimate and "The Wraith Of Loving" - with its' kneecapped drum machine and otherworldly, droning presence - is spectral and insistent.
Actually, he's capable of taking it even further out on songs like "Hey, Hey, Wilderness" and Truth But Not Fact". The presence of Mark Kozelek hovers closely at Dunc's shoulders during both, while the latter piece gradually morphs into quite a lengthy epic taking in Tindersticks-ish vibes and wafting along on a fuzzy, analogous breeze of a drone.
Occasionally, he loses you, like on the virtually stillborn "Soldiers Kill Their Sisters", but these moments are few and far between, and mostly you're just thankful that this letter-spotted species sings such an arcane, but thoroughly alluring song. Long may he thrive in the wild.
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