Birdlings Flat debut bursting with empathy and excellent tunes

Some albums arrive with next to no information, presenting themselves as a series of mysteries to be solved. Such is the case with the debut album from Birdlings Flat, which has appeared with a fanfare inversely proportional to the quality of its songs, which are very good.

Among the questions raised by Collections From Second Year: What does that name mean? (Birdlings Flat is a beach 50 minutes out of central Christchurch), Who are the kids on the cover? (it’s Burton and his sister), And where is Redding? (referred to in the track ‘Goodbye to Redding’, it’s a city in California).

This curiosity only arises because the tunes are so strong, leaving the listener hungry for more information. The most pressing questions are obviously ‘who is this person’ and ‘how did they learn to write and play like this’?

Burton attended Christchurch Jazz School, but (as is often the case), that’s not immediately apparent in his music, which revolves around gorgeous finger-picked acoustics and his soothing vocal delivery. There are occasional signs of virtuosity - mostly the odd lightning-fast guitar line - but emphasis is much more on tone and emotion. He wants you to feel things.

The odd reference point springs to mind, from a lineage of similarly hushed singer-songwriters stretching from Iron and Wine, to Elliott Smith, to Nick Drake. But the patchwork approach to the album, which includes songs marked as demos and voice memos alongside fuller compositions, brings to mind scrappier indie outfits like Guided By Voices and Sebadoh.

It’s to Burton’s great credit that, despite the loose assemblage, it hangs together beautifully, always consistent in tone if not fidelity. There is bird song present in some recordings, and distant conversation in others, the sound of a stop button being pushed, and guitar sounds that stray from perfection in favour of something more ragged.

But Burton’s voice is immensely listenable throughout, regardless of how it’s been recorded. Around a minute into ‘I Am Afraid’, he runs through an acrobatic vocal line, and you realise how much technical skill he’s keeping under wraps, preferring to honour the songs rather than show off. Similarly, ‘To Be Known’ includes particularly fleet-fingered fretwork, but always in service of a greater whole.

He seems more interested in using the studio itself as a way to add light and shade. ‘Can Understand’ starts off sounding home-recorded, then more and more layers of sound join the mix, segueing into something comparably hi-fi, and other songs feature sonic adornments that speak to Burton’s strengths as a producer.

But the main attraction here is his way with melody, each song sporting a handful of memorable hooks which embed themselves in your mind before the first play-through is over. Bittersweet and bursting with empathy, these are deeply felt tunes that will hopefully win Marcus Burton a bigger audience, leaving fewer mysteries to be solved next time.

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