Vinyl LP
Primarily an acoustic pianist, Mary Sutton first forayed into synthesizers on her debut full-length, 2018’s The Deep End. Right away, it became clear that the Portland-based musician, who performs and records under the name Saloli (pronounced “slowly”), was less interested in what the synth is capable of than what its sounds might inspire in her.
That remains true on Sutton’s new album, Canyon. It’s not that Canyon is lacking in kaleidoscopic tones—Sutton’s chosen mid-’80s analog synth offers textures both rich and peculiar, and this time out she allows herself the indulgence of a delay pedal—but she picks her minimalist palette with care. Canyon employs just a handful of shapes that Sutton, who recorded these songs live without any overdubs, rarely abandons mid-track, instead showing admirable restraint. Saloli’s form follows the synth’s function, and we’re treated to a peek into the mind of a songwriter who is both classically trained and endlessly imaginative. (This album is Sutton’s musical interpretation of the life of a bear in the Smoky Mountains, a conceit inspired by her Cherokee Nation heritage.)
Canyon does require patience and attention. The drums never come in; the bass certainly never drops. That doesn’t mean that the listener is left to fill in all the blanks. In Sutton’s capable hands, the aforementioned delay pedal is a versatile instrument of its own. Right from the start of the album opener “Waterfall,” Sutton employs delay on her harpsichord-adjacent synth patch as both a percussive and euphoric emotional tool. The late-song crescendo absolutely soars precisely because of Sutton’s approach to delay; at that moment, one performer might as well be a dozen. On the buoyant penultimate track “Nighthawk,” delay paired with the subtle swing of the bulbous synth stabs start to sound an awful lot like flapping wings.
Canyon’s spell still bewitches when Sutton uses the aforementioned delay to subtler effect, as on the Mort Garson-esque lullaby “Lily Pad.” A track like “Yona,” with melodic flourishes that feel reminiscent of Sutton’s longtime influence and friend, the brilliant Ethiopian songwriter Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou, would be just as engaging played on a questionably tuned barroom upright.
Back when synthesizers were young, albums like Wendy Carlos’s Switched-On Bach and Garson’s Plantasia approached them with novelty, wonder, and play. Sutton’s take may be less cutesy, but her sense of wonder is wholly intact. For a project with such exquisite outsider credentials (a high-art label in Kranky, a hometown with a rich history of experimental music from Grouper to Dolphin Midwives), Canyon is surprisingly accessible—not to mention downright fun.
