By Genre: Ambient, Chamber Folk
Favorite Tracks: “Rachel’s Song,” “Stardust,” “Melted Moon”
On paper, few collaborations make as clear sense as this one does: Mary Lattimore and Julianna Barwick have toured together for years—kindred spirits of the LA scene, who have explored new age and extracted all possible emotions from its serene glow. Lattimore lent a beautiful feature on “Oh, Memory” off Barwick’s HEALING IS A MIRACLE back in 2020, fragmented harp punctuating choral arrangements like frost over grass. Considering their history and the sounds they share, it’s surprising how this full-length wasn’t crafted sooner.
In art, not all friendships lead to fruitful collaborations, and when like-minded musicians join forces, there’s always some initial apprehension. Mostly, the expectation that a spark will be ignited, that there will be a never-before-seen display from either of the performers, something that can only be brought out through this particular connection. For anyone even remotely familiar with Lattimore and Barwick’s work, there might be few surprises throughout TRAGIC MAGIC’s runtime. Still, that caveat doesn’t render it unaffecting. Quite the opposite: These instrumental meditations are heavenly.
The main pull comes in the form of musicianship: Lattimore’s patient, wandering style is as hypnotic and transportive as ever, taking the lead in a few tracks and acting as a mellow counterpoint in most others. Barwick’s voice isn’t featured as upfront as in her own work, but her unerring ability to turn into a “one-woman choir” (as WNYC once named her) makes every operatic sweep of her vocals an undeniable strike of elation, such as in “Melted Moon” or “Perpetual Adoration.”
No less important is their fascination with texture, augmented by free rein to the vintage instrument collection housed by Paris’ Musée de la Musique—including an astonishingly thorough collection of harps (single-strung, double-strung and chromatic, dating all the way back to the 18th century) and synths. Every single instrument has a worn character that helps the tracks stand apart, even if they share the same foundations.
TRAGIC MAGIC grapples with the earthly and cosmic. Based on the cover, some might expect a pastoral, woodsy affair, and it certainly starts out that way: “The Four Sleeping Princesses” immediately brings to mind a fairy tale’s enchanted forest, dense thickets pierced by sunlight. Soft plucks carry the main chord progression into a more eerie second half, blanketed by Barwick’s distant keening. Vangelis’ stunning “Rachel’s Song” gets a bright makeover that obscures most of the original’s melancholy in favor of something lighter, but still intense. In the first half of the album, synths are used sparingly. Once they start taking center stage (with the blissful “Haze With No Haze”), they bring an entirely different wondrous feeling into the arrangements, carrying them to lofty heights, leaving the forest floor behind to play among the stars.
“Stardust” is one of two outliers in the tracklist. It’s the only song that features any percussion, and Lattimore’s harp isn’t as overt. Deeply layered pads carry most of the momentum. A rumbling drone adds a surprising amount of grit to a track that’s otherwise almost achingly sweet. When it feels like the song couldn’t keep rising further, a steady kick-and-snare beat and vocals emerge. It’s the album’s most spellbinding, euphoric moment.
The other outlier is the stellar “Melted Moon,” a return to the album’s earlier harp-focused compositions, clear-eyed and surprisingly unadorned. To carry us out, Barwick delivers the album’s only discernible lyrics, still generously reverbed: “At least let me find something, a ruin / At least, finding hope again / Under the melted moon.”
It’s the one time the sentiment behind the album is mentioned directly, where tragedy rears its ugly head. A project born shortly after 2025 wildfires ravaged Los Angeles, the meditative trance and soothing soundscapes featured here feel less like chill-out platitudes and more like a heartfelt attempt to heal and restore feeling after life’s tribulations get the best of you. It recontextualizes everything: Every sour tone and moment of tension between these moments of beauty. The recordings of rain featured on “Rachel’s Song” feel like more than just window dressing, a bittersweet homage to the first water after the fires caressing barren ground. Even when damage is done, there’s hope for renewal.
As much as the sweeping arrangements evoke divine, otherworldly images, the feeling at its core is profoundly human. If there’s anything that TRAGIC MAGIC sounds like, it’s a conversation. At times delicate and sweet, occasionally restless, but always a constant, vibrant interchange of the idioms and approaches between two of modern ambient music’s most consistently enchanting composers.
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