The Secret of The Sea
You get the impression, instantly, that Italian composer Bruno Bavota spent a long time contemplating the sea. There’s the title and cover for this album, sure, but beyond that, as a theme, it is soaked through every tune, from the lapping piano ostinato of Les nuits blanches and the swishing sea-saw of the guitar arpeggios that open the album’s Me And You this is an album that puts its audience out to sea adrift in thought, that reflects the space the composer was inspired by and the space he went to internally.
The Secret of the Sea is Bavota’s third album and there’s still something of the Phil Coulter-like piano melodies, but with the trickle of guitar here and there it’s almost as if ambient music, minimalism, modern classical and just the slightest shades of post-rock are now engaged in a slow, enchanting dance.
The fingerpicking that opens The Man Who Chased The Sea gives way to the strong surge of piano, and if you’ve enjoyed Rhian Sheehan’s music you’ll hear something in this that lights a similar emotional fire.
Hidden Lights Through Smoky Clouds is reminiscent of the shimmering, shoe-gazer feel of Decoder Ring, but again, the proud pounce of the piano pours through the tune, moving the music on through calmly meditative and toward a deeply spiritual cleansing, an awakening.
I’ve found something profound and stirring in this music, it’s been the soundtrack to the end of many a day’s weariness; it’s rightly – correctly – washed away the stress of the day, it’s been a fresh start in the early hours of many mornings too.
Deceptively simply melodies and the soft, proud surge, the little nods of intensity, lift this up and away. It’s beautiful.