dossano

http://www.myspace.com/dossanostream – now we must admit that the sound of Dossano has been filtering in and out of our listening environ for a few weeks now always impishly escaping appraisal until that is – now. Let just say that this is something else. For those much admiring of Cheval Sombre then this acts as a perfect listening companion, to CS’s Velvets Dossano is his Nico, the melodies tenderly serviced are clipped with a daunting and hollowing texture indelibly bruised and crushed of hope while set to a disturbingly arresting landscape of spectrally charged soft psyche folk blues. Its utterly entrancing stuff, all at once fragile, frail and head bowed, Dossano is the work of New York / Paris based enchantress Elizabeth A who has delivered quite possibly one of the best sets we’ve heard in such an age. These fraught figurines of fading romance weave a solemnly surrendering craft, the unreal wood charmed intimacy of the tear stained melancholia of the refined and statuesque ‘September’ which in all honesty dimpled with the soft shimmer of its 50’s reverbs and the gentle tug of opining riffs could have easily fallen from a Lynch film soundtrack which beneath its bitter sweet casuality and inescapable ache sours sensitively. Reference wise Dossano treads a tender and mercurial path previously taken by the likes of Hope Sandoval, Emma Pollack, PJ Harvey – none more so than on the primal scuzzed blues of ‘the rift’ which she describes as a shift towards a more ‘experimental’ sound – and of course without any shadow of doubt – Nico. As said a totally captivating set, cuts such as ‘white falls’ find itself invested with a truly mysterious and touching demeanour that’s carved from a rarefied and lost song craft, ‘hero’ recorded to sound as though some recently discovered and dashed in dust sepia trimmed beauty of humbling 50’s sourced porch lit torch blues will arrest as equally as it will hurt while ‘indigo’ veers in closest proximity to the aforementioned Cheval Sombre applying darkening shades to his light tonalities. All said nothing quite lives up to ‘aracely’ – proving to be the sets defining moment, wrapped in the faintest cascade of key braids this shyly recoiling slice of crushed majesty is lushly laden with the woes of the world’s weary, quietly embraced and cut deep with the inescapable intense tragedy of a 60’s French noir flick, the emotion pouring forth from its unravelling grief stricken grooves is something to behold – utterly beautiful but dark with it, will cut you to the core. A withering head bowed treasure chest of painfully passionate entrancement.

fist published – July 18th, 2009

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