St. Warna's Arrival
by The Cosmic Nanou
Deserted Village : DV5 : 2003
wav / flac / mp3
Melodies concerning the apocalypse (as it was revealed to The Cosmic Nanou during a vision experienced whilst observing the summer solstice on a drizzle-swept atlantic archipelago).
Review by Lee Jackson in Broken Face
Another name to keep an eye out for is The Cosmic Nanou. On St. Warna’s Arrival, genuine finger picked folk-pop not far from Donovan or Nick Drake is nestled right up against strange, blissful noise, minimal eletronica and noise collages in an utterly entrancing and beguiling way. I guess Alastair Galbraith could be a reference point, but this sounds decidedly more…Irish. Kitchen Cynics crossed with Current 93 is closer to the mark, and good lord there is some real beauty and originality at work in the finger-picking, harmonies and machine drones of the fourth track (whatever it’s called, no song titles on my copy). The rest is both fascinating and moving to the hilt; it’s the kind of noisy space folk strangeness I live to be mesmerized by, and a very pleasant diversion for a little over 33 minutes. Don’t be afraid to point your clicker to www.desertedvillage.com and hear for yourself.
Review from Vital Weekly
No idea who The Cosmic Nanou is, one person or more, but I'm told that all the pieces on 'St. Warna's Arrival' deal with the apocalypse, "as it was revealed to The Cosmic Nanou during a vision experienced whilst observing the summer solstice on a drizzle-swept atlantic archipelago". To that end The Cosmic Nanou sings, plays guitar and has haunting electronica sweeping in the background. Dashes of rhythms wave back in the fifth track. Maybe a bit too much on the singer-songwriter stuff but all the experimental doodlings in here make things up quite nicely.
Review from Skulls Of Heaven
Heavily damaged Irish psych folk. Songs lead by quiet vocals and acoustic strum is completely saturated and over taken by a haze of fuzz guitar and studio trickery. Other songs feature touching counter harmonies, poetic lyrics and coherent slabs of strange folk