Sweden’s Dag Rosenqvist (Jasper TX) has been coming on strong in the past twelve months, with an impressive Black Sleep disk followed by the stellar EP, Closet Ghosts. Rosenqvist has drifted far from his post-rock beginnings and continues to branch into new territories; his new work is virtually unlinkable to that of his Lampse debut. Two major changes have taken place in the ensuing years: each release has grown more unified, and the level of abrasion has dropped.

Singing Stones is easily Jasper TX’s most restrained work to date. The cover photo is pleasingly pastoral, although the trifold packaging seems unnecessary given that two sides are completely white and two others are plain green boxes. Ironically, the packaging serves as a perfect metaphor for the music found within: the project holds great promise, but a few of the tracks are embarrassingly underdeveloped and should have been excised. As Rosenqvist proved last year, a solid EP can make a bigger impact than an overstuffed album.

According to the press release, Singing Stones tells the tale of “windswept islands, a small community surrounded by the dark sea.” The track titles relay the rest of the story: “Stillness”, “They’ve Flown Away and Left Us Here”, “Last Boat In”, “Mornings After”. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture a lonely island with a few inhabitants, wondering if they will ever again be visited by the outside world. While listening, I am reminded of the movie, “The Secret of Roan Inish,” in which selkies convince children to re-inhabit an abandoned seaside village.

The use of field recordings helps to illustrate Rosenqvist’s narrative: lone footsteps, whirling waves, whipping winds. The tracks that utilize natural effects are the most powerful and cinematic, while the others, in comparison, seem sparse. (I’m talking about you, tracks 2, 4, 7 and the first four minutes of 8!) A fair comparison can be made to Elegi’s Varde, which also tells a story, but fleshes it out with frequent sound samples so that every track is distinctive, bearing a sense of place. This is what makes Singing Stones so maddening. It’s easy to imagine how simple changes might have made this one of the best albums of the year: a violin here, a spoken sample there, the shortening of a nine-minute track to five. The less engaging pieces rob this suite of the pathos and yearning that should have been its hallmark.

That being said, Singing Stones also contains some of Jasper TX’s best work – selections so engaging that they justify the price of admission. Opening track “Stillness” is anything but still, beginning with creaks and progressing into a series of layered drones. About halfway through the track, one realizes that a church bell has been tolling all along, perhaps calling the parishioners to one final service, perhaps bemoaning the imminent loss of the island’s citizens. The middle section is loud and thick, after which the instrumentation recedes (save for the bell) and we hear footsteps, as if a rugged, boot-clad fisherman is walking around the wind-swept upper paths, taking a stoic inventory of what is left.

“They’ve Flown Away and Left Us Here” is a simple track with a repeated vinyl itch and a wrenching guitar melody, reminiscent of Closet Ghosts’ “And When We Die, God Makes Angels of Us All”. The guitar is eventually joined by a gentle glockenspiel, which plays the same notes concurrently until the guitar drops out. The glockenspiel then plays one last note before quitting of heartbreak. Afterwards, we are left with an additional minute of radio static, which has been running quietly through the entire song. This static is interrupted periodically for a forlorn click, as if someone is searching on all frequencies for any sign of life, like the survivors on “Lost”.

“A Box of Wood in the Storm” begins with what sounds like a demented harp, then descends into feedback and drone. At the five-minute mark, just when we think the track has peaked, an additional layer of guitar enters the mix. My assumption here is that the “box of wood in the storm” is a coffin, drenched and bereft of mourners, save for the shivering ghost of the inhabitant. While this track is preceded by “Last Boat In”, a gentle wash of wave and vibraphone, this calming piece sounds better in its wake. There’s not much to it, but it makes a pleasant coda. The album’s current closer is nice, but offers nothing we haven’t heard in the other tracks; if a fifth were required, I’d choose an edited version of “Into the Sea”.

I had high hopes for this release, and my hopes were both rewarded and dashed: rewarded by some of my favorite tracks of Jasper TX’s career, and dashed by my disappointment in the album as a whole.Singing Stones is a good release that could have been great, and I am haunted by impressions of the album that could have been.

-Richard Allen