Music has a way of expressing emotion in the most difficult of situations, especially when spoken words fall short. Maybe it’s the creative energy and meticulous effort required to write and produce music. Or perhaps it’s the harrowing personal journey of finding inspiration in life’s grief.
Whatever the case, Lost in the Trees’ Ari Picker is seasoned in channeling sorrow into undoubtedly moving music, and on A Church That Fits Our Needs, he’s stunningly done it again.
Picker has woven his story into each of Lost in the Trees’ albums, a process that has no doubt been excruciatingly cathartic. On 2008’s All Alone In An Empty House, he began by chronicling his parents’ disjointed marriage and difficult childhood through a collection of frenetic and poignant songs. But amid the re-release and promotion of the majestic first record, Picker’s mother committed suicide after his wedding, leaving him once again to self-medicate with music.
Perhaps it’s Picker’s background in film scoring — the darkly angelic vocals, the swirls and swells of sound. Or perhaps it’s a culmination of all these things that have turned the album into a vivid and highly effusive crescendo. The album opens with “Neither Here Nor There,” a reflection on the space that seems to exist between life and death, and the process of grieving, yet memorializing.
Additionally, it’s songs like this one and “Garden” that reflect Lost in the Trees’ trademark swollen melodies. Fueled by soaring instrumentation and hopeful lyrics like, “It’s so peaceful here, I swear I think I’ll stay,” these are the songs that seek to lift and offer hints of solace.
Equally emotive “Red” is somber yet robust and full of movement. Picker’s voice swells with sorrow and memory, accompanied perfectly by persistent percussion and the ephemeral fluidity of strings. As he repeats “Color for my eyes, color for my eyes,” the track transitions deeper and deeper into layers of memory, bringing the listener along.
Overall, the album’s troublesome images are softened by the impeccable blend of celestial strings, the distant yet sweeping tinkering of brass and Picker’s own soft voice. His mother’s presence seems to fill every corner of the album beginning with her gripping portrait on the album’s cover and continuing with the conversation pieces intertwined in each subsequent track.
But let it be known that Picker and company’s aim isn’t always to belabor the grief. On “Icy River,” Picker sings “Don’t you ever think she was weak hearted,” as if to defend his mother amid her death or to reassure himself of her subtle strength while she was living, but he balances it with a golden veneration of her impact on his life in “An Artist’s Song.”
It’s this sense of universality created by A Church That Fits Our Needs that brings things full circle.
Behind the nuance, Lost in the Trees has produced an album that moves hearts of all states and honestly encompasses the most basic human emotions. In the end, there’s no choice but to listen closely and prepare to be moved.
Lost in the Trees
A Church That Fits Our Needs
Orchestral folk
Dive verdict: 4.5 of 5 stars
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