by Geno Thackara
“September’s heeeeeerre agaaaaaaiiin.”
It doesn’t feel all that different at first. Summer doesn’t truly end until later in the month. You may still feel like a roasted lobster after spending more than an hour outdoors. Yet… there’s that hint of change creeping around the edges. The window for volleyball games and late-evening drinks on the patio is inevitably closing, and it’s impossible not to notice how the light is going away earlier every day. Along with the shift to warmer clothes and the arrival of pie season (yes, that’s a thing), this CD reliably becomes a staple of the soundtrack around my house. It’s a fine arty, exquisitely melancholy treat for the post-Labor Day blahs and even more effective for the remainder of the fall.
That opening track “September” doesn’t last a minute and a half, but that’s long enough to set the mood with just some downbeat piano and a bed of wistful strings. David Sylvian doesn’t write songs so much as compose miniature scores. Here he paints with orchestral brass or woodwinds, Spanish guitar, muted trumpet, a little occasional synth or organ, and a deep rich baritone voice smooth as silk. These songs are quiet and sad, full of poetic imagery, best enjoyed in the late evening with a good wine and no distractions.
“I harbor all the same worries as most
The temptations to leave or to give up the ghost
I wrestle with an outlook on life
That shifts between darkness and shadowy light.”
It’s odd to describe this stuff as comforting. There’s hardly anything cheerful to be found. The next-to-last song is titled “Let the Happiness In” and those words seem optimistic on paper, but somehow Sylvian still sounds unconvinced, like he’s not even buying the sentiment himself and doesn’t expect you to either. By now he’s crooning about “cold December sun” and even the pleasant jazzy backing only brightens things up slightly for a couple minutes. Sure enough, the last one brings us right back to earth. “On the waterfront, the rain is pouring in my heart.” The strings are still there and gloomier than ever, and whichever bonus track you get (depending on which edition of the album you’re listening to), the epilogue doesn’t lighten things up any either.
Despite all that, there is something comforting about Secrets of the Beehive all the same. We may be wallowing in sadness, but sadness this gorgeous and eloquent reminds you there’s beauty in the world too. It’s not a bad thing to be reminded of when that world starts getting chilly again.
