by David Wilikofsky
I spent the early evening walking around a park near my apartment and listening to Seance, the latest release from New Zealand artist Maxine Funke. Funke has released three full length albums over the past decade, all of which were named for different fabrics (Lace, Felt, Silk). Those titles give you a good idea of her sound: hushed, etherial folk music. Seance introduces a new naming convention to her oeuvre, but it’s no less apt. It’s an album filled with hazy dreamscapes that feel as if they exist somewhere between the physical and spiritual worlds.
Funke’s music is simple: a lightly strummed guitar, gentle vocals, murky atmosphere. It’s a formula that could easily feel tired and repetitive, but there’s something magical about the way Funke utilizes these elements. “Quiet Shore” is interspersed with fractured memories: catching a train, a man standing at the top of the stairs, a door closing. Although a narrative is never explicitly spelled out you can’t help but start to build one in your head. The minor key “Lucky Penny” is transfixing, featuring vocals that literally melt into the background; the chorus never fails to induce goosebumps. Funke’s imagery moves from the fantastical to the mundane, giving her writing an undeniably surreal and dreamy edge; images of flaming pianos mix with clumps of clipped grass, yet she makes them feel like they belong together.
Although there’s plenty of detail to savor, I haven’t found myself dissecting this music too much. I prefer to let the songs envelop me, letting my mind go wherever they take it. As I wandered around the park, I found the landscape transformed by Funke’s songs. When she began to sing about the teeming rain, a light drizzle began to fall down. From that point on the scenes of everyday life around me took on an almost magical quality, blending into and becoming one with her sonic universe. It’s a set of transportive music that proves itself worthy of its title.