Brass Orchids is a dense and unusual album, whose outer darkness disguises an inner light.  On the surface, it’s a set filled with field recordings, drones and danger.  Below the surface is Anne Guthrie‘s ancestry, apparent in piano pieces from the artist’s deceased grandfather.  “Spider” includes a segment of tap dancing that would brighten the heart of even a hauntologist.  The project challenges our ideas of the past: is it something to be exhumed, feared, celebrated or a mixture of all three?  While Guthrie declines to settle on a single answer, she underlines a common theme: that whatever lies in the past is worth excavating.

“Bellona” recalls the work of debris artist Tarab, whose soundscaping often takes place in abandoned buildings and includes scraping, drips and a tone of brokenness.  But there’s that piano, throwing everything off.  Usually when one hears such a thing, one thinks of “The Shining” or…