Choir of the Mind

Though melancholy, the album never wallows or gets stuck or even treads water, largely due to all the movement constantly happening in the vocal and piano lines. It feels like an exploration rather than a sealed-up document of the past.

Choir Of The Mind is more often introspective and engrossing. [No. 146, p.57]

It may take Haines another ten years to make her third solo album, but hopefully when she does it will be as richly melodic, subtly dynamic, and emotionally powerful as this one is.

Bigger production values and more group playing than her previous piano/vocal introspection. Haines delivers urgency and depth without having to shear off her throat lining, and can convey vulnerability and uncertainty with a brave face. [Oct 2017, p.81]

It all drifts along at an unhurried pace, but if you've been waiting a decade for more of Haines' most intimate music, you'll be rewarded for taking the time to let Choir of the Mind sink in.

In truth, the only weakness to Choir Of The Mind is its length – at 13 tracks and clocking in at just under an hour, it’s a long time to spend with an album that’s so resolutely downbeat. Yet there’s a lot to admire with Haines’ second solo effort (not least the quality of her production) and it makes a decent calm counterpoint to the swirling storm of Metric.

Tracks such as "Nihilist Abyss," "Fatal Gift" and "Minefield Of Memory" grapple with the "deceptive deal" of experience, while her elliptical melodies recall Elliott Smith in Figure 8 mode. [Oct 2017, p.30]

This occasional, kind of ironic lack of restraint makes some of the blackened themes of Choir of the Mind even more oddly oppressive, even if Emily’s melodies are often spacious and airy. When it gets its balance perfectly poised though, it’s an album that can be engaging and emotionally-charged.

Tendencies toward pop existentialism (song called Nihilist Abyss? Check) and sonic repetition are the cost of this querulous consistency, but her flair for sparely dramatic intensity compels.