Seven years in the making The Nothing sees Jamie Cameron (along with Luke Hayden) finally exorcise some persistent demons and shed dead skin from within. Opener ‘Atoms’ and ‘Wings’ evoke the work of the much lamented Nick ‘Gravenhurst’ Talbot: affective/effective hushed vox and folkish feelonomics, resulting in spectral soliloquies augmented by subtle ultra-violins from Rachel Lanskey.

‘Grow’ is an onomatopoeic instrumental, a gradual aural builder that flowers and blooms, a veritable floral elegy.

The countrified sway of ‘The National Stage’ anatomises the physical self, the shell that holds ‘us’ in, ‘the skin and bone simply seeds that aren’t yet sown’, the soul and soil ultimately uniting as one.

‘All my faith’ has the incessant and candescent reassurance of ‘you will be loved’, a reassuring mantra of psychic luminosity. Endings are beginnings in ‘We’ll greet death’, a funereal happy-sad march towards the afterlife, the passing over and moving on, a unifying snook cocking to our Maker.

Meditative musings and remorseful ruminations bob along on both ‘On Water’ and ‘The Sea’; the former a sombre sail with the latter climaxing in a crashing crescendo of string sound-waves.

This profoundly personal album will linger long, if you let it, it will seep deep until you weep (with relief and release). Catharsis in recorded form.

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