Like a secret told between the closest of friends lying in a sea of honeysuckle & bathed by a distant sun; the sad, sweet songs on this album feel as though they should traipse the lips of few and grace the ears of even fewer. Unlike such a secret, Arrow and Orb contains such a powerful brand of melancholy that emotion itself becomes an inverse function, barreling through the tunnels and hills of some distant dreamfield like the magnificent wings of some long-forgotten phoenix. Fire and brimstone meet the will of a suffocating ocean, handing smoldering, quiet passages of vocals and guitar into a whirlwind of bells, whistles, mandolin, percussion, bass, and more.
A voice that is sometimes a bass, sometimes based in dust and ancestry... from oceanic depths to a fluttering trill in moments of passage. This voice carries the album with a detached passion and direct attack on the senses simultaneously, delivering words of a heart aching for grander pastures.
At times sounding like a lost, hardened gem from the thousands of overlooked folk artists of the 60s and 70s, others sounding like a modern country venture steeped in international mystique, the album is tied together with the golden strands of true composition and songwriting, never once faltering and always packing a hand more powerful than any deliverable punch.