by Philip Moss

Everything in its right place – Helen Ballantine’s patient wanderings allow just enough light to peer through the keyhole

As autumn creeps towards the chill of winter, Helen Ballantine’s voice stalks Quiet The Room. The only guest at her own party, it is a debut of patient wanderings – a million piece jigsaw that, with repeated attempts, sees her glorious vision start to form.

Since 2020’s debut EP, Skullcrusher, and last year’s Storm in Summer, anticipation for Ballantine’s first full length has been slowly building. But their more traditional use of arrangements did not prepare for these dark recesses.

There are moments that lift the gloaming. Pass Through Me‘s bright chorus is a flash of pop – its piano melody echoes around her voice like a ghost. On Outside, Playing, the sun momentarily returns again – shining through stained glass to bring colour to the album’s hushed palette. The shade is then hazy on Window Somewhere – everything is in a momentary state – nothing is definite; it is slow, contemplative, lonely, quiet… before it explodes into the record’s most brilliant eruption of vibrant noise.

Ballatine’s voice comes and goes throughout the record. An occasional guide. There is an understanding that words only hold so much meaning, and that the fuzzy tones of her explorations say more than her voice ever could – as she allows us just enough light to peer through the keyhole before pulling the lantern away. And such is her exquisite sequencing, Ballatine remains in complete control. Quiet The Room is not just a collection of songs: it is a dusty suitcase of white noise experimentations – ideas exhumed from old VCR tapes. In some ways, (secret instrumental) feels like it could be returned to – just the genesis of an idea – there are children’s voices, hushed, lapping guitars; melodies are buried. But the beauty is in its brevity.

Piquing the interest of Secretly Canadian after just her first live show, Helen Ballantine’s early career already shows similar signs to the label’s most revered songwriter, Jason Molina, and recalls the folk meets tape mangling of Phil Elverum’s Mount Eerie. These are big names to mention in relation to an artist in their formative period, but the discomforting gothic of Quiet The Room shows this is a world she already knows so well – the excitement, now, is that her gift is ours to explore – in our own time.

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