Following the archival releases in 2022, Broadcast open the floodgates for one last celebration of their genius. Trish Keenan kept an extensive collection of demos recorded by her and James Cargill, a plentiful bounty evoked from electrifying jam sessions, spontaneous sketches, and diaristic writings, scattered across 4-track tapes and MiniDiscs. With Spell Blanket, and its companion Distant Call releasing later in 2024, Cargill unearths over a decade's worth of material from the archives to gift an incredibly generous set of compilations.
At the time of Trish Keenan’s passing in 2011, Broadcast had been working on a soundtrack for Peter Strickland’s Berberian Sound Studio later released in 2013, as well as formulating the beginnings of what would have been their fabled fifth album. Cargill noted that the demos were reminiscent of Haha Sound and older Broadcast records: “They fit the pastoral, folk thing. She’d taken a lot from Lewis Carroll and some of the nonsense verse she was into.” As such, there’s a special intimacy to these recordings, filled with golden harmonies and close up visions of the duo’s creative process.
Some tracks have trickled out over the years as Cargill has shared demos on Keenan’s birthday, like ‘Tunnel View’ with its deep sense of imagery, and ‘Where Are You?’ with arresting, dissonant strums swaying to and fro, joined by pulled bass and piano chords in grand emotive arrangements as Keenan’s lyrics undo reality. They show off Broadcast’s prowess in songwriting, totally unafraid to take as many left turns as possible while remaining endlessly engaging, poppy, and accessible. “Pulling conventions out of my head,” she sings on ‘Hairpin Memories’ as if it were their mission statement, while hopping, skipping guitars and folksy drums drive through, crashing into an accelerating finish.
‘The Song Before The Song Comes Out’ seems recorded whilst out walking; a candid, playful, spur of the moment intro before ‘March Of The Fleas’ flies in with chugging guitars and reverent choral backing vocals, beckoning us to get lost in the lo-fi as the noise and hiss of demo tapes melt into the warm distortion. The compilation is bookmarked by various interludes like the glassy, glossy organ sketch of ‘My Marble Eye’, the naked voice note ‘I Blink You Blink’, and the chain reaction of bells and chimes on ‘Luminous Image’ with digital artefacts skittering amongst them.
Of the more fully formed songs are tracks like ‘I Want To Be Fine’, offering doubt, trepidation, and interpersonal friction via evocative, poetic spoken word, stitched between honey smooth hymnal choruses. The motorik rhythm of ‘The Games You Play’ meanwhile booms and blossoms with digitised details, its impassioned drumming capturing the more explosive yet strife filled pangs of love. As Keenan imparts these romantic wisdoms, she toys with language in her wholly singular way: from the lullaby-like cyclical harmonies of ‘Greater Than Joy’ to the ominous, mythological monologue of ‘My Body’ intoning into a vast chamber, pulling from her occult interests to mystify the everyday.
Amid gristly bass, funk licks, and upbeat interplay between drum machines and whizzing riffs, are picturesque scenes painted with mellotron and xylophone, delicate yet dextrous acoustic plucks, and enrapturing, dreamy textures. The soft cinematics and curious harmonies of ‘Follow The Light’ ripple with pulses of synths, and ‘Sleeping Bed’ croons with a hazy waking mood, musing in blue morning light. In contrast, the agile riffs on ‘Roses Red’ descend into the valley then rise to the peaks, whistling with chattering birds and beating with heavy footsteps, while thundering drums are swept up in howling winds on the closing ‘Spirit House’, a psychedelic vortex waltz.
Spell Blanket is more than just an essential for the archivists and collectors. It’s a labour of love over a decade in the making, a testament to Trish Keenan and Broadcast’s gifted and unfaltering sonic experimentation, brimming with joy, insight, and wonder.
