It’s sometimes difficult when you have seen an artist develop from very early days on a local scene, to set aside all those early developments and listen to what is essentially a debut album proper, from an artist who has finally “arrived”. Meilir has been a familiar face on the local Welsh music scenes for quite a while now, and as often shown promise of creating some remarkable music. An earlier release, Bydd Wych, was an album of fitful moments, but in it was a set of tracks which showed that here was an artist who was at once finding their way, but also constantly finding ways in which to innovate. It’s not often that you find an artists willing to type out sounds on a typewriter, whilst scraping their foot in a tray full of gravel, but that‘s what comes from such idiosyncrasy.
Radiohead comparisons aside on the opening track on new album In Tune, and ‘It Begins’ really does do what it sets out to say. A stuttering, electronic loop and we’ll hide away from any pigeon-holing of folktronica as if ever a genre term was so cringeworthy it is this, but Meilir gracefully sidesteps any such genre comparisons, as he leads us into a rather beautiful rendering of the title track. Most impressive is the development of Meilir as a vocalist here. Coming from a choir background, there has always been a tendency to remain on the high side, but here he brings a wonderful Welsh warmth to his vocals. It makes a world of difference and is simply the most impressive part of both his development as an artist, and of the album as a whole. See also ‘Glasshouse’ which offers a frailty which betrays tears of emotion.
Perhaps just as impressive is the music which, whilst in the main is piano led, often finds itself driftng off in to a horn section, or, like on ‘Glasshouses’, a wonderful progressive synth sound bringing a gorgeous pastoral sensation to a track built on its aforementioned frailty. Glockenspiel opens up ‘Ydy’r Ffordd Yn Glir’, and yes, listen closely and that will be the sound of a typewriter and gravel being scuffed up. It’s these moments that make Meilir such an unusual artist. The moment when he phases his own vocals on ‘Ydy’r Ffordd Yn Glir’ is, quite frankly, spine-tingling.
As the album progresses, the music becomes ever more melancholic, with ‘The Right Way Up’ hitting all those feels that you may have in the early hours of the morning after a night of no sleep, brought on by the stresses and worries of modern day living. The earthy tones offer a comparative warmth to the coldness of existence, although you get the sense that Meilir doesn’t really have any answers either. At least there are two of you in the same predicament, and maybe the music can act as a balm to these times. Although the album was completed just before the pandemic and resulting lock-downs, it almost feels like it was made for these times.
‘Four Leaf Clover’ almost feels out of synch with the album, especially with its fairground evoking swirl at the end. It’s a welcome breather though, before the heaviness of ‘This Moment’ weighs you down with the weight of an entire Welsh mountain range. It’s a moment of reflection on the state of the moment, washed over with flickers of electronic sounds urging the ever cascading piano on to it’s ultimate denouement, a sole Meilir left with just his vocal. It’s breathtaking, and sums up an album of layers and melancholy grandeur that you will be picking apart long after your first listen. An impressive release, and one that firmly sets up Meilir as an artist to watch.
