f Low had grown up in the woody acres of the Rhode Island they might sound a bit like Fern Knight. But, like Low, through keeping a steady, requiem tempo throughout, Fern Knight has as many contemporaries as letters in its album title, which makes it hard for a band in the genre to make itself distinct from the other falling leaves.


The two main players in Fern Knight, Margie Wienk and Michael Corcoran, previously headed the similarly slowcore Difference Engine, which released two albums in the late 90s. Wienk, a bass and cello teacher also plays in the “experimental dark-pop” band The Eyesores. Seven Years of Severed Limbs is their debut as Fern Knight.


Accordion, cello, upright bass, violin, and lap steel all contribute to the sylvan tone of Seven Years of Severed Limbs. Vocalist Margie Wienk’s understated whisperings perfectly suit the albums mood; one can picture her whispering these folk tales underneath a drunk moon and raging log fire in an open forest clearing. The chilling “Wolf I” brushes branches aside as it weaves through the thicket with its speedily picked acoustic guitar and intermittent blasts of electric while Wienk sings, “Jealous again / Seven years of severed limbs / Make the sun go down / Make it go down / As we’re following the tracks / Of unavoidable wolf killers / ... / Left front paw / Drooling jaw...”


The cartoon-like cover art done by fellow Providence denizen, artist Jen Corace, shows a plump, raven haired little girl playing with a fey looking marionette from a tree branch beneath the full moon. The last few minutes of the lengthy instrumental “Sunday Afternoons,” with its bouncing mallet percussion and twinkling ambience seems an attempt at instrumentally evoking the work. The other instrumental, “Theme,” the basis for the mallet melody used in “Sunday Afternoons,” plays it repeatedly, to great affect.


The only issue I have with Seven Years of Severed Limbs is that it carries few memorable melodies. In its press release, Fern Knight is compared to Nick Drake (because he’s moody?), Cat Power (because of the vocal similarity?), Barbara Manning (vocal similarity again?), Red House Painters (because of the slowcore elements?), and Sigur Rós (because of some protracted instrumental passages and some long song lengths in general?). But these groups are all far more successful because they write/wrote catchy melodies amidst their moody atmospherics. Fern Knight simply plod along (especially on the three seven plus minute tracks which, as illustrative as they are of the sylvan northeast, could have been much more noteworthy with a tighter structure) seemingly adverse to a good hook, more interested in establishing an haunting aura than anything else.


But when they do connect, and are able to combine the two, atmosphere and hook, they do it wonderfully. As is such on “Kingdom” where a simple start and stop acoustic picking backs Wienk’s lyrics of bitter anticipation, which are surprisingly hummable: “I can’t wait to see your kingdom / Your spires toppling / Into each other / And into the ocean / You were too greedy I couldn’t hold it.” The same is true with “If I Could Write a Book About You,” with its mournful cello and humble acoustic plucking. Wienk sounds absolutely disaffected with her subtle vocals and opaque lyrics: “They’re laying in the limestone / With their tone-deaf hands / I’ve heard you did survive this / Won’t you tell me how you did it / They forgot to throw the stone / They forgot the handfuls of dirt.”


A rare treat, Seven Years of Severed Limbs was released through the minuscule German record label Normal, and is supposedly being distributed by Forced Exposure in the States, but neither site has the album listed. The wise move would have been to seek distribution or, better yet, a record deal with a label like Darla, or Kranky, with similar artists on the roster like Jessica Bailiff, Jon DeRosa, and My Morning Jacket, which seem more fitting for Fern Knight’s lush forestscapes. Nonetheless, aficionados of the genre, your scouring will not be in vain.