Beverly Glenn-Copeland - ...Keyboard Fantasies... (LP)

Some records feel like they were made in a quiet conversation with the future. ...Keyboard Fantasies..., the six-song suite Beverly Glenn-Copeland recorded in 1986 at home in Huntsville, Ontario, is one of those. Working with a Yamaha DX7 and a Roland TR-707, he built a world that sits somewhere between new age serenity, folk hymn and bedroom soul. It was self-released on cassette and barely heard outside a small circle for decades, but the songs never sound like they were chasing a scene. They’re patient, glowing and stubbornly themselves.

Drop the needle on Ever New and the room shifts. The DX7’s glassy tones ripple like morning light on water, and Glenn-Copeland’s voice moves with the calm authority of someone easing a crowd into a long exhale. The drum machine ticks in gentle patterns, less a beat than a heartbeat. People talk about ambient music that just sits in the corner, but this is hymnal. It’s music that looks you in the eye and suggests there might be another way to be in the world.

The palette is spare, yet packed with character. FM synths can be cold in the wrong hands, though here they feel tactile and bright. Winter Astral is exactly what its title promises, a soft starfield of chords and a melody that seems to hover above the speakers. Let Us Dance and Slow Dance trade in simple, pulsing sequences that invite movement without demanding it. The TR-707 is key to that feel. Its crisp, unfussy thud keeps everything grounded, so the vocal lines and synth pads can climb without drifting away.

Glenn-Copeland’s singing is the anchor. He wasn’t trying to hide behind reverb or mystique. He sits up front, open-hearted, and sings with a clarity that gives even the lightest lyric a sense of purpose. Old Melody feels like a postcard from an earlier folk life, reframed through this new electronic language. Sunset Village closes the record in a slow drift, like a train pulling out of a small-town station, still visible through the trees long after it’s gone.

Part of the album’s legend is its path back into the world. After that tiny cassette run in 1986, it lived quietly until a wave of renewed interest brought it back to the surface. A 2016 reissue on Invisible City Editions put ...Keyboard Fantasies... on vinyl for the first time, and a new generation of listeners finally heard what had been hiding in plain sight. Critics lined up to praise it, but the real proof is how it has settled into people’s lives. These are songs you see in friends’ end-of-year lists long after the reissue buzz fades, or you catch them slipping Ever New onto a playlist for a long drive up the coast.

It’s tempting to slot this music into neat boxes, but it tends to wriggle free. Call it new age if you like, though there’s a singer’s core here that owes as much to spiritual jazz and folk as to meditation tapes. Glenn-Copeland’s story matters too. A Black trans artist building this radiant, self-contained universe on limited means in mid-80s rural Canada is not a footnote, it’s the frame. The grace in these songs feels hard won, and that gives them weight.

For anyone digging through bins, this is the Beverly Glenn-Copeland vinyl to start with. The reissue pressings are clean and do the shimmering highs real justice, while the low-end pulse of the TR-707 sits just right. If you’re hunting for ...Keyboard Fantasies... vinyl, you won’t need to look too far now, and it’s the sort of record you’ll keep within arm’s reach. I’ve seen copies float in and out of a favourite Melbourne record store, and they never stay on the shelf long. You could buy Beverly Glenn-Copeland records online, sure, but there’s something special about spotting it in the wild and rushing home to play it. Either way, it belongs in the stack for anyone building a thoughtful corner of Beverly Glenn-Copeland albums on vinyl, whether you’re browsing in person or trawling the usual haunts for vinyl records Australia wide.

Thirty-odd years after those DX7 patches were dialled in, these songs still feel like instructions for gentle living. Not escapist, not kitsch, just quietly radical in how much care they extend. Put it on when the house finally goes quiet, or when you need to bring a little light into a grey morning. It’s a small record with a big soul, and it keeps finding new rooms to brighten.