Silver Moth - Black Bay (LP) - Clear Vinyl

Black Bay finds that rare sweet spot where a one-off meeting becomes a fully formed band voice. Silver Moth came together after a string of online chats during lockdown, then decamped to Black Bay Studio on the Isle of Lewis to see what might happen. The result, released in April 2023 on Bella Union, sounds like the wind and weather of the Outer Hebrides caught on tape. You hear the room, the sea somewhere outside, and a group of players leaning into instinct, not spreadsheets. There is a looseness to it, but also intent, like they arrived with a few open-ended sketches and trusted each other to colour them in.

There is star power here, most notably Stuart Braithwaite of Mogwai, yet Silver Moth never reads as a side project. It behaves like a band, with voice and guitar sharing the front row rather than fighting for it. The songs tend to lift from quiet meditation to a thrum of guitars, bass and drums, but not in a predictable post rock arc. The rhythms push and pull. Distortion enters like weather rolling over a headland. Vocals don’t dominate, they haunt, often arriving in phrases that feel half diary and half incantation. It suits the setting. Black Bay Studio is perched far from the mainland grind, and the record keeps that sense of space. Notes hang in the air just a little longer than usual.

Mother Tongue, the single that first surfaced, is the doorway. It starts spare, almost tentative, then opens into a glowing chorus that feels earned, not engineered. The guitar tone is warm rather than icy, the kind of overdrive that makes you lean in. There is a lovely tension between the lyric’s intimate detail and the sky-wide music behind it. Other pieces take their time, moving in long paragraphs. You get passages where the band seems to be listening as much as playing, waiting for the next cue to show itself. When the drums come in, they land heavy and human, not chopped to a grid. A few moments even brush the edges of folk melody, then pull back before settling into drone and shimmer.

The whole thing was tracked in a short burst, and you can tell in the best way. Tempos breathe. Little scrapes of guitar string and room noise make the cut, which gives the album that lived-in character so many modern records buff out. It helps that the players are clearly seasoned, with ears tuned for dynamics. Guitars move from glassy arpeggios to thick harmonics. Bass keeps the floor steady, then slips into melodic counterlines that nudge the songs forward. Keys and textures arrive like sea mist, here then gone. Vocals sit in the pocket, often doubled in a way that feels intimate rather than slick.

Lyrically, the record circles grief, resilience and the odd comforts of isolation. It never gets maudlin. Even when the subject matter turns heavy, the music keeps looking for light. That balance is why Black Bay lingers. It is not just pretty sadness. There is grit, a pulse, and a belief that noise can cradle as well as crush. You can drop the needle late at night and end up staring out the window without realising half an hour has passed.

If you collect Silver Moth albums on vinyl, this one belongs next to your Mogwai and Bella Union favourites. The artwork and the weight of the pressing suit the music’s weathered feel, and there are passages where a turntable’s warmth makes the guitars bloom. I’ve come across a few copies around town. A good Melbourne record store will often file it with the post rock and dream pop staples, though it sits comfortably among folk-adjacent curios too. If your local has sold through, it is not hard to buy Silver Moth records online from the usual suspects, and several shops shipping vinyl records Australia wide have been restocking. Keep an eye out for Black Bay vinyl specifically. It is the version that reveals the room, the air and that ever-present Atlantic drone.

What lingers most is the sense of place. Plenty of bands travel to remote studios, but not every record captures the geography the way this one does. Black Bay feels coastal and weatherbeaten, yet also welcoming, like a lighted window in a storm. You can play spot the influence if you like, but the pleasure here is how those histories melt into a single tide. Silver Moth have made a debut that sounds like a gathering, short and sharp, full of feeling, and strong enough to stand on its own. If this is a one-time constellation, it is a bright one. If they return, even better. Either way, this pressing earns its space on the shelf.