Hollie Kenniff’s The Quiet Drift swims through thin, vaporous strands of ambient cloud, and swoons through soft, delectable synths. Reverb-soaked guitars blend in with her celestial, wordless song, which draws inspiration from the below quote:
“I long for a kind of quiet where I can just drift and dream. I always say getting inspiration is like fishing. If you’re quiet and sitting there and you have the right bait, you’re going to catch a fish eventually. Ideas are sort of like that. You never know when they’re going to hit you’ – David Lynch
The Quiet Drift is an all-encompassing record, its music rising in altitude until it reaches a place where it can look down on the earth from on high. Hollie’s music defies the standard understanding of physics, because her songs seem to be untethered from the world, set free from any kind of law.
Muted piano keys echo from far away, emanating from a country disassociated from physical reality but in tune with the senses. A return to the ground isn’t possible, and with music as pretty as this, you wouldn’t want to descend. The piano was lent by Keith Kenniff (Goldmund), Hollie’s husband, labelmate, and other half of Mint Julep. On The Quiet Drift, the keys have lost some of their edge, starting to fade, but that doesn’t translate into weakness. On ‘Still Falling Snow’, the splayed strums of an electric guitar are able to drip with major chords and their rainbow colours. Snow falls, but the music has already inverted, choosing to stay up in the clouds. The intermittent pulse of percussion breaks against the backbone of the song and pierces the fog. It traces a path along the spine of the music and indicates the album’s intentions of pursuing a dreamy escapism.
Hollie’s voice never seems to fight for space or control, despite the tidal-like synths and the encroaching dynamics. Instead, they’re swept up in the storm, becoming a vital part of it, and wrapped up in the atmosphere; never coming down. Her voice doesn’t walk; it glides. It wants nothing to do with the ground or the soil; it may not even be aware of its existence.
With The Quiet Drift, you can dive in headfirst or ascend to new heights; the sky is a similar shade to the ocean. Either way, there is only one end result, and that’s to disappear completely, never to return.
The Quiet Drift ‘belongs more to the liminal spaces between life and the afterlife, memory and fantasy, landscape and dreamscape’.
Hollie’s celestial-touched music doesn’t seem to belong to any restrictive space or physical locality. It rustles against and skims across the light fabric of perceived reality, skirting around the open eyes of consciousness and crossing over into the blurred-out temples of the afterlife, blind to mortal bones but visible through music, arriving at a place where the ghosts of the departed still linger.