Everyone has heard the Buddhist kōan about what is the sound of one hand clapping. The paradoxical phrase is unanswerable, though many have tried to rationalize or intellectualize its deeper meaning. Laura Veirs’ Temple Songs is the sound of one person clapping for herself. She wrote, recorded, produced, and provided all the vocals and instrumentation, save for a few brief guest saxophone accents. Temple Songs applauds, celebrates, and appreciates the person who made it even as she designed it for others to hear.
The album’s title refers to Veirs‘ Temple of Bloom, the 10′ by 1″ backyard studio at her Portland, Oregon home where she recorded using just two microphones and a laptop. It is a place she can go and be herself, sing her songs, rest, relax, and fly into darkness, as she puts it on “Flying Into Darkness”. Spanning 11 tracks across less than 30 minutes, Veirs’ 14th solo effort is short and sweet; only two songs cross the three-minute mark. The record’s brevity adds to its charm and suggests repeat listening is in order.
Veirs’ lyrics are frequently poetic and evocative, such as “The sky is a Chrysanthemum burning in my eyes”, “I feel a pulse that’s beating meteors invade my wrists”, and “In the cold water, clear sounds through in the apple branch and in the root”. She often cites natural beauty as the antidote to life’s sadness. Life may be cruel. Even rivers cry in Veirs’ world. But that does not mean there is no joy. There are two sides to the coin, as she sings “Sunlight and Doom”.
In the big picture, Veirs is hopeful. She references the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr.’s line about the “arc still bends towards justice” on the opening track and sings most of the other songs in a hopeful voice even as she expresses her doubts. She often delicately fingerpicks the guitar strings in accompaniment. Even when the tempo quickens and her multi-tracked instrumentation swells, the record maintains a deeply peaceful core.
The one song without lyrics is semi-humorously entitled “Colors Sing”. The concept fits in with the album’s implicit theme. Colors (different shades and tints of reality) are all around us if we care to notice. It could be other people, natural beauty, memories, etc. that exist within and outside of ourselves. We need to be receptive. Veirs’ music wants us to be aware.
These subtleties are deeply baked into the production. Embracing the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, Veirs eschewed digital studio slickness like pitch correction and click tracks. Instead, she let ambient environmental sounds—falling rain, calling birds, and distant traffic—leave their audible signatures on the tracks. While barely noticeable individually, they enrich the record’s contemplative atmosphere. Laura Veirs successfully lets the outside world in. The sound of one woman making deeply personal music for an unseen audience is not so different from that ancient Zen kōan. In the end, it is up to our own imagination to complete the clap.