Michael Gira's Young God Records seems to have the market cornered on doomed folk music. He must have talent scouts out looking for dark-eyed, thin and ragged troubadours with banjos and musical saws. From Larkin Grimm to his own Angels of Light to Mi and L'au, a duo comprised of Finnish Mi and French L'au; they inject a syringe of darkness into a style that for too long has been co-opted by fringe-wearing sun-spinners and beardos in their cardigans.
Mi and L'au are steeped in stillness, in spaciousness, the jewels of their harmonized voices set in a filigree of delicate finger-picked guitars, celeste, fiddles, etc. Reminiscent of Young Marble Giant's minimalism, camping out with CocoRosie's daydreams, this is a quiet record that speaks volumes, focusing your ears like a laser on the weft of their small stories. Not all doom'n'gloom, this darkness is speckled with sunlight, and it is this sense of innocence is what makes this record so damned beautiful and wounded, childlike lullabies transporting the listener to a time before bitterness and cynicism. This record will cut you to the quick, and stir your miserable soul.
The languid tempos and poignant vocals can make this a demanding listen, from start to finish, with no fireworks to dazzle or distract from the heartache. Like Low's funereal grandeur, this record builds a haunted barn of mood and ambience and explores every corner. Pushing through the darkness reveals riches, however, as the songs are all lovingly crafted, with many intricacies to drool over. Personal favorites are 'Boxer' and 'A Word in Your Belly', if you want to skip around, the latter sounding like some late-period Swans, with is mind-melting string drones. Mi and L'au have created a fascinating universe with their love, in the forests of Finland, and its shadows are lovely and rewarding.

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