Fry's Dreaming With Alice was a cult acid-folk obscurity of the early 1970s.
He reappeared a couple of years ago in a joint venture, so Trees ought to be considered Alice's true follow-up. It opens with birdsong and doesn't, on the whole, divert its attention for the ensuing 38 minutes: cello, flute, Spanish guitar and mellotron accompany Fry's cipherous songs of bucolic yearning in a slow drift of unmetred wishfulness. It suggests you assume the position: supine.
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