R29 – Loren Connors – “Evangeline” LP

  1. Evangeline – 1:12
  2. Dance Acadia – 1:15
  3. Ships – 1:11
  4. The Burning of Gran Pre – 1:31
  5. Two Paths – 3:07
  6. The Bridegroom of Snow – 7:45
  7. Voice of the Ocean, “Despair Not!” – 4:45
  8. Once You Touched Me – 2:15
  9. Jesuits – 1:34
  10. Sister of Mercy – 1:38
  11. His Room (In the Almshouse) – 1:25
  12. Oh, My Beloved – 1:22
  13. Gabriel Dies – 2:02
  14. Evangeline – 1:05



First-time available on vinyl (pressed as a limited CD in 1998), Evangeline finds Connors working in a narrative structure.  This album trails the story of Evangeline, the heroine of an epic-poem written in 1847. Loren’s guitar tone follows the weary landscapes and mournful souls of the characters.

Thematically Evangeline falls in line with the other romantic Connors LPs Recital as published, Airs and Lullaby, though with a defining arc in direction. Parallel guitar preludes begin this collection, leading to distant ballads in spheres of reverb. Suzanne Langille softly singing on the first track sets this album as a child’s fable. As longing clouded in dreams of loss and devotion.

Includes restored audio & new artwork by Loren Connors.

  • Edition of 500 LPs on black wax/white poly-lined sleeves
  • Remastered for vinyl by Sean McCann
  • Includes an 8.5”x11” insert: a story written by Suzanne Langille based on the epic poem, Evangeline
One may be able to find a copy at one of Recital’s DISTRIBUTORS

Released on May 23rd, 2017



Boomkat Review:

From the endless treasure chest of Loren Mazzacane Connors comes this necessary vinyl edition of Evangelin, where Connors takes the role of instrumental narrator, retelling the story of forlorn 17th C. lovers from the perspective of Evangeline, the heroine of an epic-poem written in 1847.

In the wrong hands this could be dire, but you can trust that Connors approaches the project – originally recorded and released on CD back in 1998 – with the kind of pathos you’d be warranted in expecting from the lauded, veteran artist.

The romantic themes are palpably sore and melancholy throughout, curling and sashaying at time-stopping pace from his quiet croon and strums in Evangeline to passages of almost jazzy wistfulness (Two Paths) and one stunning portion of gloaming, elemental abstraction at its core (The Bridegroom of Snow), followed by the starkly reveberant meditation Vocie Of The Ocean, “Despair Not!” and a pretty much devastating final run of poignant vignettes including Oh, My Beloved and the barely there Gabriel Dies. 

Sniff, sniff. Yeh mate that’s my hayfever. I’m not crying over the beauty of the record at all… But f*ck me, it is really, really lovely.



Lovely Loren continues to stop time, because someone has to. His records of ambient blues aimlessness have been wowing experimental crowds with a fever-pitch of reissues, and I maintain that the most special of his works I’ve heard have come through Sean McCann’s Recital imprint. ‘Evangeline’ is the third in a series of his super-quiet meditations from that label, conjuring up the same images of a lonely guitar craftsman sitting at a stool in an empty room. Give me hell for romanticising, if you want, but Loren Connors’ music will do that to you — his guitar twinkles as bright and brief as a constellation of stars.

‘Evangeline’ opens with some of Connors’ most melodic mumbles, its self-titled opener inviting a hum-along from singer Suzanne Langille. She wordlessly sings about Connors’ guitar in a way that humanises his sound for the first time. “Dance Acadia” and “Ships” follow almost tangible guitar lines that sound like Connors’ is inviting listeners in, not just around. It does not, you can guess, all sound like this, as the record instead deviates into the ominously broken chords of “Two Paths” and the lengthy drone of “The Brideroom of Snow”, which is a largely guitarless recording of ghostly wind unlike much else Connors has put his name to.

Written in the name of an epic poem written back in the 1800s, ‘Evangeline’ proves there to be something delightfully out of sync with Connors’ work, as if he’s communicating with the ghosts of a time he’ll never understand. This record loops cyclically back on certain motifs, sifting through them like conversation, inviting nearly-complete melodies in before seeing them obscured. It’s the kind of deeply personal but totally unknowable record only he could make.