My Dusted review of The Great Awakening described it as “a lengthy, reflective and beautiful record that mostly steers away from the more rock-oriented sound of Shearwater’s last two releases.” The New World pares things back even further. Aside from the strident climax of anthemic centerpiece “The Only Sound I’m Afraid Of,” reminiscent of Talk Talk’s “Desire,” most of these nine songs are relatively restrained. The players explore the particular feel of a set of piano or guitar chords and a laidback rhythm, then settle into a hazy, impressionistic groove. Opener “Even Song” is especially slow burning, simmering but never boiling over, a bright acoustic guitar chord chiming out once, then dissipating into field recordings of birds and church bells.

Given Meiburg’s side gig as a naturalist, it’s unsurprising to find song titles “A Mink in the Dusk,” “The High Ranges,” “Slugs in the Marigolds,” and “You and Your Dog” among the track names. The most explicit lyrical reference to man’s troubled relationship with the environment comes in early highlight “More and More”: “To slake one appetite / You’ll kill a million cultivars.” This sense of mourning a world that’s already doomed is also apparent on penultimate track “Anamnesia” as Meiburg eerily intones “Wait…” during the fade-out.

Despite the somewhat dejected atmosphere, there are also welcome moments of defiance and resolution, such as the pounding single “Daydream Unbeliever,” plus Laurie Anderson’s wonderfully weathered narration on closing track, “You and Your Dog.” Amid piano arpeggios that sound like sunlight sparkling on water, we’re left with a cautionary tale: “I guess this is it… I wish I’d paid more attention / And I thought these days were going to go on forever…”

Right from introductory salvo “Highgate,” it’s lovely to hear Meiburg’s voice again, close-miked and gentle, but with a touch of the sardonic in the album’s opening lines: “Here comes your heart attack / Starless and bible black / And here is the endgame.” What might have come across as hopeless instead promises a blank slate, a new beginning; perhaps the great awakening of the album’s title. An almighty peal of distorted guitar splits the song asunder, like thunder on a dark night, and Meiburg’s voice rises in ferocious defiance against the elements. It’s quite the opener. 

The lurching, low-slung bass of “No Reason” and “Laguna Seca” draws a throughline from Loma’s “Black Willow,” drummer Josh Halpern hanging behind the beat to create a feeling of the songs dragging their heavy limbs through a swamp. Field recordings from Meiburg’s travels are woven into the stunning piano-based “Aqaba,” and the ghostly, minimal “Milkweed,” which climaxes with the kind of panic-inducing orchestral rush found on The Beatles’ classic “A Day in the Life.”  

Co-producer Duszynski brings his formidable drumming prowess to “Empty Orchestra,” which injects a welcome burst of energy at the album’s mid-point. The song succeeds in being anthemic without succumbing to the bombast that dogged Jet Plane and Oxbow cuts like “Pale Kings.” The ride cymbal pattern that kicks off the lengthy “There Goes the Sun” brings to mind Talk Talk’s “After the Flood,” but the track proves to be one of the few moments on this nearly hour-long record where the music outstays its welcome.  

The influence of seminal Talk Talk albums Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock is writ large throughout, especially on the gorgeous “Xenarthran,” in which disparate wisps of instrumental texture are delicately woven into an airy musical fabric. Meiburg’s patient, contemplative and painterly exploration of space and repetition, and the subtle, haunting arrangements are undoubtedly indebted to Mark Hollis — and prove shiveringly effective.