Isabel Pine’s Fables arrives as a series of meditative sonic essences, growing from small incantations into threads connecting to something larger, something unseen. Recorded in and around a remote cabin in British Columbia during the fall of 2024, these pieces carry melodic movements with the texture of wind. This collection of restrained unfoldings invite patience and presence. Pine works primarily with stringed instruments, and she makes these resonating strings bloom into emotive chambers, where sound surrounds us in a tonic embrace. There’s something beautiful in the way Pine lets these arrangements breathe, and how the spaces in between phrases, in between notes, hold the weight of Fables. This is music for eyes closed and dreaming, for letting the wilderness become part of the listening itself.
Fables will be released on February 20 by kranky.
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You began studying the viola at the age of three. What drew you to the instrument at such a young age, or what drew your family to it for you?
My mom wanted me and my sister to learn and started us with the Suzuki method at the local music center. My older sister was already playing violin, and our teacher thought it’d be better if we were on different instruments. It was a bit random but lucky too – Viola plays more of a supportive role, which I think is interesting to start with.
What was the moment or realization that made you understand the classical ensemble path wasn’t going to be creatively fulfilling?
Two years into my undergraduate degree, my teacher brought up applying to masters programs so that I could prepare for orchestra auditions. I didn’t know in words why at the time, but that didn’t feel right for me. I was never that good at playing perfectly, and maybe I was tired of trying to fit into a mold. I think I was wondering, at what point do you get to think for yourself and explore music at a deeper level, rather than practicing the same passages over and over again without really understanding why. I ended up taking a couple of years away from playing before I discovered composing and producing my own music.
Moving to British Columbia seems like it cracked something open for you. What was that transition like?
Spending time in a small mountain town in BC opened my eyes. The jagged peaks, high altitude, and winding rivers tell a really different story. I was entranced by the oozing sap, the hairy lichen, and the gnarled bark; how the branches reach in all kinds of different directions, and the trees grow so tall.
It’s so quiet there, too, not silent like an anechoic chamber though. There are all the sounds of nature that aren’t actually that quiet but feel spacious and are magic for your mind.
When you say the wilderness there opened doors of perception, what specifically changed in how you heard or thought about sound?
Nature is so inherently creative and raw. I thought maybe that’s how music can be, too. I started craving the sounds I had held back from, letting sounds be how they are and enjoying the texture and grit. I began playing more honestly, focused on the sound and tactility in the moment, and making decisions off of feeling instead of thinking. I stopped letting preconceived ideas of perfection get in the way.
What made you curious about recording entirely outdoors rather than just incorporating field recordings later?
I first tried recording outside a few falls ago. I was looking for a way to
expand my sound, and it was that time of year when you know the warm days are dwindling. Initially, it was just that–looking for new sounds and wanting to be outside. Once I started to listen back and produce with those recordings, I got really excited. Every day is so different when you’re outside.
The idea of natural reverb as an essential part of the composition is really compelling. How did you discover what worked and what didn’t in terms of outdoor acoustics?
My outside recording setup is really simple, and I haven’t gotten too analytical about it. I find the randomness of setting up differently each time inspiring. I like to play a little ways away from the stereo recorder that I use, so that the sounds become more a part of the environment. I really like this idea of being a part of the environment rather than being separate from it.
Where exactly was the cabin where you recorded these pieces? And what did a typical day during the fall of 2024 look like?
In the East Kootenays, 15 min up a dirt road from the closest town. My partner grew up there, and we’ve been spending a lot of time there over the past years. We’re not there full-time, so when we are there, I’m always trying to make the most of it: recording a lot, hiking, being outside, and taking photos. Most days I’d record in the mornings, usually starting new ideas. If it was warm enough, I’d spend some time recording outside too. Afternoons were more about developing ideas further or building with my field recording sessions. The last hour of daylight we’d usually spend outside together with the dogs.
When you’re recording and a raven’s wings or rustling leaves become part of the music, are you responding to those sounds in real time, or do they shape what you play?
Usually, I’ll give space to let the sound breathe, mostly because I want to listen. If it’s continuous or repeating for a while, like a bird, then I might improvise with the sound. A lot of times, the sounds happen simultaneously. It’s really peaceful recording outside, enjoying the sun and the air, and being away from a screen. I think it makes me play more subtly.
Were there sounds or moments that surprised you when you listened back? You describe environmental sounds as “integral to the music as whatever I played.” How does that philosophy change your relationship to composition? Do you think of these pieces as collaborations with the landscape?
There are moments when the violin, viola, or cello blends in seamlessly with the environment, and it surprises me how easily it coexists with all the sounds around. Especially when I’m further away from the mics. Recording outside brings all kinds of different sounds, and it definitely does feel like a collaboration with the environment.
How do you imagine this practice evolving as you continue?
It’d be interesting to record in more remote places, in an alpine meadow or higher up, where the rocky sides of the mountain are right in front of you. It’s even quieter up there than in the forests lower down, and the sound travels further without the trees around. I have a long alpine meadow field recording from one of our hikes, and it’s amazing how much presence there is in the sound of air.
And lastly, to close as always, what are some of your favorite sounds in the world?
I love the sound of wind blowing through trees and also the sound of leaves rustling softly. I also really like the sound of shale when you walk over it.
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