That’s not necessarily a knock against Moore, because what elevates Let the Moon Be a Planet is the edgeless interplay of the voices, not what either is doing on its own. Gunn’s close-mic’d chords and rustic ringlets bring more vigor and variety, soaring up and looping back to trace every path in small patches of harmonic terrain. Moore often dwells on little etudes patched up from simple scales, which you can pick out easily if you have a keyboard handy. While some songs are atmospherically chorded or tonally furtive-the dry arroyo of “Scattering,” the lunar shadows of “Libration”-high pianism is subordinate to graceful touch and tender feeling. It’s generous with bright major keys, undemanding on the ear Gunn and Moore seem particularly fond of the hopeful sunrise of D.
The result is Let the Moon Be a Planet, an elaborate and far-out title for a mild and mossy record. Gunn and Moore first collaborated on Nakama, an EP of collaborative renditions of Other You songs, which led to a series of remote improvised sessions they finished together in upstate New York.
He clearly cherishes Glass, Eno, and Debussy, though he’s more apt to pay tribute to Ecco the Dolphin, The Simpsons, and American Beauty. And Moore, whose pellucid tone anchors the ensemble Bing & Ruth, is a classically trained pianist who gets invited to play baby grands on cliffsides and spinets in parabolic glass houses. It appears to be the very guitar he’s holding on the cover of Other You, and it contributed much to that record’s soft L.A. A couple of years ago, as he told Guitar World, Gunn got a chance to play an old Gibson Folksinger and felt inspired to buy a six-string Córdoba C5, a classic beginner’s nylon-string model. But it advances the classical guitar expedition Gunn began on 2021’s Other You, trading the steel sting that had defined his playing for the supple shimmer of nylon. Let the Moon Be a Planet isn’t exactly a classical record, having more in common with the deconstructed Americana of William Tyler.
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