The gorgeous evolution of a promising project Winter has descended on the vistas of a wooded realm that first saw the light in 2016, and it’s all the more vivid for it. With Solstice, Rota Fortunae (David Abbruscato) expands on the sound world established with Vespers and the warm nylon guitar strings and sonorous cello hums make a welcome return on this new collection of acoustic pieces. The template is familiar, but there is a notable surge in richness and depth this time around. These qualities extend from the clarity and tone of the instrumentation to the compositional solidity of the music itself. Recruiting a cellist to replace samples and improving recording and production techniques are among the other alterations that aid this four-song set in delivering a bigger punch. Cohesion, however, is probably Abbruscato’s greatest achievement once again. The music was written and recorded between November 2017 and February 2018 with the goal of creating a “winter” album that channels the moods of the season. The pieces fit together seamlessly within the confines of this guiding theme, progressing effortlessly from lonely guitar arpeggios to ardent climaxes. A prime example of this is when the cello and guitar tackle the forlorn melody of “Midwinter Nights” in tandem and punctuate the song’s finale with refined fervor. It’s impactful and skillfully arranged. The same can be said for album closer “Woodland Refuge”, which features a fluent intertwining of an array of emotions in the music’s elegiac layers, from hope to wistfulness. Solstice shows Abbruscato continuing to forge a path that is at once individual and imbued with the spirit of the style’s masters. Arguably, this little EP surpasses the latest output from some of the genre greats in terms of economy and quality. All that’s missing now is the exposure. Fortunately, the album is receiving promotion and distribution via the nascent web label, The Green Man, so here’s hoping that more and more people will discover this beautiful music.
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An indispensable glimpse into the misty, shamanic, inner worldTen years of potent artistic success is worth celebrating. In 2007, Finland’s Tenhi marked their diamond anniversary with the release of Folk Aesthetic 1996-2006. This 3-disc compilation documents the maturation of a band that has become one of finest acts in the dark folk genre and is completed by a spectacular 76-page booklet containing detailed liner notes, lyrics and their translations, and complementary artwork produced by founding band member Tyko Saarikko. Progressing semi-chronologically, the collection begins with the band’s early demos and EPs (1997’s Kertomuksia, 1998’s Hallavedet, 2000’s Airut:Ciwi on disc 1 before transitioning to the alternative and unreleased material on disc 2. Some well-known melodies from past works may be discernible, but the numerous, subtle variations make these alternate versions worth perusing. “Tuulenkaato”, a heavier number included on Maaäet, contains a previously-unheard guitar melody that twangs and winds around the song’s familiar piano and thundering bass. “Suortuva”, the cello-laden centerpiece of the band’s sophomore effort Väre, is retextured here with a crashing drum performance. As for the unreleased material, “Kausienranta” with its steady, thumping rhythms and “Linnuit” with its lulling Ebow guitar fall among Tenhi’s greatest compositions. Three incarnations of the expansive, sullen dirge “Kielo” are presented here, offering insight into the evolution of one of Tenhi’s most affecting pieces. The foundation remains largely unchanged throughout the song’s stages of development; however the sound world varies greatly. The demo version, “Luo Varjo” on disc 3, emphasizes the song’s more ethereal qualities with a pronounced strings and electric guitar presence, while the 1999 version on disc 2 stresses pacing with a defined drum role. The latest version, which originally appeared on Airut:Ciwi, returns to the demo’s delicate roots and delves even deeper. Drums are shelved in order to explore moments of near stillness and allow space for beds of hopeful string and woodwind arrangements and echoing guitar. Disc 3, an “unreleased album” comprised of reimagined demos and unreleased tracks, is the highlight of the set. Had it been released on its own, this 9-song assemblage entitled Kaski would sit comfortably alongside Tenhi’s best works.The “album” runs the gamut of styles that have come to typify Tenhi’s sound, while taking a more impressionistic approach overall.Songs manifest like brief scenes in time that have been translated into lonely, almost motionless aural landscapes.Primitive groans and buzzing guitar(“Koiranlainen Peura”) are tastefully juxtaposed with stark piano ballads (“Saradhus”) and nearly relentless melancholy. A morose pair of acoustic guitars bookend a section of swirling a capella on “Tuuli Varista”, one of Kaski’s more experimental instances, and “Neidiie”, an extra lifted from the piano-driven Airut:Aaamujen sessions, concludes the compilation on an almost sanguine note. Folk Aesthetic is the rare example of a compilation being every bit as valuable as a band’s proper output. Three full hours of music is perhaps too much to digest in a single sitting, but the quality is so consistent throughout that the listener can press play at any point in this collection’s duration and be readily immersed in the experience. This trait makes Folk Aesthetic an excellent starting point for Tenhi newcomers and an indispensable portal for longtime fans looking to deepen their knowledge of this extraordinary band. A passing thought worth rememberingMikko Lehto refers back to Tuoni and Marras, with the Sarastus EP. This short work takes the template of Lehto’s previous folk outings and strips them down even further. While his earlier albums featured varied instrumentation with the central melody spotlight being shared by guitar and piano, the music on Sarastus is presented almost exclusively by either one or two nylon-string guitars. Aside from three, very short interludes, the longest lasting only a second or two over a minute, each track is a pair of guitars gently plucking broken melodies in front a collage of nature sounds. The melodies are often simple and warm, contrasting nicely with the chilly elements swirling around them. The music acts as a meditative guide, moving at a strolling pace, paying a sort of subdued reverence to the environment in which it finds itself. Mr. Lehto explains in the album notes that Sarastus was "captured in a brief instant". This music is intended to be experienced in the same way. It is intended as an escape. Sarastus is like walking on a rain-moistened path through a host of tall, green trees. The path crosses cold rivers and passes before tumbling, white waterfalls. The listener hears the rustling leaves and the wind that shakes them. For this brief instant, the wanderer dwells in a passing thought and is completely at peace. At times, a musical experience just doesn’t last long enough, especially when dealing with EPs. Graumahd’s first EP, for example, consisted of four songs and all of them fit on a 7”. The music is excellent, but each song ends before it really starts. Fortunately, that is not a problem in this case. Even though this album plays for less than 20 minutes, it is perfectly timed. Not a single track falls short or overstays its welcome. At the same time, however, there really are no tracks that stand out from the rest. Each one flows directly in the next. This music is meant to be experienced as a whole. Mr. Lehto has offered a great experience with this EP. This album works in seamless conjunction with his larger pieces like A Collapse of Faith, but also presents itself as an alternative, in a way. Sarastus allows the listener to pass into another world without needing to get involved in an extended epic. It’s almost like a personal, portable piece of nature and atmosphere. Whether you are walking through the woods on a rainy day or just wishing to disappear for a while on a lunch break, Sarastus is a passing thought worth remembering. Solitude, solemnity, tranquilityThe Finnish kantele, a 5 to 32-string, triangle-shaped zither with a distinctive bell-like tone, is customarily an instrument of the solitary musician, reserved for private, in-home playing by firelight in the late evening. In the old days, few kantele players performed publicly, so few ever witnessed their musicianship, aside from family members and curious woodland creatures. Ambient folk duo Nest meditate on the rich heritage of this instrument, which is as integral to the band’s sound as it is to the culture of their native land, with Mietteitä, a surprise release that surfaced in late August 2015. The album consists of 25 improvisations presented warts and all alongside the occasional traditional melody. Its aim is to offer a glimpse into the old way of kantele playing, where musicians played for themselves, letting their fingers dance along the strings in profound connection with the instrument. As the subject matter suggests, this journey is a personal one. Nest Founder Aslak Tolonen is clearly envisioning specific images while playing these tracks. Moments throughout the album’s 1-hour, 16-minute runtime succeed in evoking the aged musician being carried away under the spell of an ancient tune, wrapped in thought, free of time (“Jokin vetää puoleensa”, “Metsä herää”). Others perhaps wander a little too far and long, but such is the risk of allowing music to flow so organically. The approach is a fairly stark contrast to Nest’s previous efforts. Whereas past records paired synthesizers, Lapland drums, and voice with kantele melodies to aurally capture the atmosphere of vast snow-covered landscapes or the hidden pools and waterfalls in the woods, the music of here is markedly more pensive and intimate. If Trail of the Unwary embodied bold forays into the unknown, Mietteitä is more akin to weathering a summer storm in a faraway, derelict cabin. The music is more tethered to tradition and only features a handful of experimental qualities. Tolonen soaks his playing in a deep echo and punctuates it with sparse percussive elements. Warm ambience swells in an out of earshot and wah pedal textures a few pieces (“Kietoutuneena, kätkettynä”, “Virtaus”). This style lies at the heart of Nest’s music and never before has the core been so exposed. The result is entrancing, but at times it is rendered somewhat inaccessible by its intensely personal nature. Some may be view this as a shortcoming, but overall, [i]Mietteitä[/i] beautifully conveys a centuries-old tradition with the respect it deserves. A melding of worldsThe many faces of Steve Von Till become one on his 2015 outing A Life Unto Itself. More than a solo record, this evocative seven-song collection feels like a culmination of all the gravelly-voiced guitarist has absorbed during 25-plus years of music making, hinting at the incomparable heaviness forged by Neurosis, subtle acoustic mosaics of past solo ventures, and sonic arrases braided under the Tribes Of Neurot and Harvestman monikers. The history presented on A Life Unto Itself is rich, evident, and shaped by experiences that only many years bestow, making it Von Till’s most monolithic solo statement to date. Previous solo recordings hinged on a rather traditional approach and mostly garnered inspiration from American and European folk music. With A Life Unto Itself, Von Till expands his horizons by pooling his influences to assemble an overall greater whole. The haunting folk songs a la 2008's A Grave Is A Grim Horse have been merged seamlessly with dark, droning psychedelia, subtle Celtic touches and a deeper Americana-flavored lament to create a new set of sinuous, slow-burners. The songs remain founded on an arid six-string and Von Till’s distinctive baritone, but are now fleshed out by grainy vintage synthesizers, groaning pedal steel, and tremulous viola, which wind through the expansive arrangements as an open and genuine Von Till reflects and ruminates on foregone visions and memories. This fresh blend not only bares the soul of its maker in its all-inclusive brew, it adeptly conjures vast images of Von Till’s native Idaho landscape, which undoubtedly lent no small amount of inspiration to the mix. The folk template remains largely intact, but Von Till experiments with a few approaches that have hitherto been foreign to his eponymous works. A ghostly, delayed electric guitar theme buttresses a howling solo and brawny doom riffs on “Night of the Moon” and a two-chord piano flourish drives “Chasing Ghosts”, offering a welcome reprieve from the album’s otherwise predominant guitar presence. Other highlights include the windswept pedal steel harmonics and hazy crescendo of the poignant title track, the thunderous climaxes of “Birch Bark Box”, and the layered vocals that elevate closer “Known But Not Named” to its the ritualistic denouement. Fans of Von Till’s primary band who are unfamiliar with his side projects may find the contrast startling. This album is decidedly less heavy than Neurosis’ most introspective moments and the stripped-down aesthetic may disappoint those expecting Earth-rupturing power. However, those willing to set aside preconception and immerse themselves in this record will be amply rewarded. A Life Unto Itself finds Steve Von Till at his most diverse and at the top of his game. There are moments here that cut to the core. Ravaged yet romantic invocations for a long winter Hibernal gloom dawns in the first moments of Nature and Organisation’s ultimate album Death in a Snow Leopard Winter as a lone, grave piano sounds the sparse notes of a simple theme. In time, crooning violin, viola, and cello hoist the melody from the hoary earth and expand upon it before sending it back, leaving it even more desolate than before. What transpires from there serves as the score for mourning a lost loved one by the fireside on a winter night. The mood is often cold, like the sensation of tears freezing to the face, but not without the glimmering warmth of some misplaced hope. Composed in the autumn and winter of 1997-1998 by Current 93 contributor and first-generation neofolk bastion Michael Cashmore, Death in a Snow Leopard Winter is an oft-overlooked pearl in an understandably maligned genre. Rather than leaning on industrial pomposity or baseless political sentiments, these 12 unnamed tracks reap inspiration from contemporary classical music and feature nothing more than Cashmore’s piano and string quartet accompaniment. The result is a stunning record that could be considered Cashmore’s absolute masterpiece. Subtitled "A Dream of Joy in a Sleep of Sorrow", the album is remnant of an incomplete work, a larger musical vision abandoned by Cashmore for personal reasons. Once there was a grander design for the music on display here. The arrangements were to be fleshed out by oboe, flute, bassoon, timpani, and vocal sections, but were cut short for one reason or another. Still, Cashmore opted to release the collection as is “in the hope that it may still be of interest to at least some people as a documentation of a work that was in progress.” A full orchestral version is certainly more ambitious. Without that final product in hand, the disappointment may be comprehensible for some, but Cashmore is perhaps selling himself short by labeling the album as unfinished. The fragility and minimalism is what regularly fosters the music’s appeal. These compositions, which alternate evenly between delicate piano passages and full sweeps of strings, are unceasingly beautiful in their sparsity. Cashmore displays his uncanny skill as a pianist with these ravaged yet romantic invocations for a long winter, performing with Debussy-like grace and intimacy as the emotive swells of strings saunter in and out of earshot. Slow crescendos that falter before their peak capture the human condition of striving for but falling short of one’s potential. Really, nothing more is needed. Long out-of-print, Death in a Snow Leopard Winter saw a long-awaited remaster and reissue, alongside its seminal predecessor Beauty Reaps the Blood of Solitude, in the two-disc compilation Snow Leopard Messiah, which was released in September 2015 via the German label Trisol. This is fortunate, because this record, though considered incomplete, is one of few examples of an album that fully transcends the genres that bore it. A slow-burning excursion into the deepest thicketsAiry, layered melodies hover with weightless anticipation in the opening moments of Nebelung’s 2014 release Palingenesis, like a bird of prey before the deep woods’ brambly facade. Before long, the sonorous strike of a drum triggers a headlong hurtle toward the heart of the forest and the listener rides on falcon wings, careening through dense fog and gnarled branches. The affecting music of this German trio’s latest work is a veritable encapsulation of the natural world. Sinewed by melancholy and hopefulness, the slight instrumentation and mantra-like structures of these 6 songs practically emit the fertile aromas of rain-soaked timbers and moss. Winding, mist-clad passages of melismatic cello, droning harmonium, hammered dulcimer and arpeggiated guitar conjure images of morning’s arrival over a landscape ravaged by winter. The album’s true splendor stems from Nebelung’s willingness to allow the music to breathe. The band employs minimalism to dazzling effect, using basic progressions to usher in this enveloping mystical aura. The result is magical and eerie all at once. Rhythms and melodies wander freely and evolve at their own organic pace, never forcefully. Tracks mature like grass chutes emerging from soil or vines ascending tree trunks in slow pursuit of the sun (eg, ‘Nachtgewalt’, ‘Aufgang’). Others surge and recede like rivulets that build or break their banks by night (eg, ‘Polaris’). For all its life-like depictions of alfresco sojourns, however, the journey offered here is also acutely internal. Centering on the concepts of rebirth and recreation, the album’s delicate core is fully-informed by the knowledge of inevitable death and the desire for eventual refinement and transformation. Not all death is to be feared for not all death is permanent. This notion is certainly characteristic of the physical world, but it is also very human. The theme of introspection and renewal is further realized by Palingenesis’ role in Nebelung’s discography. The record shows the band making a few radical alterations to their musical approach. Here, vocals are relegated to subdued whispers or distant chants, a stark contrast to previous efforts. The occasional voice’s seeming sole purpose is to serve as the inner thoughts of a traveler wandering into a realm where words are no longer needed. To say anything would be to impede unnecessarily on this place of unmolested beauty and darkness being evoked by the instruments. The ostensible paradox of grace and gloom, best evidenced by the powerful closer ‘Innerlichkeit’, lends the album a degree of rigidity that not only intensifies the music, but benefits it. While slow-paced and remarkably simple, Palingenesis is a transporting and indefinably beautiful dark folk album that examines tenants of the inner and outer worlds, while using rich detail to blur the boundaries between the two. The record is a subtle highlight of 2014 that does not deserve to be overlooked. Finland’s dark folk shamans re-imagine their tonal palette with spellbinding results.Rereleased around the time of Tenhi’s seminal 2006 record Maaäet, Airut: Aamujen marks a substantial departure from the Finnish trio’s typical, folk-influenced progressive music template. Whereas previous outings centered on plucked acoustic guitars and employed an exotic array of techniques and instruments, including flute, cello, jaw harp and didgeridoo, the band chose to alter their foundation with Airut: Aamujen and winnow the instrumentation in favor of a stripped down sound. The result is a staggeringly successful 9-song set powered almost solely by drums, bass, piano, and Tyko Saarikko’s signature croon. Despite the many changes, Tenhi’s familiar low-key approach is ever present. Moods shift fluidly from somber and pensive to bright and invigorating, staying beautiful all the while. Folk influences still appear, but instead of exuding darkness, they contribute to an overall sound that is more rich and abstract in focus than the band’s past works. The piano is the primary melody maker and it creates a pleasantly warm, yet shrouded atmosphere. Melodies are refreshingly simple, recalling Maaäet’s more piano-driven moments, and often display a surprising pop sensibility. The accompanying drums blend brilliantly into the mix with soft, jazzy touches whilst producing a much-needed pulse for the keys’ languid procession. The full-sounding bass further rounds out the music’s depth. Highlights are numerous as the album touches on a range of styles. "Seitsensarvi", “Luopumisen laulu” and the gorgeous “Oikea sointi” embody the record’s more accessible side, while the tricky rhythms of the instrumental "Kuvajainen" and plunking tri-tones of the dissonant "Hiensynty" delve deeper into experimentation. Tenhi have always possessed the ability to conjure imagery in the mind and that remains true on Airut: Aamujen. The low talk-sing vocals may be an adjustment for some, although they do suit the album’s ambiance. Airut: Aamujen was originally conceived as a musical sequel to Tenhi’s Airut: Ciwi EP and released in 2004 under the side project Harmaa. The two albums do feel tethered in spirit and the band fortunately saw it fit to rerelease Airut: Aamujen under the Tenhi moniker. The move seems wise, since it is bound to draw more attention to this exquisite record. A barebones display of artistryFew pianists are better suited for the solo setting than Bill Evans. His distinctive playing, paradoxically characterized by substantial harmonic power and delicate melodic sensitivity, can command attention even in its most solitary state. To back the claim, perhaps no record in his extensive catalog is a more ideal “exhibit A” than the final album he produced for Verve Records, the technically impressive yet tonal, floating and dreamy Alone. Recorded at New York City’s Webster Hall in late 1968, this Grammy Award-winning set is Evans' first true piano solo album. The five songs, including a near 15-minute exploration of "Never Let Me Go", takes the template established by his ‘63 and ’67 Verve overdubbing sessions, Conversations with Myself (three pianos) and Further Conversations with Myself (two pianos), and strips it even further. No multi-tracking, no backing band, no safety nets, this is a barebones display of Evans’ artistry. It would be somewhat misleading to say that Alone shows Evans at his best. The quality of his playing rarely faltered, but it should be noted that the performance here is spot-on and lovely. In true Evans fashion, the music moves with thought and introspection, passing neither briskly or lethargically. Side A may be somewhat impeded by the repertoire’s lack of variety, although Evan’s interpretation of the Broadway tune "Here's That Rainy Day" and Zawinul’s "Midnight Mood," are nonetheless enjoyable. The performer’s improvisational savvy is spotlighted in the side-long, melancholic rendition of "Never Let Me Go", where Evans states the theme before spiraling into fresh territory only to return to that blue melody and begin anew. Documented solo performances by Evans are quite limited, so this record could be counted as a blessing. Although some may miss the sidemen interplay featured on previous and subsequent recordings, this assortment of soft but intricate pieces is a prime opportunity to uninhibitedly observe his technique. It’s equally recommendable to completists and those in need of an introduction to this master of modal and post-bop jazz. An off-the-wall aural pleasureThe 1970s were a veritable playground for mania and mysticism in music. Few records buffer this claim more aptly than Jan Dukes de Grey’s sophomore effort, Mice and Rats in the Loft, one of the era’s more feral and bizarre opuses. Released in June 1971, a little less than two years after the emergence of the band’s musically competent, yet naïve debut Sorcerers, Mice and Rats… finds the trio embracing more progressive and improvisational leanings as well as a pronounced taste for the deranged. Drummer Denis Conlan joins multi-instrumentalists Derek Noy and Michael Bairstow on this outing as they careen wildly from genre to genre across three lengthy compositions. His romping rhythms back fervent acoustic guitars, violins and a barrage of countless wind instruments on the colossal opener “Sun Symphonica”, which transitions gracefully between pastoral geniality and grinding orchestral heights throughout its 19-minute duration. “Call of the Wild” begins in the guise of a slightly more conventional folk song before being gradually obscured in thick reverb and dark overtones. An album highlight is the dissonant tremolo-picked riff that appears intermittently in the song’s latter half, mimicking some nascent form of atmospheric black metal. A riotous saxophone solo and a dancing flute overpower it a few times, but it re-emerges to round out the song’s final minute. Hallucinogenic vocal passages pepper this largely instrumental work, mostly manifesting as melismatic wailings that enliven oddball lyrics (“Kangaroos under your feet…”?). They can require some getting used to, needless to say. The vocals reach their apex in the closing title track as they detail a grisly scene of ritual sacrifice while soaking in a bath of wah wah-laden guitar. Comparisons are frequently drawn between Mice and Rats… and Comus’ 1971 debut with good reason. The sinister and unconventional approach to folk music epitomized by First Utterance is certainly discernible here as well. Perhaps, the distinction lies in the accessibility of the music. Make no mistake, Mice and Rats… plunges confidently into shadowy mayhem on many occasions. However, the groovy wickedness is balanced regularly by numerous moments of playful hippie weirdness, something Comus’ masterpiece never fully explored, even in its sunniest moments. It’s true that these tracks risk overstaying their welcome in some places. Thankfully, Jan Dukes de Grey manages to skirt many period prog-rock trappings in favor of developing their own brand of violent psychedelic inventiveness. This creativity combined with an unabashed eccentricity makes Mice and Rats in the Loft a world worth exploring again and again. |
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