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.
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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. |
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