In a voice all their own, Austrian folk-metal trio mark a milestone, celebrate freedomIt’s tricky trying to name other acts with a sound comparable to that of Austrian outfit Dornenreich. Theirs is an undulating, progressive admixture of dark folk and black metal delivered with a fervor and intensity that often allows them to artfully transcend the tropes such genre tagging would imply. This deft mingling of the seemingly dissimilar has carried frontman Eviga and company through almost 20 years of fruitful music-making. Prior to their announcement of a short sabbatical, the band fittingly rounded out a chapter in their history with their eighth studio offering, 2014’s Freiheit. The closing statement is decidedly more folk-oriented in nature than its forbearer, Flammentriebe, and restraint and dynamic control, although certainly not absent from previous outings, are its uttermost achievements. The full spectrum of Dornenreich’s character is carefully seated within the ebb-and-flow framework of a breaking wave, rising from near-silent splendor and gaining momentum with the jaunting acoustic guitar and ebullient violin figures of "Im ersten aller Spiele", and cresting with barked vocals, belaboring rhythm and churning, electric instrumentation in centerpiece "Das Licht vertraut der Nacht" before sprawling serenely along a shoreline in a calm coda. Each song echoes this overarching oceanic form with the flamenco-tinged solo section of "Aus Mut gewirkt" and the wistful central melody of “Des Meeres Atmen” emerging as notable highlights along the way. Regardless of whether one finds the overall musical direction appealing, it’s difficult not to marvel at the level of attention to detail the band lends to their craft. The aforementioned moments of almost complete stillness seem as intentionally placed and vital as the most ornate ones. Performance-wise, violinist Inve’s bow-work is remarkable as always, adeptly embodying the spirits of numerous emotions, from bittersweet and yearning to exultant and aggressive. Eviga’s swift strums reinforce his hushed rasp and sparse lyrics, which meditate on the attainment of inner freedom and self-awareness. Electric guitar, bass, and drums, the primary elements stylistically differentiating Freiheit from 2008’s In Luft Geritzt, do serve their purpose within the record’s thematic context, but often somewhat lack individual charisma, unfortunately. Retaining artistic integrity over the course of nearly two decades is uncommon and, as a result, commendable. Freiheit is a more than suitable testament to and denouement for this rich period in Dornenreich’s career. It is frequently beautiful and euphoric, sometimes off-kilter and disorienting, but never insincere. It is indeed refreshing to observe an artist presenting their interpretation of the folk-metal paradigm using a voice that is identifiably all their own.
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Promising melodies sacrificed in favor of trendy pursuits.All may be permissible, but not all is beneficial. In 1984, virtuoso violinist Jean-Luc Ponty chose to fully embrace the musical directions initially explored on Mystical Adventures and Individual Choice and integrate his signature brand of amati-powered jazz into the once-modern realm of synthesizers and sequencers. The resulting Open Mind, with its meticulously-programmed rhythm computers and thumping synths, is a hit-or-miss mélange marked by excess, stiff momentum and a few small victories. As with previous records, the French fusionist’s melodies are instantly engaging, whether they appear via violin, violectra or sequencer. Unfortunately, much of the music’s color, personality and depth feels narrowed in favor of pursuing crisp, urbane, atmospheric textures. Unlike previous efforts, the keyboard underpinnings often dip too far into New Age territory (“Solitude”). The complex bass fretting is usurped by a strutting, low-end synth (“Intuition”) and the percussion often feels gated or rigid. With no more than one or two supporting players, Ponty shoulders most of this performance and he seems to be so preoccupied with organizing the electronics that his staple violin sound slips out of focus. The result is a collection of melodies that plead for some sort of organic, human representation, something that feels almost nonexistent aside from a couple guest appearances. The stringed interplay between George Benson’s flavorful guitar and Ponty’s violin on “Modern Times Blues” is a definite highlight, along with the sprinting strings and knotty keyboard explorations of "Orbital Encounters". The moments where the plastic keys are tamed and Casey Schelierell’s tablas are given room to breathe on "Watching Birds" are also worth mentioning. Chick Corea’s two guest appearances (the title track, "Watching Birds”) surprisingly border on irritating, rather than meaningful. Despite the forward-thinking title, the record is a product of its time. This wouldn’t be a poor quality in and of itself if it was not so off-putting at times. The digital onslaught of video arcade synths and dated dance rhythms often stinks of pastel denim and big hair and lacks that stamp of timelessness. The experimental spirit is certainly present and should be applauded. However, the mindset guiding it seems trapped in a bygone era, unable to transcend the limitations and temptations of the latest gadgetry. Bold and confident, Open Mind too frequently oversteps its bounds, proving this six-song assemblage to be a less-than-essential entry in Ponty’s consistently noteworthy catalog. After delivering a steady stream of music between 1993 and 2007, Swedish progressive vets Anekdoten seemingly vanished. A 2-disc anthology surfaced in 2009 and a few live dates occurred, but otherwise, silence. Not until 2013 did the band begin circulating updates about a follow-up to 2007’s A Time of Day. Posts on the band’s webpage clearly conveyed the group’s desire to not only release new material, but to produce something worthwhile. That level of commitment is commendable, but 8 years is still a long time for fans to wait. Imagine the anticipation that came with the band finally re-emerging with Until All the Ghosts are Gone. Throughout these six, new songs, Anekdoten’s roots as a King Crimson cover band are still noticeable. “Shooting Star”, which may be the band’s strongest opener since “Monolith”, recalls King Crimson’s Red-era dissonance and drive with its knotty riffs, towering Mellotron and immense bass tones. The dense notes of “Get Out Alive” erupt with atmospheric intensity akin to “The Court of the Crimson King” and guitarist Nicklas Barker’s soaring solo is beholden to Robert Fripp’s more melodic moments. The influences are apparent, but this does not deter the quartet from exploring some original terrain. The latter half of the record’s centerpiece “Writing on the Wall” aptly reflects the band’s modern tendencies. Following an opening section replete with swirling guitar and hovering sheets of vintage-sounding organ, Barker’s lead guitar diverts the proceedings toward airier passages, where the ensemble employs a hitherto unseen mastery of dynamics and space. The guest appearances here are worth mentioning. Ex-Opeth keyboardist Per Wiberg mans the Hammond on “Shooting Star” and virtuoso flautist Theo Travis (Gong, Steven Wilson’s solo outings) adds a pastoral touch to the pining “If It All Comes Down To You”. Travis’ flute work reappears to complement Marty Willson-Piper’s 12-string guitar on the title track before being overtaken by the wild percussion and manic saxophone of the chaotic, closing instrumental “Our Days Are Numbered”. Many will point out the record’s similarities to Opeth’s recent output, which arguably go beyond Wiberg’s guest spot. Before claiming plagiarism though, consider that both bands do stem from the same culture and perhaps are drawing inspiration from the same or similar source material. Also, it should probably be noted that Anekdoten are part of the earliest waves of the Scandinavian prog revival and played in this style long before Åkerfeldt and company redirected into more like-minded territory. Overall, the missteps are few. It is a pleasure to report that Anekdoten made the right choice by abdicating expedition in pursuit of quality, despite the grueling delay. The fruit of their labor sits comfortably alongside their finest works and deserves to be recognized among the great albums of 2015. A foreshadowing of the greatness to come, Kertomuksia, marks the first utterances of Finland’s Tenhi, a folk-influenced progressive trio that has probed the darker corners of the genre for the better of 20 years. Though rough-edged, this 3-track demo exhibits an eclectic mix documenting musical directions the band only explored in its formative years, namely black metal. Those familiar with Tenhi’s formal output will hear their rudimentary characteristics taking shape. Acoustic guitars comprise the music’s infrastructure and melancholia, nature and native traditions serve as the lyrical subject matter. The songwriting is excusably under development, the stitching shows in places. However, some material proved strong enough to include in future releases. Seven-minute bookends “Näkin laulu” and “Tenhi” would be refined, re-recorded and re-released on subsequent full lengths Kauan and Väre, respectively. The versions presented here do lack the effect and staying power of their later forms, yet they remain fascinating archival pieces in their own right. The solemn, raindrop guitar tones of “Näkin laulu” would emanate from darker clouds in 1999. Here the song’s orchestration feels more sinuous and organic, like a long tale spilling from the memory of an old storyteller. "Tenhi" manifests in its initial form as a murky, acoustic guitar duet woven into a nighttime nature sounds collage. A lamenting string ensemble would texture the instrumental’s 2002 re-imagining, creating an overall mistier quality. Kertomuksia’s main point of interest would be the 9-minute "Havuisissa saleissa", Tenhi’s sole foray into what could be called ambient black metal. The track’s harsh, sinister synthesizers, hoarse vocals and muffled blastbeats at times recall early Empyrium or a less refined, early Burzum sound. The faults are about as evident as the influences though. The track feels frail and incongruous, making for an inconsistent mood. Fortunately, the band seems to have been cognizant of these shortcomings and was content to allow the song to remain a one-off relic of youthful experimentation. As is the case with most demos, this collection is perhaps best suited for the more devoted fans. Those with a passing interest should check 2007’s Folk Aesthetic 1996-2006, a noteworthy compilation featuring the band’s unreleased and early works including Kertomuksia. The 3-disc compendium offers an insightful glimpse at how Tenhi matured from promising roots into the masters of atmosphere they are today. Time and again the extended play format has been harnessed to stunning effect, especially within the neofolk genre. The abbreviated presentation seems to only sharpen the impact of this particular brand of acoustic music. Had they been drawn out to a full-length’s runtime, Sonne Hagal’s Nidar or Agalloch’s The White EP simply may not have made the same emotional impression. Rota Fortunae has taken history to heart and managed to accomplish a similar feat with their 2016 debut Vespers, a sextet of stirring folk songs powered by arpeggiated acoustic guitar, pensive piano and winding strings, and replete with melodies that recall the masterworks of neofolk greats such as Nebelung and Musk Ox. It’s been a long time coming. Some of these compositions have been waiting in the wings for 8 years. The lengthy gestation has proven healthy, however, as every note feels carefully considered and purposefully placed. The music rarely overstays its welcome or withdraws too soon. Thematic continuity is indeed the crowning attribute here. For nearly 20 minutes, a cedar-encircled ambiance lingers uninhibited. The trance never breaks. This trait may be best evidenced by the swelling segue of opener “Rebirth” into the descending melodies, nylon-stringed harmonics, and lowing cello of “Autumn’s Hymn”, but the transitions occurring within the songs also pay testament to the overall cohesiveness of this work. While best experienced as a whole, the highest emotional peaks arise around the record’s midpoint, with the nostalgic refrain of “Dissolving Light” and the resonant nocturnal air of “Sanctum”. The closing minutes of the piano-driven finale “Repose” are also worth noting. With this EP, Rota Fortunae has offered an enthralling experience. Vespers establishes a world all its own and guides visitors through its inviting terrain along brambly paths illuminated by a steadily setting sun. Like a sojourn in the woods, this is a concise, poignant respite from the clamor of civilization that warrants many return visits. Pablo Ursusson and his bandmates may have roots and repute in the Spanish punk and countercultures of the 1990s, but the music they create under the moniker Sangre de Muerdago exhibits none of the abrasiveness those tags would imply. Instead, the Galician collective repurposes the underground’s creative fires to weave otherworldly folk tales through an earthy lattice of nylon-stringed guitar arpeggios, desolate violas, warbling flutes, and sparse percussion and form delicate laments inspired by the many mysteries of nature. The aid of a few more exotic sonic textures, including the nyckelharpa, hammered dulcimer, and hurdy-gurdy, produces an enchanting, primordial air to complement this stark change of tonality. The band’s 2015 offering and third long-player O Camino das Mans Valeiras finds their neofolk blend at its most potent and pure. Here the compositions, performance, and lyrics coalesce like never before and the mutual heart of the band is fully exposed. The result is a stirring and intimate assortment of dark folk music that dabbles in a bit of black magic to breathe new life into the subtle yet soul-baring stylings of the late-1970s-era Galician folk movement. The record may have been captured north of the Thuringian Forest on a cold, February weekend, but the disposition of these eight songs is markedly inviting. A heartfelt sincerity and ghostly warmth pervades each track, from the album’s windswept opening moments to its beseeching denouement. These features are best witnessed in moments like the rousing a cappella conclusion of “Xordas” and the elegant verses of the title track. Aural diversity is another noteworthy quality. In a genre renowned for a homogeneity that can span whole records and some artists’ entire discographies, Sangre de Muerdago breaks the mold by using evolving song structures to fashion a sound world that moves effortlessly from melody to melody and story to story without compromising the ingrained melancholic tone of the whole. Also, no two tracks are alike. “Mensaxeiros do Pasado”, for example, is a haunting account of a chance meeting with phantoms from the next world that relies heavily on chorale arrangements to evoke the voices of ancient spirits, whereas “De Musgo e Pedra” dismisses vocals almost entirely and hinges its eerie strains on a backdrop of droning strings and hurdy-gurdy. O Camino das Mans Valeiras is more than just a high water mark in Sangre de Muerdago’s output. The album also proves the much-needed point that there is still room for passion and authenticity in the world of neofolk. For its focus, its integrity, and its beauty, O Camino das Mans Valeiras deserves mention alongside 2015’s best folk releases. The odds were stacked against pianist Jan Johansson when he set his fingers on the keys in a Stockholm recording studio in 1962. The rock revolution had reached a pinnacle. Pop acts like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones were coming to prominence and mainstream interest in jazz was waning. Nonetheless, the balding, sad-eyed Swede set out to cut a record consisting entirely of jazz arrangements of 12 Scandinavian folk songs. The resulting Jazz på Svenska ("Jazz in Swedish"), issued in 1964, went on to become one of Sweden’s most successful jazz albums, selling more than a quarter of a million copies. This effort to repurpose his country’s traditional music had a lasting effect on Johansson’s career, even though that was not his intent at the time. "I just wanted to give listeners the possibility of hearing these melodies. Otherwise they would have lain, unknown, in a dusty pile in the loft of a library, which was where I found them," he states on the record’s sleeve. Johansson treats Jazz på Svenska’s source material with the utmost care, placing the folk songs’ emotions and timeless essence at the fore. He eschews the free form and fusion inclinations of the day, choosing instead to faithfully and directly interpret the collection of age-old songs, polkas and marches. All arrangements are for this reason quite sparse. The hum of Georg Riedel's bass serves as the sole accompaniment to Johansson’s mellow, ivory tones. Improvisation is reined in and concise. Nothing more is needed, as Johansson was clearly aware. He is quoted as saying that he was drawn to the pieces by the parallels he drew between them and jazz. "The blue notes attracted me and the songs had a very suggestive rhythm built into the melody,” he said. “It's enough just to play them as they are. I didn't want to embellish them in any way."* The music feels like a product of its environment in many ways. The reanimated melodies conjure an atmosphere that recalls the feelings one has while staring out into the oppressive cold of a winter’s night from the comfort of a warm fireside room. Melancholy, like the sadness caused by the lingering memories of troubles past, is also a key component here. While superficially peaceful, the music seems to carry the weight of knowing that hardships lay just ahead to counter life’s joys. In 1968, Johansson died in a car crash on his way to gig. He was 37 years old. His sons, Anders and Jens, now work diligently to maintain his musical legacy. This is truly fortunate because this landmark record not only serves as a vessel for preserving Sweden’s musical heritage. It proves to be a soul-stirring listen, boasting a palette of deeply-rooted human emotions that countless generations can relate to. These attributes earn Jazz på Svenska a place in the canon of classic jazz albums. *Allaboutjazz.com
A snowy canvas unfolds with splashing cymbals and droning flute tones in the opening moments of Tenhi’s 2002 opus, Väre. From its inception, the record’s heavy atmosphere stokes the imagination, guiding the listener on a meditative sojourn into chilly, leafless timberlands swathed in silvery brume. If their debut were a misty, spring morning and their later releases (Maaäet) an autumnal evening, then the Finnish collective’s sophomore full-length would embody the lonely, cold months in their discography. Despite the limitations such an analogy would imply, the band manages to explore a remarkable range of moods using their distinct brand of folk-flecked progressive music. Like with Kauan and their 2000 ep Airut: Ciwi, the band employs a virtuosic use of space here. Minimalist structures reinforce the listener’s sense of solitude and the predominantly acoustic instrumentation, especially the string arrangements (“Suortuva”), emote a sadness that is nothing short of beautiful. Icy piano melodies wander the musical clearings between denser moments (eg, “Vastakaiun”) and guitars regularly appear in pairs and intertwine like birch roots(“Keväin”). Tyko Saarikko’s low baritone is distant throughout and often layered, giving his understated vocal performances a somewhat religious, chanting quality (“Kuolleesi jokeen”). The album’s more driving numbers, “Jäljen”, “Sutoi”, and “Katve”, serve to break the trance and lace more exotic hues through Väre’s mournful complexion. Throbbing bass and jaw harp texture the runtime of “Sutoi” and a didgeridoo forms the trunk of “Katve”, which groans beneath the force of howling flute and brisk acoustic strums. Album highlight “Jäljen” displays tinges of progressive rock with its heavy strings, jaunty rhythms and intricate percussion. If a fault were to be found, it would be in the record’s length. Some listeners will find it challenging to endure 55-plus minutes of sparse, introverted melancholia. However, there is little fat to be trimmed as each passage feels essential, like the individual sinews of a large, ancient tapestry. The band seems content to take their time and give the utmost consideration to the way in which they choose to speak. So, as with anything worthwhile, patience pays off. While Tenhi’s style would later be perfected with 2006’s Maaäet, their second record remains an engrossing dark folk experience crafted by one of the genre’s most interesting bands. For 30 years, many simply considered Louis Thomas Hardin, Jr. to be one of the more eccentric vagrants that line Manhattan’s walkways. Few New Yorkers knew that when they flipped their spare change to the spear-toting, horn-capped, wispy-bearded “Viking of Sixth Avenue” they were giving to a man who had transcended insurmountable conditions, acquired blindness and homelessness, to become one of the 20th century’s most gifted and under-recognized musicians. By 1969, the Kansas-born composer, who wandered into New York City and adopted the moniker “Moondog” in the late 1940s, had almost a half-dozen recordings to his name. That same year, after a 12-year recording hiatus, he reentered the studio at the invitation of producer James William Guercio to commit a new album to tape for Columbia Records. The result, simply titled Moondog, would feature compositions Moondog had been constructing for more than a decade, including two canons, two "minisyms" (short symphonic-styled pieces for miniature orchestras), three symphonic works, a chaconne memorializing the legendary saxophonist Charlie Parker (“Bird’s Lament”), and ballet music written with modern dance pioneer Martha Graham in mind ("Witch of Endor"). The collection would come to be known as a singular entry in the catalog of Third Stream music and possibly Moondog’s finest hour. The music here could be described as minimalist; however, with its composer taking cues from the shrill car horns and rumbling subways of the Big Apple, it is by no means lacking power. Not unlike Borges and his fiction, Moondog encapsulates in six minutes or less the intrigue and magnificence of a larger-than-life symphony. The whirling “Minisym #1” bursts at the seams with menace and drive despite its stunted runtime, and the melodies woven throughout “Symphonique #3 (Ode to Venus)” boast a poignancy that could rival Elgar’s famed Cello Concerto in E minor, Op. 85. Jazz elements are just as prevalent and at their most in apparent in pieces like “Symphonique #6”, where clarinets croon with big band flair in apt tribute to the “King of Swing” himself. Moondog’s disdain for convention and his knack for genre fusion are intoxicating, but the album’s standout is his flawless integration of unusual percussion and odd meter, or what he called snaketime, into his distinct amalgam of modern classical elements and jazz leanings. Instruments of Moondog’s own design punctuate the record’s introductory “Theme” with peculiar rhythms before seguing into the equally serpentine snare and timpani work of “Stamping Ground”. It’s a fitting opening statement for a man who would “not die in 4/4 time”. Quirks notwithstanding, this collection is arguably less "experimental" than some of Moondog's other works. The music is surprisingly accessible given its origins, yet its ambitiousness and creativity is none the worse for wear. The Viking may have been blind, but his vision was crystalline. Moondog is a career highlight of an unlikely hero, who amidst the clatter of a busy street corner forged a path all his own. For someone who had the stones to criticize J.S. Bach for his counterpoint “mistakes”, it must have seemed like the only way to go. Rhapsody in Blue, Sketches of Spain, Jazzical Moods, A Symphony of Amaranths - Time and again, artists from the classical and jazz realms have endeavored to meld jazz extempore with the rigor of orchestral music. Results have varied, but as the previous list indicates, the effort has birthed more than a few classics. American fusion outfit Oregon made a run at this art form, often dubbed “Third Stream”, with their 2000 offering In Moscow. The quartet allied with the Tchaikovsky Symphony Orchestra of Moscow to debut a decades-old orchestral repertoire that has been performed with a half-dozen orchestras on both sides of the Atlantic, but never formally committed to tape. Simply put, the results are exquisite. Sparks of magic abound on this beautifully textured synthesis of folk, jazz, and orchestral music and the band’s novel blend of instrumentation is placed on full display. For 90 minutes, two seemingly disparate genres commingle with esemplastic grace and there’s nary a gimcrack moment to mention. Woodwind wizard Paul McCandless predominantly explores the abstract themes with support from Ralph Towner’s virtuosic acoustic guitar playing and Glen Moore’s sinuous double bass as well as tasteful piano and uncommon percussion. The music’s momentum is expertly controlled, fluctuating fluidly between scored refrains and improvisational brilliance. Much of the material boasts an East European flair and the arrangements provide a lush bedrock and pathway for numerous musical highlights, including the morning sun warmth of “Round Robin”, the forest floor intimacy of “Beneath an Evening Sky”, the rhythmic exercises of “Waterwheel”, and the soaring cello leads of Towner’s iconic “Icarus”. One notable standout is the slow burning “Free-form Piece for Orchestra and Improvisors.” Unlike the album’s orchestrated numbers, this one is actually an improvisation for conductor. The piece would have to turn out differently each time it was performed. The orchestra is divided into three sections. Each section has ten composed mini-compositions at hand, and they’re cued by hand signals from the conductor. It must keep the artists on their toes. Harmony works out well, since Towner has allowed for all the combinations. The members of Oregon stretch out over this scenario for eight and a half minutes. It works out rather well, particularly the impetus from bass clarinet and guitar. It seems essential to note that In Moscow garnered four Grammy nominations in 2001. With instrumentals as splendorous as this, it’s easy to see why. This performance at once captures the refined expression of composed music and playful openness of jazz. It is a career-defining moment, an essential collection in the glowing catalog of a brilliant band, and a prime entry in the Third Stream canon. |
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