What a joy to hear this seventh offering from Mariusz Duda’s solo project. Through Shaded Woods is a beautiful, dynamic little album. With just six songs simply titled, it’s like a small, neatly wrapped package inviting one to open it. What’s particularly impressive is that this is the first album on which Mariusz plays all the instruments. He’s taken a fresh concept and approach and used many folk instruments. The organic sounds bring the music back to earth for me in a way that recent albums have not. Combined with his beautiful voice and ear for melody, this album is possibly the finest that Lunatic Soul has released, in my opinion.

The discography of Lunatic Soul has undergone much evolution since the debut album Lunatic Soul, yet I have always preferred that one to the rest. After listening to it again for comparison with this new one, it remains a solid, timeless concept album. Nevertheless, I find myself embracing the fresh qualities and upbeat, spiritual zing of Through Shaded Woods. Time will tell whether it’s simply the sheen of novelty that makes it so compelling. It’s been six months and I still love to throw it on. It’s impossible to compare it to the debut album as they were made with such different intentions.

Through Shaded Woods is inspired by Slavic folklore. It has an uplifting, inspired energy that is driven by the prominent rhythms that act like a call to a tribal dance. Percussion is a cornerstone of the album as much as the guitar. Navvie, the first track and also a single accompanied by a fantastic video, is like the soundtrack for a woodland conjuring. In the video, robed women dance in a beautiful forest in trance-like communion with we know not what – perhaps ancestral spirits from another realm. The track Summoning Dance near the end of the album feels like a sister song to Navvie with its spirited percussion and folk dance vibe.

Duda describes the theme of this album as being about fueling “our worst traumas and nightmares,” an idea represented by “shaded woods.” He says the album is a journey through dark Scandinavian and Slavic folk. This description confused me at first because I wouldn’t have called TSW dark, and I feel like the first two LS albums were considerably darker. But I think I got a glimpse of his definition of “dark” when I thought of Scandinavian folk band Hedningaarna, which certainly has a dark vibe, though it’s not the same flavor of dark that we’re used to associating with Western style genres. Slavic folk remains a world to explore. Duda cites Heilung and Wardruna as inspiration, as well as Dead Can Dance. Parallels can certainly be drawn to all these influences, and yet this remains very much a Duda album. The songwriting and melodies are imbued with his signature style and craft. The songs are well-written and pleasantly varied, all bearing good progressions, good production, nuanced layers and meditated transitions. There is an ebb and flow from dark to light and back again. The album is well-worked and the result is an easy flow of compositions.

Duda has long embraced social media to communicate with his fans. The Lunatic Soul website has been updated to reflect its latest evolution with this album, and it feels complete and not just done as an afterthought or something rushed. There is even a hand-drawn schematic showing how each album figures into the overarching project that is Lunatic Soul. Though I’ve never been but an occasional listener of Riverside, Mariusz long-running main project, I appreciate that the band has always had a positive, grateful, down-to-earth relationship with their fans. Despite the more introspective and personal nature of Lunatic Soul for Duda, he seems to maintain the same frank openness with fans on Lunatic Soul’s social feeds. He seems like someone who is constantly producing, who finds salvation, pride and joy in the creative process. He embraces social media as a way to share and celebrate his creative journey. Marketing for Lunatic Soul has always been of high quality and it only continues to refine itself as the project evolves. I’m excited to see what comes in the next chapter.

Languish, thy war of my heart…

Choral voices singing in unison always have an attractive and powerful sound. Do they have this effect because they remind us of a long-forgotten age, like a memory of another time buried in our deeper consciousness? This is how this album opens – with what sounds like a pagan hymn echoing off conifer-studded mountainsides. It sounds like the somber chant of a small choir delivering perhaps a declaration or a lament. After this acapella introduction builds anticipation, the title track kicks into gear with a splash of drum fills that wastes no time settling into a fast blast beat. This is accompanied by triumphant, sweeping chord progressions, Finnish vocals that continue to yell in unison and a heavy-metal style solo. This track thus sets the tone for melodic, blackened metal imbued with a distinct Finnish folk flavor. Scandinavian metal with its nostalgic remembrance of pagan history and mythology has always charmed me from across the Atlantic sea with its regal beauty that is so exotic and so northern. The mystery of it makes it all the more appealing.

1. Songs: Ohia – The Magnolia Electric Co (2003) – The final studio album for Songs: Ohia by singer-songwriter Jason Molina (RIP). There are a number of other vocalists on the first disc, and though they lend a pleasant diversity to the album, I’ve ended up preferring the demo recordings on the second disc where Jason sings all of them. His understated delivery just matches the feelings expressed in his lyrics too well to separate them. This brilliant, original collection of songs pulls delicately and judiciously from a range of American styles including rock but also blues, country and bluegrass. Jason’s modest way of singing from the heart about sentiments of regret, yearning, resignation and self-acceptance gets me every time, and not least because they seem to eerily foreshadow his downward spiral in the years following this album’s release and culminating in his death in 2013 due to alcoholism. These are some of the eeriest and most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. Jason expresses himself so sincerely about his life experience that I find it difficult to even review this album as music alongside other music, as it’s something that strikes a chord far deeper.
   
   
2. Nikola Vranjković – Veronautika (2017) – The most romantic Serbian progressive rock I’ve ever heard! No, let’s be honest: this is the only Serbian music I’ve ever heard. Nikola’s deep, beautiful voice, masterful songwriting and production make this gem of an album that seems to bridge the river that runs between reality and dream. It fell so naturally on my ears on first listen that I was sure I must have heard it before, and this is usually a good sign. I recommend this album for a long drive around sunset where you can lose yourself in it.
   
   
3. Carpenter Brut – Trilogy (2015) – Synthwave doesn’t get better than this. This compilation is more progressive and decidedly less metal than Leather Teeth, and though I love that one, this one is somehow playeable in more situations and has a longer lifespan. This guy, who prefers to remain the invisible wizard behind the music (but come on, we all know he’s French) is really on his game and his music stands out in what is now a highly saturated genre. This is a compilation of the EPs I, II, and III. Listen to loud, anytime and anywhere, and be prepared to feel your blood heat up with the thrill of the hunt. Fun fact: It is rumored that he produced music for French black metal legends Deathspell Omega (!).
   
   
4. Big Business – Mind The Drift (2009) – Big drums, big voice and big bass – there is something inherently primitive and in-your-face about these senile animals from the west coast. But don’t shy away, they’re actually well-bred and more clever than you think. No-holds-barred, totally awesome Seattle-style sludge.
   
   
5. Melvins – (A) Senile Animal (2006) – The first Melvins album to join forces with Jared Warren and Coady Willis from Big Business on bass and drums. Coincidentally perhaps, this is also the first Melvins album that I like to listen to all the way through. It bears a great deal of awesome songs and is highly listenable compared to some of the more abstruse Melvins material. There is a diversity of tempos and degrees of agression here, making for an entertaining listen. All instruments are allied to deliver crushingly heavy punches, whatever the sentiment, and harmonized yelled choruses invite you to get angry in traditional punk fashion.
   
   
6. Emancipator – Baralku (2017) – Soothing, soft, mellow, and organic, Baralku is the latest offering in Emancipator’s tradition of delivering beautiful soundtracks for your days and nights; easy music you can put on anytime and which doesn’t distract you but which is never boring. It has this feeling of being borderless and polycultural while remaining unidentifiable in its ethnic influences. It features nice things like free-feeling violin melodies and chill downtempo vibes, sometimes with the faintest taste of Asia. Fun fact: Baralku is the island of the dead for the Yolngu, a clan of aborigines in northern Australia.
   
   
7. Rykarda Parasol – For Blood And Wine (2009) – With drink and cigarette in hand and likely to be found crooning over the piano, Rykarda embraces the image of the troubled singer-as-artist that makes one think instantly of Nick Cave and Concrete Blonde. Vocally and lyrically, Rykarda makes me think of the latter’s Johnette Napolitano and her distinct voice. A witty, mature album of tragic, gothic dimensions with a freewheeling dose of fantasy and f*ck-you.
   
   
8. Rammstein – Untitled (2019) – Well, the German industrial rock/metal icons have really done it this time. I recken this is Rammstein’s best album to date. This is an album that is so well-worked that it approaches perfection. (I actually found myself looking for synonyms of “perfection” in writing this review – the absurdity!). This is an album that hits hard, is cohesive, creative and diverse. Can you believe that this album sold more units in the first week in Germany than any other album in the 21st century? What an accomplishment, especially considering that heavy, loud-and-proud industrial rock is not everyone’s cup of tea. How did they do it? My take is this: they employed their classic formula that we all know and love and took it to new heights. They have pleased their entire loyal fanbase and more with this one. There are the spectacular three singles, “Deutschland”, “Radio”, and “Ausländer,” and then there is all the rest that this album has to offer. In fact, every track could be a single. Every track attacks with a surprise and a hook or some unexpected beautiful melody. It holds your attention and doesn’t let go. Listen to it!
   
   
9. Oumou Sangaré – Mogoya (2017) – I happily fell upon this gorgeous album by Oumou earlier this year, a female musician and singer from Bamako, Mali. She is a local and international star of what is called wassoulou music, a genre that started in the ’70s and is made primarily by women from the Wassoulou River Valley. Her music harmonizes traditional instruments including the kamal ngoni (a 6-string guitar) and the djembe (deerhide drum) with modern bass, keybords, electric guitars, flute and strings. Like other Malian music, I love Oumou’s songs for her soaring voice and use of traditional instruments which give her music such a light-feeling beauty and impart a sense of true peace, relaxation and joy.
   
   
10. Guilhem Desq – Visions (2017) – Enchanting folk-oriented music made with the beautiful sounds of Guilhem’s own electric hurdy-gurdy (custom and handmade by him and his father) combined with modern instruments. Visions is his first solo album. The frequency range of this instrument is impressive and he uses it to play songs in different styles, including traditional European folk, rock, electro and Middle-Eastern.
    
    
11. Ehrling – Give Me Summer (2017) – You will fall in love with this totally saxy chill beach dance music: the summer evening soundtrack you didn’t know you were missing. Who needs vocals? The groovy saxophone lead is actually all you need on top of these smooth beats and luscious well-placed drops. Speaking of the drops. They’re like sliding down a giant leaf still glistening from a tropical shower into a warm tidepool: swooooosh – plop!) So smooth. This music bleeds carefreeness and fun with a touch of humor (“look at those palm trees, damn!”) I recommend you just listen to all the little EPs that Ehrling is pumping out. You can’t go wrong. Thanks for the suggestion, Kyle S.!
    
    
12. The YD – Master Peace (2019) – A fresh take on the 2000’s trend of male duos making lush indie electro pop like Empire of the Sun and MGMT. The YD is taking up the torch of said genre and doing it with style. This is just really well done. The hooks are good, the production is rich and layered and the vocals are nice. Songs like “My Everything” and “Heaven” are fantastically catchy. Also be sure to try their other four-track EP, Earth Beat.

Prenatal downtempo

Here is an exercise: Sometime after dark, find a quiet place and take some minutes to empty the mind and allow the noise of your thoughts to dissipate. Finally, when the mind is quiet, when the short term memory has been flushed and the inputs cleansed, the body becomes ready to listen. This is the appropriate state from which to explore the creative work of another. And it’s a fitting moment to delve into the strange but warm cocoon that DARKSIDE weaves in the darkness. 

You find yourself submersed in an abstract soundscape of downtempo, minimal house. All that exists is a nocturnal rhythm that takes you somewhere deep, a place at once familiar and curiously alien. It’s rather like imagining yourself in the womb, where perceptive faculties are erased and consciousness of self is a nebulous idea. Yet there is a heartbeat that is pumping somewhere which echoes your own, and the rhythm is lulling. In this space, other sounds enter mysteriously, as if through a veil. Their frequencies are isolated and vivid, bringing bursts of color into the nothingness through rough-edged bits of static and disrupted signal. They grasp gently at the edges of your consciousness, a suggestion of an idea without precise edges. A fragment of a violin, a soft organ blare, a twang of blues guitar, strangely pitched voices representing a mere echo of humanity, making almost-words, communicating almost-feelings.

DARKSIDE is a collaboration between guitarist Dave Harrington and electronic producer Nicolas Jaar. While Jaar plunges you deep into a weird, hushed environment of carefully-honed abstract sounds, Harrington’s strings bring in the human element and a primal sense of groove and rhythm. Together they create a captivating kind of minimal house with progressive builds that is strange yet warm; an unlikely duality that climbs and falls in a hypnotic, head-nodding fashion.

DARKSIDE is deep, enigmatic, benign, exploratory. Let it caress the ears and awaken the senses.

http:// http://www.darksideusa.com

This short, 26-minute album by the now well-known Gregory Alan Isakov contains seven great little country songs. It’s got well written, down-to-earth lyrics, a feeling of countryside simplicity and a dose of autumn melancholy. It’s perfect for sitting around the campfire, thinking, reflecting and remembering.

I’ve chosen this album out of Isakov’s discography to review because it’s the first one I sat down and listened to, and even if there’s plenty of subsequent songs worth hearing (I highly recommend ‘The Stable Song’), I feel this early release is a perfect introduction to his music.

Isakov writes good, honest songs with acoustic guitar and voice. On certain songs he’s chosen to add a subtle, tasteful accompaniment in the form of violin, drums, a shaker, or a slight effect on his voice. I think of his music not so much as indie or folk – terms that I veer away from since they’ve been widely overused and diluted by now – but as modern country music. I lean toward this definition because Isakov is a musician from my generation who seems to have roots in the truely soulful music from America’s past like old time blues and country.

It’s worth noting that the words on this album are exceptionally well-written, infused with the musing and mystery of a poet. He writes tales about travelling, life on the road and searching for lost love, among other things. These wistful, sometimes sorrow-laden concepts always remain grounded with textures and imagery of everyday things, the mundane objects like “the rubber floor mat in your car” or the “rusty truck” that might serve as reminders of the people we’ve known and the eras we’ve lived. The feeling is always clearly felt in his verses, even when the meanings are a little more obscure (as in the mysterious ‘Crooked Muse’).

The music man sings his mystery songs
He tries to put his finger on
There’s things unfelt that he’s always longed to feel

The things we all are destined to loose
While I seek out that crooked muse
You stole my heart and filled it up with blues

Though Songs for October was only Isakov’s second record, it’s clear that even back then, he was no newcomer to his craft. And indeed, before focusing on his solo work, it seems he had already toured with a band as early as age 16. Yet despite his practiced hand and voice, the songs on this early release are understated in their presentation, just like the cover and the title written across it in a handwritten font, and this is what actually makes this album so appealing. This little, curated collection of well-worked songs is well worth an evening listen.

Highlight songs: Freeway Searching, Black & Blue, Crooked Muse.

Mord’a’Stigmata‘s fifth studio album Dreams of Quiet Places grabbed my attention when its elegantly designed, esoteric cover and intriguing title showed up on my Instagram feed, accompanied by the compelling description offered by @calligraphed.sins:

“Polish infused black metal…a thoroughingly modern and forward thinking album of blackened musical landscapes…depth and subtance…dissonance and melody.”

Sold.

As it played through in my headphones for the first time, I was intrigued. The intro on the first track, Between Walls of Glass, builds a gentle, enigmatic atmosphere in a calm space. Then, craftfully, the drums and the guitars enter to add consecutive layers until at a certain point, the song launches into full gear with powerful force. Across the album, this band excels at clever builds and a controlled release of a strong, momentous energy that sustains. Your attention never has a chance to stray from beginning to end of this 44-minute release.

If No Drum No Moog is lacking anything, it’s neither drums nor synthesizers. They bring both in equal measure to their unique brand of synthwave space rock, and not digital ones, either – real, acoustic drums and real, analog synths. In an elegant fusion of these principal elements they’ve crafted a great instrumental soundtrack to either your next highspeed interstellar chase or your more laidback suborbital flight.

Battle Lines is the 2nd studio album from the electronic dance music duo, Bob Moses. At once captivating and relaxed, their brand of vocal-driven house music moves me with the genuine feeling behind it. Their synergy as musicians blossoms on this album.

The duo is composed of singer Tom Howie and producer Jimmy Vallance, two Vancouver-born guys who knew each other in school and started with similar tastes in music but never worked together until they crossed paths years later in a Lowe’s parking lot in NY. This was after Howie had studied music at Berklee College of Music in Boston for a year and Vallance had already made something of a professional name for himself in trance and progressive house music. Not long after their reacquaintance, they moved in together and began making music as a duo. (Wikipedia)

I’ve finally gotten around to publishing my year-end list of albums for 2017. What an incredible year it was for me, musically speaking. There are just so many more albums in my life now that I can’t imagine being without. I explored a few different genres, including French trip-hop, Chicago blues, Finnish hippie rock, modern classical, and so on, so here I am putting this weird, incongruous list out there in the hopes that someone finds something good in it. I would be thrilled to get any comments and/or recommendations for music I should be listening to. Cheers and happy 2018 😎 Read more

Dans Dans is a Belgian trio that performs  an experimental kind of instrumental jazz-rock with bass, guitar and drums. This album has been my sole introduction to their music, and it took time to grow on me, unveiling its beauty late one quiet evening (as good music often does) during what I realized halfway through was a cover of Tom Wait‘s “Yesterday Is Here.” And what a brilliant cover it is – deep, soft and rich. On this song and others, there is a lovely reverberant twang on the Western-flavored guitar with doom-laden overtones, calling to mind both the country/jazz/drone of Earth and the ambient doom jazz of Bohren & Der Club of Gore. But the pure sound of Dans Dans is less dark and weighty than those bands, and therefore appeals to a wider audience. Read more

I’ve really been digging this French artist lately. I listened to last year’s Seagulls a couple times and it didn’t really catch. It wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t make a tangible impression. At one point in passing I almost removed it from my playlist entirely. Then last week when I noticed this year’s How Are You? on Spotify, I played it, and the moment must have been right. It just grabbed me.

Maybe this album finally struck a chord because as an artist he has matured. Or perhaps his style has unconsciously grown on me so that this new release already sounded familiar. Or maybe it’s the déjà-vu effect his music seems to possess inherently. I’ve always thought it sounded like something I’ve heard before. I thought it was just tapping fragments of my memory, until my partner reported the same thing out loud when I played it for him. That’s when I started to suspect something like art.

This album is a sweet and dreamy collection of electronic trip-hop vignettes. It’s multilayered and richly textured. I love the hissy/scratchy worn-out vinyl sounds; they are like Q-tips gently swabbing the insides of my ears. And the samples are so well-chosen. There are some old French songs. He plays with vocal pitch a lot to good effect (try Love You Sweet It’s What I Do). This is music that really sets a mood. It’s electronic, but it’s very human. It’s great for working or quiet time at home.

Slowdive have released a new album?? This was the first question that popped into my head when I heard the news. The second element of surprise was that it was their self-titled album! I found it on Spotify and put it on immediately, feeling a sudden nostalgic urgency for that old dream pop sound that seems to have disappeared into the mists of time. Bands like Ride and Cocteau Twins… where did they all go? I love that stuff – I need it! I pushed play on this new album, so oddly self-titled and so incongruously 2017. And then my questions were answered, because Slowdive delivered.

Slipping into that first song like a pair of warm, rediscovered socks, Slowdive launches into their first album in over two decades as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, just them, the same as always, a shoegazing quintet with a driven rhythm that sweeps you along, and pretty voices shining demurely through the electric haze. A pleasant curtain of shimmering reverb drapes over their entourage.

Slowdive in the early 90’s

As always, their music speaks with yearning and nostalgia, like a forgotten childhood friend that comes looking for you in your dreams. It is sad, it is ageless, it is love. It’s propelled by an energy that will never run out. That is what Slowdive sound like to me. It seems fitting that Rachel and Neil, the founding members that sing often in unison on their songs, have known each other since they were very little.

This album plays beautifully from start to finish, in a short but perfect collection of eight songs. It ends contemplatively on a slower note with the repeated chorus, thinking about love… As unassuming as they ever were, this album comes and goes without even a hint of ceremony or explanation, but with the self-assurance that typifies experienced musicians who know what they want to say. People given to reflection will find something beautiful in Slowdive.

slowdive.bandcamp.com

Music map from Music Popcorn

I was thinking the other day about the meaning of words. I’m in the middle of reading a rather old tale: the English version of The Count of Monte Cristo published in 1844. Because the book is old, and certain words are preserved in their native French or Italian, I have to look up the definitions of words now and then. I realized that words and their meanings are malleable, inconcrete things.

When you look up a word in the dictionary, a lot of times there is more than one definition listed, and these are listed for you (1, 2, 3…) so you can quickly find the meaning that applies to your situation. So words can have various shades of meaning. Through time and use, the meaning of certain words gets nudged in different directions depending on how people choose to use them. So words change as people change. They are not, as I have often thought of them, inscribed in stone since the beginning of time, with definite definitions. I guess my brain tends to think of them that way because I like categorizing things. I like languages because they adhere to a grammar; because they follow ordered systems that can be learned and memorized. My left brain adores this dependable structure of language, and I’ve always absorbed the definitions of words easily into my memory. Yet words are far from being concrete. Words are nothing more than empty symbols until people prescribe meaning to them, and these meanings can be as nuanced as people’s feelings. Words are our imperfect attempt to describe sensations that defy categorization.

And this brings me to the topic of genres in music. I’m not alone in my love of categorizing things. As people we like to categorize our art into so-called genres, and these genres are really just words we use to refer to an artificial grouping of things. When we talk about rock or jazz music, for example, we are using a simple four-letter word to contain what is really a vast history too complex to fit into such an absurdly small box. When we talk about rock, we’re referring to a roughly century-long tradition in music history that involves, well, a guitar. But a guitar is pretty much the only thing that rock musicians share in common. Every other aspect about their music can be widely different. What we try to do with music genres is take every individual musician that pertains to a particular style, at least to some degree, and shove them in a box and put a one-word label on it. But if we open the box and take a good look at the artists inside, we discover a world of differences between them.

In my last post I reviewed Seth Chapla’s music, which is a kind of instrumental rock. His style reminded me of Steve Vai, and Steve Vai was taught by Joe Satriani. There is a clear connection between the three musicians as you travel backward in time. But the connection is only clear because their style is singular and hasn’t been copied a thousand times by other musicians. And they are all fairly contemporary. One night I went even further down that path of music history. I found that Joe Satriani (born 1956) was influenced by Jeff Beck, the English guitarist who played with The Yardbirds (born 1944), and he in turn cited Les Paul as an influence (born 1915 in America), and from there I landed on Rosetta Tharpe, a black gospel singer from Alabama who played an electric guitar like nobody’s business, and who clearly made an impact on Elvis and probably a whole generation of musicians who picked up an electric guitar in the 50’s and 60’s and created what we now think of when we say “rock music.” I watched a great documentary about Rosetta, and it was great because she has a sensational biography. I highly recommend it. She blew me away because I had never heard of her. And I’m American and listen to a lot of rock music! Check out this great video of her playing “Didn’t It Rain” at a train station.

What’s also interesting is that she was never inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. How can the curators of rock history not recognize that this rockin’ gal deserves a place in its annals?

Take any of the guitarists I mentioned above, and you will find that all of them play a different style of music. And you’ll find that they were influenced by not one musician, who was also unique in his/her own way, but many. So we can forget about the term “rock.” How can we really come up with a word that sums up a musician’s style when they are expressing themselves from the heart? I endeavored to learn about the history of rock music, but when I dug into it, I found that there was simply music. Genres are not particularly useful except to give a vague gesture toward a trend in music history, but in reality there are just people making music. We can’t create a word for what they create. But we can talk about how we feel when we hear it, and if we talk from the heart, then we are saying words that have meaning.

During the past few months, a lot of new and varied music has been crossing my radar. I love discovering new music. It’s inspiring to be reminded that there is so much creation happening in the world; so much that it’s impossible to keep up with it all. The discovery of a new artist or sometimes an entire new genre is always invigorating, both because of my appreciation of music itself as a listening exercise but also because of the intellectual exercise of opening a new window onto a piece of culture and history. And when I say “new” music, I don’t mean new in the temporal sense, but new to my ears. Regardless of when it was created, music is my connection to people and to the world.

I tend to focus on albums more than individual tracks when it comes to music. Everyone has their own way of enjoying music. My preferred method is to put on an album and let it play from start to finish, so that I become immersed in the mood and flow of it. This way I can properly engage the work as a whole, listening to the songs in the order that the artist intended, reading the lyrics, if they exist, and looking at the cover art. I think of an album as a gift from the artist; a carefully prepared package of image and sound that you sit down and devote time to. Read more

Once upon a night, I discovered the brilliance of this album. There is a soulful, nostalgic feeling to it. A feeling of reaching back to one’s origins.

Sólstafir is an Icelandic band. Their name means crepuscular rays in Icelandic, referring to those rays of sunlight piercing through dark clouds that you often see near dusk. Ótta is an album revolving around an old Icelandic system of timekeeping called Eykt, a monastic system that divided the day into eight parts of three hours each. Accordingly, there are eight songs on the album, one to represent each eyktar. It starts at midnight with the opening track, Lágnætti (low night). Ótta, the second track, refers to the time between 3-6 a.m.

The cover is a black and white photo of an old man with white hair. He’s positioned on the left side of the photo, and behind him is the sea, with big rocks jutting out of the shore, shrouded in mist. The wind sweeps the man’s hair to the left as he looks in that direction. His face is somewhat haggard. It bears the creases of time. His expression is quite unreadable. He’s wearing black, nondescript clothing. He could be from any time. The photo well conveys the timeless feeling of this album. It speaks of a connection between a particular kind of landscape and the person who belongs there.

The vocalist has a strong presence in all the songs, his raspy voice often belting forth Icelandic like a driving wind. Or, I imagine that maybe he is shouting into the wind in order to be heard, using the force of both wind and voice to direct the music that accompanies him. Icelandic being a Germanic language of a Nordic flavor, it has that ancient feeling that hearkens back to the Vikings. Language has always intrigued me for being intertwined with the culture and history of a place. The sound of a language, the words themselves but also their intonation, convey a feeling of the geography and character of the land. Iceland is a land of mystery to me, to which this album lends further mystery, and invites one to feel and hear its nature through the elements. For this reason, without having to understand the words being spoken, Sólstafir’s music is powerful in providing an Icelandic immersion.

While the vocals tend to drive the songs at their most energetic points, they don’t epitomize the album. Long instrumental interludes also occur. The album opens gently with piano and violin (or strings of similar nature). Elsewhere, later, a banjo enters. These stringed instruments come back again and again throughout the album to twine beautifully with the guitars, drums and vocals. There are time changes that rise and fall like tides. Times of noise and wind and rain, then quiet times of contemplation and reflection. These moods transition naturally. There is a consistent energy that builds and subsides, always seeming to flow from the same source. The drums and guitars will often interrupt a slow intro with a strong and steady tremolo rhythm, gathering momentum to launch brilliant crescendos that eventually wane back into silence.

The atmosphere created on this album is impeccable. A folk feeling is conjured by the banjo. Heavily distorted guitar paired with the distant crashing of a cymbal routinely combine to create a misty atmosphere, thanks to the delicate handling of the production. Violin or keyboard melodies ease through the fog to lend soul, sincerity and longing. A beautiful combination.

On Rismál, the drums shine and twinkle through a white fog of distortion, calling on the organic sound of a tambourine to accent the cymbal. If the twinkling were sunlight, it might lend meaning to the title, which means sunrise. There is an awesome part in Nón (noon) where a knife-edged lead guitar rises up out of the sea and dances for an instant with the ghost of heavy metal.

Ótta shines like the burning flame of an old candle that refuses to die. Through the timeless veil of wind and fog and sea, it reminisces of a time forgotten. It’s humble and heartfelt, almost balladic. It’s an ode to the heartland and the homeland. An offering.

This nineth studio album by Ulver shows them experimenting once again, this time with 60’s psychedelic rock. Childhood’s End: Lost and Found From The Age of Aquarius is an hour-long collection of 16 cover songs by obscure psychedelic rock groups from England and the United States. Before hearing this album I was unfamiliar with the original groups except for Jefferson Airplane, of which Ulver has done a brilliant cover of Today – arguably the best song on the album.

On the cover is a famous photo that came out of the Vietnam War. What significance this photo bears in regards to the album is not clear to me. The photo poignantly conveys the devastating effect of war, but seems to have little in common with the actual subject matter of the songs. My guess is that it’s an homage to the memory of the 60’s, perhaps carrying with it a note of melancholy or nostalgia.

Garm’s voice shines exceptionally on this release. He embraces the chorus-oriented rock style of the genre with its light mood and sometimes playful lyrics. In doing this he casts aside the brooding shroud of mystery and profundity that has often characterized Ulver’s music. It’s appealing to hear him adopt the attitude and charisma of a rock singer comfortable with the stage. There is even some seductive hip-shaking on numbers like 66-5-4-3-2-1. It makes me smile to hear Garm singing, “If ever you need me, baby, there’s a number that you can call, it’s double 6, 5-4-3-2-1, yeah I’ll be there and I’ll be on my own, ’cause I know what you want.” Many of the songs are a sweet, short length of 2-3 minutes long, which makes me more compelled to throw the album on any time of the day. As another review aptly described it, this album is sunny and infectious. Read more

Lullabies to Violane, Vol. 1 is a two-disc compilation of songs from the Twin’s singles and EPs released in the 80’s. This disc sat unplayed in the glovebox of my car for years. I don’t even remember exactly how I came upon it. It may have been a gift, or a chance find in a used cd store. This year as the leaves started to turn color and the cool smell of fall was in the air, I decided to pop it in.

I have listened to Cocteau Twins for years. It was only after many casual listens that I became captivated by their music. My love for them blossomed one sleepy autumn afternoon, long ago, as it played in my headphones at work. There is something highly addictive about Elizabeth Fraser’s voice. Her melodies catch in your head and echo in your memory, drawing you back again the more you listen. In the beginning I was never particularly fond of Guthrie’s music. He writes a kind of dreamy rock made with layers of guitars that are affected with shimmering reverb, as if the sound waves are surfacing through water, bending and rippling Read more