Travellers
Early morning mist lingers over the calm oceans as we push our handmade wooden boat into the icy depths. We softly drag our oars through the placid aquatic field, pushing the water and the land behind us. We leave our homeland knowing full well that we may never see her again, that the families we leave behind may never lay eyes, lips, flesh to their husbands, brothers, and fathers again. Yet we steer our craft through the vast seas in search of trade partners in our material goods and our cultural ideas, and we are at peace with our decision to leave the comforts of home firmly nestled amongst the bosom of our Earth Mother. If we return to these shores, then it was meant to be.
I have no idea if that imagery was the intention of Nucleus Torn when they crafted the four-part acoustic epic “Krähenkönigin I – IV”, but that’s the feeling I got as I sat back in my office spinning the first part of the Travellers album. I’ve come to find out that the song title roughly translates to “Crows Queen” in English. The songs are seamlessly strung together and come across as if they were treatments or exercises for the classical guitar, and then they got morphed into a romantic acoustic instrumental piece of music. Coming from Prophecy Productions, I somewhat expected Travellers to be on the ambient side of the musical spectrum, but I also expected it to dip a big, gnarled ugly toe into the miasma of black metal. Those tendencies arise, but for the most part, this album is sparse of superfluous sounds and instrumentation. Amazingly, I never find the music of the first four songs tedious or boring . . . in actuality; I’ve often found myself leaning forward, on the edge of my chair waiting for the drama to explode before my ears. Alas, Nucleus Torn never jump all over your face like an enraged monkey, it’s more like they infuse tons of emotional drama through carefully thought out notes and exquisite tones. One minute, it’s easy to get lost paddling across the great plains of the oceanic landscape, the next minute find yourself trudging through some overgrown hillside, and through it all, you’re embracing nature, feeling the wind blowing across the skin, the sun pulling the moisture from your flesh, the rain dowsing the fires of hope that once roared within you. Bleak, but never depressing.
The opening four-part track is laden with so much imagery and emotion that I can’t help but want to load up my backpack and hike to Bakersfield (it’s not the end of the world, but I hear you can see it from there.) These tracks have more to do with classical and folk music than any black metal that I’ve ever heard, and I’m perfectly fine with that. As Travellers continues on, more hope and uplifting moments creep into the music. “Silver” is a beautiful quasi-classical romantic piece, also played on acoustic guitars . . . sounds like nylon string . . . and in its short, abbreviated manner, ushers us listeners into the next part of the musical journey . . . the darker, electric, and narrated portion of the program! “Witness” is a beautiful track that starts off mellow and somber, acoustic guitars accompany the morose vocals, and then the song ultimately opens up in volume and electric tension. This is a truly fine execution of song craft!
For the most part, Travellers is a Spartan and barren album. But that’s not to say that there isn’t tension built in the songs. It’s more of an organic and natural tension, though . . . made more impressive and imposing by the lack of studio effects. Almost like there’s something inherently spooky about that twisted tree outside your window that you’ve been begging Dad to chop down coz’ it casts those freakish shadows on your wall during a full moon. Rather than chop that sucker down, embrace its natural and creepy beauty, regale in its frightening aspects, and sleep fitfully through the night. Unless you starred in Poltergeist, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.
Buy here: Travellers
Buy here mp3: Travellers
Buy here: Travellers
Buy here mp3: Travellers
Andromeda Awaiting
After listening to Travellers over and over and over again, I found myself spinning the follow up album, Andromeda Awaiting. This is where things get strange. I was somewhat expecting to hear a continuation of Travellers, and in some way, I guess you could say that’s what I got. But it’s not a continuation in the sense of lack of bombastic emotion, it’s more like a linear continuation . . . where the musical ideas are given more instrumentation, more texture to convey even greater breadth of emotion. Where Travellers is sparse in sound, Andromeda Awaiting is lush in sonic richness.
Broken up into six parts or chapters, Andromeda Awaiting is a strikingly gorgeous record. It gets a little proggy in a symphonic nature, and I find that to be perfectly perfect. The incorporation of the various woodwinds, horns, strings, voices . . . it all builds on top of one another to create a sparkling tower of sonic splendor. As for the underlying meaning of the album . . . no clue. I haven’t the foggiest notion as to what this album is about, and I don’t care. With this particular album, I’ve found myself listening purely for the emotion of sound, not keying in on any lyrics or potentially hidden meaning within the words. Throughout the record, I’ve found myself uplifted; other moments, I’m hunched over preparing myself to weep.
The “bookends” of the album, part I and VI, are the most dramatic, and also the longest portions of the program. Part I clocks in at over fifteen minutes and is like sitting in the cockpit of some interstellar spacecraft as it’s hurtling through the depths of the cosmos. Brilliant lights shows exploding into the visions, streaking stars criss-crossing the crafts path, all of the radiance from the heavenly bodies surrounding us acting as an exclamation as to how insignificantly small the human race truly is. The female vocals leading the first track feel so vulnerable and fragile, ready to crack at the slightest bump . . . and conveying an emotion of sad loneliness. The song weaves through some ethereal passages, ultimately falling into the lap of what I can only describe as choir music without the choir. The male voice that enters the song makes me feel like I’m sitting in a pew during a Catholic mass. It’s gorgeous and engaging, and oddly enough, makes me want to go to church once in awhile. The final chapter of the album is much like the first, sprawling and elegant in its instrumentation, always drawing some emotion from deep within. And sandwiched between these two songs are four tracks that take the listener on a journey that won’t be forgotten. In particular, I’m a big fan of the Middle Eastern modes that these guys use in the latter half of the album . . . every time I hear these tones, these particular scales, I get lost in the romantic world of my minds design.
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