MAGMA

French prog auteurs defy the years and fly in the face of the impending apocalypse to find a little unexpected light in the darkness.

Words: Sid Smith Illustration: Mark Leary

Edited by Dave Everley prog.reviews@futurenet.com

Never underestimate the amount of willpower required to keep a band in touch with the muse. Money helps, of course, but without the spark, the vision and the drive to engage in the creative act that transforms ideas into actual dots on paper or real sound punctuating the air, there’s little else to prevent any long-lived band to become a walking, talking, all-singing ghost in the greatest hits machine.

Consider then, the reserves and effort needed to maintain the pulse and credibility of one of progressive music’s most unlikely cohorts. Having created a new genre in the shape of Zeuhl and bringing along legions of devoted fans through all its numerous changes, Christian Vander has been Magma’s brooding heart for 50 years. In more recent times, his dark charisma and austere visage have softened, with the stern poker face occasionally lightening as it does here with their new studio release, Kãrtëhl. Alongside the expected alterations to the personnel, Vander has opened up writing opportunities to others in the group, perhaps recognising that, at 74 years of age, allowing others to share the burden is no bad thing.

Perhaps as a result of this development, Kãrtëhl contrasts sharply with 2019’s Zëss. Where that album boasted both a broader instrumental sweep thanks to the addition of Prague’s Philharmonic Orchestra and a foreboding cinematic tension, Kãrtëhl is a comparatively stripped-back creation with the vocal chorus of Stella Vander, Hervé Aknin, Isabelle Feuillebois, Sylvie Fisichella, Caroline Indjein and Laura Guarrato doing almost all of the melodic and textural heavy lifting. Vocalist Hervé Aknin’s Do Rïn Ïlï Üss embellishes Magma’s signature repetition with syncopated counterpoint that bubbles up around the main melody. At times it’s easy to imagine it as the Swingle Singers scat-singing John Coltrane’s ‘sheets of sound’; it’s arguably a combination likely to bring a smile to the Coltrane-obsessed Vander.

Kãrtëhl

SEVENTH RECORDS

They slip into ebullient, joyous grooves.

Keyboardist Thierry Eliez’s Walömëhndêm boasts the kind of descending bass line of impending doom and destruction that is part of the bleaker topography Magma have been mapping out over decades. Seething with knotty riffs, bassist Jimmy Top eagerly grapples and weaponises their writhing forms to impressive effect. Fellow keyboardist Simon Goubert, an essential part of the engine room stoking Zëss’ propulsive qualities, contributes the mid-paced Wiï Mëlëhn Tü, whose glowering, guttural vocals sound more spat than sung. The hard edges are improved in part by Rudy Blas’ chiming guitar. Like a lot of Magma’s tunes, it passes through various gear shifts and polyrhythmic variations as players split into different time signatures, injecting dynamic urgency and racing excitement. It’s an old musical conjuring trick but it doesn’t stop it from working to brilliant effect.

One of the abiding contradictions about late-era Magma is that for a band with such a serious reputation, they easily slip into joyous grooves, and it’s Vander’s writing on the album’s remaining three tunes that pushes hard in this direction. The sexy, sultry sway of Irena Balladina veers toward samba with the languid chord changes and underpinning bass guitar motifs. Dëhndë, which could almost double as a late 1960s Motown banger, finds Vander’s shuffling drums channelling Benny Benjamin’s fills. It also brings to mind the feelgood finger-snappin’ Kobaïan pop of Tëha from 2012’s Félicité Thösz. It’s the perfect bookend to the similarly jubilant album opener, Hakëhn Deis.

That Kãrtëhl should formally end in such a festive, heartening mood still seems vaguely counterintuitive. Nevertheless, lasting a perfectly proportioned 40 minutes this is a beautifully judged album that understands filling up every last second can undermine a record’s impact. When the music is as fervid as this it’s best to leave folks wanting more rather than exhausted and needing a rest.

As it is, an extra two home-recorded piano and voice demos of Hakëhn Deis and Dëhndë, taken from 1978, have been appended to the album’s six tracks, as a kind of documentary addendum. A bit on the lo-fi end regarding their recording quality, on Hakëhn Deis the collective voices are slightly distorted, rendering the vocal scatting as sounding like angry wasps buzzing peevishly against the insides of an upturned glass. While not in themselves essential, they show something of the working process and refinement a typical track goes through.

Precisely where Kãrtëhl sits in the overall Kobaïan canon depends on individual taste. As latter-period Magma goes, it’s closer in feel and overall luminosity to Félicité Thösz than the feverish turmoil of Šlag Tanz or Zëss’ orchestrally-augmented apocalypse. That’s no bad thing. After all, these days we could do with a bit of light at the end of the tunnel.

AVAWAVES

Savage Waters ONE LITTLE INDEPENDENT Storytelling duo’s first film score is cinema unto itself.

After stumbling across the records of a 19th-century seafarer hunting for treasure off the coast of an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, British surfer Matt Knight decided to continue his searching, but with a different aim. Along with his wife, Suzanne Hobbes, he traversed treacherous waters to find the mysterious location and the leviathan waves which crashed on its shores. Their dream was to surf the towering walls of water they had read about and the journey he embarked on has since been made into an award-winning documentary film, Savage Waters.

It‘s both grand and personal, more than a documentary score.

This immersive and inspiring soundtrack is a marvel of cinematic scope in its own right. Created by classical duo AVAWAVES, comprising violinist Anna Phoebe and composer/producer Aisling Brouwer, Savage Waters represents their first foray into documentary scoring, but it’s a natural fit for their songwriting partnership. Inspired by the exploration of the film, its contents are suitably adventurous and yet also underpinned by a sense of wonder and scale. Simple yet translucent ideas, combining raw, ethereal strings and digital synth textures define the release as they play off one another’s opposites with distinguished effect.

Its tracks range from foreshadowing, sub-minute interludes to raging four-minute soundscapes, weaving into one seamless whole. The longer-form pieces unite the textures and tangible emotions – from wide-eyed wanderlust to muted meditation – of the shorter works into a much grander canvas. Its title track – the opening salvo – feels vast and imperious, made of frothing violins and bubbling undercurrents, while moments like Timmo are reserved and tender, placing as much emphasis on space and what isn’t played as what introspective musings trickle from its piano.

As with every good score, motifs come and go like the tide, ensuring its 17 tracks pass by in one sweeping breath. The Wave steadily ascends through palpitating keys and weeping strings, its motif significant across the record’s span, while the droning, atmospheric Nautical Chart feels like the fantastical, if not sad, aftermath of a surging storm.

Filmmaker Mikey Corker originally stumbled across AVAWAVES’ acclaimed first album, the fittingly titled Waves, during the research phase of the project and knew instantly that the duo would be perfect to score this sea-searching epic. He was blown away by their “unique blend of power, beauty and fragility”, and those three words can once again be used to describe this album, which tenderly balances light and dark through explorations that feel both grand and personal. This is far more than just a film score.

PHIL WELLER

25 YARD SCREAMER

Nemesis 25YARDSCREAMER.BANDCAMP.COM Welsh trio serve up a batch of impressive, occasionally moody prog.

Formed in 2002, 25 Yard Screamer have continuously improved upon their penchant for vibrant neo-prog collections, and that remains true for Nemesis. Their follow-up to 2019’s Natural Satellite houses some of their most sophisticated and moving songs.

Incidence demonstrates their knack for eloquent songwriting, as it finds vocalist/guitarist Nick James singing tenderly over a soft blend of piano notes, six-string strums and cosmic sound effects. Gravity and Breathe walk similar paths but with stronger emphasis on majestic acoustic guitar work, bouncy rhythms and, in the case of the latter piece, angelic harmonies.

It’s not all delicate odes, though, as most of the runtime sees the group achieving a great mixture of inviting melodies and hefty, intricate arrangements.

Incident taps into the punchier and stranger sides of IQ, Rush, Porcupine Tree and Karnivool. As a mystical and uplifting instrumental, The Vibrations Of Speech offers an intriguing change of pace. Aside from bland closer Fragility Of Angels,

Nemesis is another charming collection that should bring 25 Yard Screamer the recognition they’ve long deserved.

JMB

ASTROSAUR

Portals PELAGIC Impressive third album from expansive space metal crew.

This instrumental power trio led by former Leprous/Ihsahn session guitarist Eirik Kråkenes are perfectly named; the thrilling density and steadfast velocity of their music conjuring images of a gigantic star lizard stomping through the universe in search of its ancestral breeding ground.

Positioned at the interface between post-metal and space rock, Astrosaur are believers in the power of the riff. After the ascending, hyperspatial drag of Opening, the fierce drill call of Black Hole Earth’s rapid-fire riff hits warp factor 10 and charges into the void, with hints of both a NWOBHM and classic thrash vibe. It drops down to a meditative ticking before surging free again, creating a sense of awe while channelling space’s eternal night. The

Deluge is surprisingly lithe for all the heavy riffage, while Reptile Empire alternates between a full-on 4/4 rock groove and a somewhat more angular arrangement.

But it’s on the 24-minute Eternal

Return that they really go for broke, maintaining interest throughout its runtime with dynamic, tonal shifts rather than endless soloing, even throwing some synth into the mix.

JB

ARC OF LIFE

Don’t Look Down FRONTIERS Yes spin-off freewheels off track.

It’s a common malaise for albums to sag in the middle – beginning and ending strongly but losing the plot in between. But the second album from this project led by Yes’ Jon Davison and Billy Sherwood has the opposite problem. Don’t Look Down is bookended by two self-consciously complex, long-form tracks that just don’t quite convince.

Opener Real Time World is hobbled by a stammering tempo that wilfully ties a potentially promising musical thread up in knots. A breathlessly busy accompaniment ensures all the players get something difficult to do in every

second of the track, but it adds up to something less satisfying. At the end of the album Arc Of Life is a meandering 17-minute affair, chasing its own tail via jazz-inflected instrumental noodling, forever in search of a powerful, vocal hook but never really getting near it.

In between, by contrast, the title track is a sure-fire winner, with a beautifully redemptive melody, and Colors Come Alive has a joyous windows-thrown-open chorus, showing that when they lean towards simpler fare they can shine, rather than trying to outprog their own reputation.

JS

JOHN CARPENTER, CODY CARPENTER & DANIEL DAVIES

Halloween Ends OST SACRED BONES Final film in the legendary franchise sees horror maestro in solid workaday form.

Becoming a celebrated soundtrack composer was never deliberate for director John Carpenter; it was more that necessity was the mother of invention. Those theme tunes, though: Halloween, Escape From New York, Assault On Precinct 13 all transcended the pictures they were made for, and changed the way the film industry approached soundtracks. In 2022, the Carpenter family business now employs son Cody and godson Daniel Davies (son of The Kinks’ Dave) in an unlikely ambient witch house trio, a well-drilled machine that ees horror maestro in solid workaday form. knocks off sonic vignettes Kill The Cop and Laurie’s Theme Ends with precision. Then there’s the Halloween theme, augmented here for the umpteenth time, including a techno version for the credits. It’s a composition so singularly great that it has become one of the most recognisable in film franchise history.

But while the sound design works well in David Gordon Green’s movie, it becomes a little too pristine and workaday as a listening experience, lacking some of the improvisational charm of those earlier soundtracks

JA

DJAM KARET

Island In The Red Night Sky HC PRODUCTIONS Californian instrumentalists get lost in the ambience.

T he 20th album from Djam Karet finds them overindulging in electronic ambience. This one starts promisingly enough, with Arrival offering a welcoming acoustic guitar passage that leads into a darker mood when the synthesisers come in. Then guest musician Todd Montgomery livens up The Master’s Palace with a spot of sitar playing.

Unfortunately, the rest of the album largely consists of formless electronic noodling with little to grab hold of. It feels like a collection of catalogue music intended for use as unobtrusive background wallpaper. The Other Side begins with a long section of a burbling electronic beat over the sound of cicadas chirping, and stays there for too long, waiting for an idea to arrive.