Reviewing My Favorites: Kalmah - The Groan of Wind (Song)

Kalmah are a perfect example of a band that allows me to gladly tolerate nothing but harsh, gutteral vocals - their melodies and overall sound make more than up for it.

Let's take The Groan of Wind (off The Black Waltz from 2006).
The way the song starts, so energetic, melodic, almost hymn-like, is a perfect indication of how Kalmah manage to balance out their death vocals - sometimes. They can go significantly heavier, but they shine where they don't. It's an unfair thing to say, of course, because to all those that typically don't enjoy (Melodic) Death Metal because it's too fast, heavy, or un-melodic in their ears, the song's intro already won't do.
It's in comparison to their other songs - especially off Swampsong - where it becomes obvious that the typical Death Metal patterns are interlaced with just enough melody to offset the certain something that makes them nothing but aggressive. Case in point: the passage that starts at around 26 seconds into the song.

The keyboard dominates the musical mix at many points throughout The Groan of Wind, and where they don't the guitars pick up the slack by being tuned into the typical sound for a Metal hymn. To me, this turns down the harshness of the vocals by several degrees - even if it's just illusionary.

Two parts of the song stick out to me beyond this interesting interplay of heaviness and melody: the bridge and the song's outro.

As soon as The Groan of Wind breaks down, the bass takes over, slowing the whole thing down and carrying it into an unknown menace - at least for a few seconds. As short as this part is, it's wonderful and reminds me of a dark dungeon far below the surface, where something may be lurking just behind the next corner; the song's video doesn't exactly help with dispelling that imagination either.

The outro has the keyboard rear up and launch into a solo that's even shorter than the bridge, but it makes the difference just the same. There's simply too much energy contained within the song and it has to get out somehow, be it in one final burst that causes the whole song to shut down in the end - audibly.

If you choose to listen to the song, do yourself a favor and watch the video as well. It's a treat and matches the music perfectly in all its glorious blackness. The album is called The Black Waltz for a reason.
Plus, you wouldn't want to miss the band pulling those silly mad faces while performing underground.

You can watch the video on Youtube: Kalmah - The Groan of Wind (unfortunately, while it is the official video, it seems to be available only on third-party channels.)

Review: Frost* - Towerblock (Song)

One thing that first attracted me to the glory that is Frost* was Jem Godfrey's sheer madness and keyboard wizardry. I had found my way into Heavy Metal only a few years prior, and while I loved the (sometimes extended) guitar solos typically featured in that genre, nothing could have prepared me for what I heard on the new web radio station I discovered back then - it must have been the defunct Progged Radio.

Black Light Machine (off Milliontown, their first album) was one of the first songs I heard there, and for the better part of five minutes it preents to be a fairly normal song, albeit standing out with its long solos and instrumental sections. The songs I've been used to until that point would have ended there. Oh, but not this one.
After six and a half minutes it starts building up again, building up into something I had simply never heard before. Trippy, glitchy keyboard sections followed by solos that make you feel like you're watching the star gate sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey
There's not much opportunity to breathe once it starts winding down again, as it launches right back into madness. I think listening to it for the first time must have left me mentally exhausted - if not suffering from a mental orgasm.

Towerblock shares this madness, but does not copy it. It's not simply more of the same.
While it does mirror the sharp left turn Black Light Machine takes, Towerblack makes its predecessor sound as if it is somewhat collected and with direction.
What we have here can only be described as a sneeze-explosion of Jem Godfrey Prog madness.

But let's start at the song's beginning.

The song preceding it on Falling Satellites, Numbers, carries over for a few seconds - in rather gloomy fashion - but this eerie intro sequence then abruptly cuts into a different passage with similar atmosphere. Mechanical sounds of all sorts soon allow the song to evolve into a piece that makes one feel nostalgic by proxy through both music and lyrics, easily achieving its goal: to set that particular mood - only to break it. Quite literally. Sounds of glass breaking sweep in violently, and there’s that wild right turn that mirrors the sharp left from Black Light Machine.

Choppy modern beats, samples, and keyboard swipes crash together in a glorious collision which then – maybe a little too suddenly – turns into proper keyboard wizardry that let’s you know exactly which band’s playing right now. And that’s just the first half of the song. In contrast, the second half is basically compelled to be less eventful by comparison. It combines that burst of energy with the nostalgic lines from earlier and never even comes close to being boring through its many layers. Only today, when listening to the song on repeat, did I become distinctly aware of the pre-madness lyrics being mixed under the chorus in the song's final third.

Where the prog-explosion propelled it forward, the rest of the song also lifts upwards, providing several more memorable moments. A passage I’ll never ever get out of my head again is the way Godfrey sings “there’ll be nothing left of your devastation” near the four minute mark, a chill-inducing moment, to make an understatement.

Eventually, Towerblock enters a controlled stumble and – like a machine shutting down - returns to a glitchy pile of sounds, instantly joining the ranks of Hyperventilate, Black Light Machine, or the duo that is Dear Dead Days and Falling Down: songs of which I’ll never tire.

Review: Frost* - Signs (Song)

Originally, I had planned to write up a review for the full Frost* album Falling Satellites.
It's been out for a while now, and while dibbling and dabbling here and there for reviews I had one third to half of it done. Yet, I was rambling too much and saying too little, so it ended up as a draft somewhere deep down in the archives.

Enter December 1st: in pure Frostmas tradition the video for Signs was released today, and what better opportunity to revisit that album by at least writing a few lines about this song?

As per the tradition for third albums, Falling Satellites is a bit of an odd one out. There's a number of reasons why that's the case and one of them is this song.
I do like it a lot, but it takes a while to wrangle its way into the soundscape that typically surrounds a Frost* song. It may even come off as completely inconsistent, but that's rather a feature of the song's first few minutes.

Right off the bat, Signs is oddly intimate and sounds like it'd be more suited to one of John Mitchell's various (solo) outputs - there is a certain familiarity to the recent It Bites albums, for sure, and that's not just because Mitchell provides lead vocals on Signs.
However, this isn't exactly a fair assessment, as Falling Satellites is all about new experiences that are both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. "Telling your friends that you've just outgrown them", as Mitchell sings, is a sentiment one may feel somewhere deep down inside - in a form that defies words - yet it keeps boiling until it reaches that certain threshold where it can't be ignored any further and has to be confronted, with nothing but uncharted territory ahead.


The song's first half is fairly standard in its structure, but makes up for it musically and in pulling your heartstrings: one of the four chorus points is bound to hit close to home.
After two and a half minutes, the song then gradually merges more Frost*-typical elements into its core, absorbing the unfamiliar, yet familiar mood in order to process it, coming out on the other side with something greater than the sum of its parts.
Signs kicks every single doubt whether this is actually a Frost* song out the window about a minute later, when keyboard and guitar work reminiscent of The Dividing Line joins in and drives the song forward into said uncharted territory; but now there's help in dealing with it as the familiarity that is the Frost*-sound follows suit.

Towards the end, Signs builds up some steam while repeating the chorus, charging through the wall that's made of weakness - a musical therapy session of sorts that lends support by sharing the energy the song is creating.

Signs grew on me. It had to grow, as that's an integral part of the song: growth, thus overcoming the ghosts that haunt us. In one way or another.

I really hope Frost* (or their label) decide to promote Falling Satellites with another music video, and I dearly hope, against all sanity, that it's Towerblock as that gives me another excuse to write about that song. It's simply too mad to ignore.

You can watch the official video on Youtube: Frost* - Signs

There's also a fantastic video for Numbers, off the same album: Frost* - Numbers

Review: Pain of Salvation - Meaningless (Song)

It's been quite a while since I last listened to Pain of Salvation - outside of the excellent To The Shoreline (off Road Salt Two), which has nested in my ears for years now.
I wish I knew why, but the two Road Salt albums simply went past me and did not tickle my fancy.

The recently released video for Meaningless, however, has reignited the old spark in me and it's pretty much the only song I've been listening to for roughly two days now. According to my music player it has been played for 61 times as of writing these lines, which does not include the roughly twenty times I've watched the video. It's been a while since I've listened to one song exclusively, usually that's a prestige reserved for full albums. In the Passing Light of Day won't be out until January, however, so this will have to do.
Oh, and how it does.

The first thing that drew me in is the hardly defineable, apparently sampled - or at least processed - motif that lingers somewhere between the sound of bagpipes, a string instrument, and vocalised 'ah's.
Over the course of a minute, this motif builds itself up into heavier and heavier sections - until it is dropped semi-abruptly in favor of a more eerie, calmer verse section, which in turn promises to turn itself into something heavier at its end.

Instead, the first part of the chorus is accompanied by smooth, almost gentle instrumentation - not to speak of Gildenlöw's honey-like voice.
The chorus is repeated immediately in a harsher fashion, and this is where one of my favorite parts come in: the second layer of vocals - sung by Ragnar Zolberg, I assume - adds an intruiging harmony. I admit that I wasn't familiar with Zolberg's vocals, so I was easily tricked into perceiving female vocals. Maybe that's by design, given how androgynous Zolberg's appearance is in the music video.
The result is wonderful, at any rate, which makes the scream that breaks the chorus down all the more bitter-sweet, not just in preparation for what's to come.

Verse number two settles in right behind said scream and warps the previously eerie, but calm section into something far more menacing, albeit rather short.
For the second chorus, there's no build up this time around, and as it transitions into a final section the motif from the song's intro returns, mirroring its evolution there in brief and launching my favorite part of this song.
Gildenlöw's desperate pleas, at first whispered and later thrown in defiance against the instrumental background as if threatened to be drowned by it - which, given how heavily layered the music eventually grows, isn't just a metaphor.

If I could change one thing about the song, it would be the very end. Gildenlöw builds himself up to one final exasperation... and then subverts it completely by basically speaking the last word in a normal voice, negating the build up and all expactations once again.
Of course this has been a common theme throughout the song: the motif only being used for the first and last minute, the smooth chorus standing in stark contrast to the creepy verse passages, or the transition between the first chorus' first iteration and the second verse being especially jarring.
Still, aesthetically speaking, I could do without that final subversion.

My high-level nitpicking matters little in the end, as it does not take anything away from the song's quality or appeal. It's a glorious near-five minute rollercoaster ride that warrants paying close attention to all the little details and nuances, and my music player's counter will surely show a three digit number before I will begin to tire of this song.

You can watch the official video on YouTube: Pain of Salvation - Meaningless

Review: Evergrey - The Storm Within (Album)

The Storm Within is, in many ways, a very typical Evergrey album and that's a great thing.

The very first notes, played by a steely-sounding piano, set the band's tone perfectly once more:

a hollowness which is soon enhanced by that certain feeling of dread and impending doom, delivered by the aggressively-tuned guitars.

With all elements already present since day one, Evergrey certainly have perfected their somewhat dark approach, but not without introducing clearer elements of release, the chorus of Distance being a great example. While there is potential for this mixture of heavy, repetitive pounding, and sometimes near lighthearted sounds to appear jarring - a reaction I had when listening to Fear off 2008's Torn for the first time, which features an opening that's as blistering as is it gets for Evergrey, yet soon breaks into an almost friendly chorus if it weren't for the wallowing bass-line.

At this point, however, this is far from being a mood breaker but rather an element capable of changing a song's mood and taking it to new places that still remain connected to the point of origin without necessarily relying on a strict formula on how to achieve this play of light and dark.

Even the most masterfully crafted musical darkness is bound to become stale once every one of its corners has been explored, which is why Evergrey neither give up on the familiar sound scape they have created in order to completely draw up the blinds and let light pour in, nor do they confine themselves into a single room and plunge it into absolute darkness.

Instead, they are adding rooms with various amounts of light coming through the windows to the existing structure, creating new shadows in the process. Some brightness is needed to create the various shades of grey, after all all, and despite adding new light sources, these shades of grey are far from gone.

It is interesting to see Evergrey branch out into collaborations as well. While the conservatively used female vocals of Carina Englund have always been a steady treat to listen to, this time around the band has also enlisted Floor Jansen, featured prominently on the track In Orbit, as well as - in surprising fashion - on the heavy-hitter Disconnect by showing off her operatic and choral abilities.

The return of what I assume to be Englund's daughter is something I enjoyed tremendously. Ever since her first appearance on Glorious Collision she's been featured on at least one track par album (I'm Drowning Alone, The Fire, Distance) and manages to accentuate these songs without becoming a gimmick.

Track review

Distance: A long-winded song that starts off slow and stirs up a phenomenal brooding atmosphere that's easy to mistake for monotone. While it is true that vast parts of the song feature repetition of simple elements - be they the various, very similar guitar riffs or the piano intro and outro - it needs to be noted that it's not just one riff that is being repeated throughout but a metamorphosis of sorts, rewarding keen and attentive listeners.

Secondly, the repetition serves as a specific counter-point to the almost hopeful chorus mentioned in the general review, allowing the listener to be drawn between two places that should be close to each other, but are miles apart just the same.

Passing Through is rather straight forward with a fair amount of energy it never quite loses - despite seemingly slowing down every now and then - a lot of which should be credited to the appealing keyboard work that leads the track in and out, as well as to the evolving instrumentation before the half-way point after which guitar solos take center stage and own most of the song's second half.

Someday: Where Distance starts off slow and brooding, Someday combines the dark atmosphere  with power even more quickly, only to launch into a further barrage and fly off to form a moody, trembling piece filled with urgency, of which it only tries to shed itself during the chorus and pre-chorus passage. Bringing in light and hopeful tones, however, only works out well during the pre-chorus, leaving the chorus itself in exquisite twilight.

The hymn-like guitar phrases strewn in throughout the song eventually turn it into an affair fitting for any rock arena and encourages every listener to raise their fist in unison.

Astray: Despite featuring a deceptively heavy start, Astray does not primarily rely on aggression and its underlying enemy to carry the song forward, and instead soon turns into a mixture of warm and chilling passages that are only occasionally broken up by these short, heavy parts sections.

Especially the chorus paints the song in a quite intimate, almost ballad-light light, presenting many sides back to back, forming a picture that keeps surprising with its many layers even after multiple listens.

The Impossible quickly became one of my favorites off The Storm Within, greatly drawing its appeal from the simple, yet captivating song structure. There’s a piano, there’s Englund’s pained voice, a keyboard mainly for setting the mood, as well as strings to further add to the somber mood. The tension they build up together is never quite released and does not break into a furious sonic storm towards the end.

My Allied Ocean, however, picks up the thread straight away and may just feature the heaviest opening sequence on this album. Even Englund starts into a rather aggressive first verse and helps the song blast away.

The chorus is, once more, crashing different moods into each other, suddenly transitioning from pure aggression to what sounds like hope incarnate – to the point where the lyrical passage of “want this world to burn” is accompanied by bright-sounding keyboard notes. At the same time, however, the song does not even bother slowing down and simply powers through the chorus like before, thus adding to the musical ambivalence without losing its direction or energy.

Much to my delight, there’s a spoken word section sampled from Englund’s voice woven into the song’s second half right, right before the almost obligatory solo section. The instruments even plow straight through this section, allowing no breather until the song’s very end.

In Orbit: A mostly mid-tempo song heavily accentuated by a sweeping and choir-like keyboard in the background. While it is not exactly pretending to be a ballad, heavy guitars do not dominate the song either, creating a heavy mellowness.
Englund holds the reigns for the first verse and chorus before Floor Jansen takes over verse two, turning the next iteration of the chorus into a duet. At times it even sounds like her voice is mixed into the keyboard choir I mentioned before – it may just very well be her voice all by herself! A delightful mix at any rate.

After the song takes the typical Evergrey tangent with solos and instrumental passages, a final extended chorus duet even has Jansen practically pushing Englund into the vocal background, going as far as sending the song off by herself and seemingly entering into a little duet with the guitars. She certainly shows off her voice in this track, making it another album highlight.

The Lonely Monarch has the questionable honor of being seemingly out of place on this album. Not because it sounds wildly different and fails in its experiments, but rather because its strengths can be boiled down to more of the same, albeit on a high level. Maybe it’d have a better spotlight on a different position on the album, but considering that the song itself is an instance where the Evergrey formula of making songs clearly shines through, on an album with many songs that rarely break said formula, there may simply not be a perfect place for a song that hardly stands out.

That said, there is nothing particularly wrong with The Lonely Monarch. Englund’s voice does sound refreshingly weary and soft, and yet manages to launch into a more demanding voice later on with ease.

A part that does stand out, however, is the section briefly slowing the song down between solos and final chorus iteration, calling back to older songs and itself at the same time.

Being placed between the first feature of Floor Jansen – despite this song being mostly on-formula as well – and the extra-ordinary follow up The Paradox Of The Flame featuring Carina Englund, as well as Disconnect, which features Jansen yet again, The Lonely Monarch simply cannot keep up. It may have been more favorable for this song to stay clear of this triad, possibly by switching places with In Orbit.

The Paradox Of The Flame - a tragic ballad that strongly relies on strings, especially the violin to play the singing couple of Tom and Carina Englund off each other - doesn’t shy away from heavier guitar sounds towards the end, while never quite gaining momentum. Instead the song elects to preserve the mood, even direct it into a cue from Recreation Day, before finally a violin-piano duet carries the song off to slowly fade out. A simply fantastic song.

Disconnect is another left hook resembling My Allied Ocean following The Impossible’s stored anticipation, albeit the change of mood being vastly different. As the album’s longest song at seven minutes, it surprises with featuring Floor Jansen again – however she is not contributing clean vocals this time around, but lends her voice in an almost operatic fashion to the chorus, this time clearly leading the simulated choir in the background and steadily singing her way into the foreground with each instance. There’s also yet another treat buried here, a not-so-subtle callback to various older songs like Madness Caught Another Victim, To Fit The Mold, and The Aftermath, rolled into one passage. It may even be a direct phrase from a song I can’t seize, but either way it kind of makes you expect Englund to burst into “It’s December...” from The Aftermath. Well done!

The Storm Within closes the album and continues where Disconnect left off while sadly replacing the Jansen-choir voices with a keyboard-simulated one again. Calm and angelic at first, the song picks up a little steam after about one and a half minutes. It stands out by foregoing the typical grey atmosphere and sounding almost entirely upbeat, with only a few dreary piano notes here and there. A sign of hope at the end of a rollercoaster ride through light and shadows, uneventful yet serene, and never boring, despite seemingly meandering onwards. This only gives the song a river-like quality, suggesting to close one’s eyes and let it sink in with all the other things on this album. Englund already stated on promotional interviews preceding the album’s release that The Storm Within is an album that takes time to process and fully take in, and this song, aptly sharing the title, is the embodiment of this very notion.

Conclusion

Where Hymns For The Broken was a little light on the band’s staple in-your-face song openings, it picks up the slack, but does not indulge in it too much, and where Monday Morning Apocalypse and Torn featured more concise and heaviness-focused tracks, it presents a wide range of songs and passages, retracing some old paths as well as opening up new ones. While it not exactly an explicit anniversary record, there certainly are number of callbacks to the past, celebrating it in its own way while giving a glimpse of what may be to come.

As a whole it may not be Evergrey’s strongest album, but after 20 years this hardly matters since there are no filler songs, no evident let-downs, or failed experiments. It’s entertaining all the way through – barring The Lonely Monarch’s placement, which is only a minor hiccup at most – and is far from a “listen to it once and be done” affair.

It’s Evergrey in all its essence. My only wish is for the band to break the heavy / dark opening / verse – light / positive chorus pattern more often and more obviously these days, but that’s simply a personal preference.

There are official videos out on Youtube for:
Distance
Passing Through
The Paradox Of The Flame

Give them a listen and enjoy!