CITY OF THE SUN

"City of the Sun" is the first album in the discography of Seven Impale, a Norwegian eclectic group that has its foundations in jazz. Seven Impale is a strong proof that Norway (and the whole Scandinavian peninsula, in general) has a place on the podium of the century when it comes to eclectic and/or symphonic progressive rock. Their debut shows a wild autonomy and an enthusiasm for free composition that suffuses the music landscape, functioning as a sort of stratum whose layers are endowed with free jazz and classical music.

This competent album begins with "Oh, My Gravity!", a song that seems like it will start an album in a flashy way, but then ludes a strange rhythm, like a candombeer, but at the same time, a tight one, while the sax and the electric guitar (that seems to float because of how well it is played by Erlend Vottvik Olsen) hold the riff that starts this cacophonic revolution. All the notes are punctuated with impact, with punch, while arrangements that seem to be a drop in a river give a touch of grace to the song. Benjamin Mekki Widerøe's full saxophone is the first main instrument of the album, guiding the sonic force while the melody roots more power from different sides, but always with the riff sounding in heteroclite volumes. Then that riff changes to a more violent one to give entrance to the vocals of Stian Økland, who sings with that typical imposing calm of alternative rock, with similarities with singers like Steven Wilson or Thom Yorke in the length of the notes, but also with others like Geddy Lee in their aggressiveness. Just when you think the song might take a certain path, it goes down another, having pure avant-prog moments and making this piece a cohort of bifurcations that are invented on the spot. The euphoric zones of guitar and sax plucking can't help but recall In The Court of the Crimson King and its dissonant dystopian moments. This opening song traverses drama, lament, refuge and more prosaic-musical spaces that, commonly, are traversed in these fragmented songs of eclectic progressive rock that do not become suites, but are divided into many brief parts. And it is in the moments of lucidity of the singer ("My gravity has saved me from madness") that the song returns to its calmer chiaroscuro, and these are very well linked to those of vocal emptiness, where the instrumentation seems to symbolize what is going on in the head of the protagonist. Oh, My Gravity! is a song that could well encompass the entire album due to its amount of content, but only gives it the start.

After a magnificent mess, we jump to another one that will follow the same line: "Windshears" starts with a riff similar to The Letters (King Crimson's song from the album Islands), although a bit faster and more energetic. The instruments gradually join in, with the vocals coming in last and tracing a more peaceful path, with Økland singing in contemplative mode. The electric guitar and sax continue to have ambiguous duels, and these open encounters are the basis of the album. Olsen is backed up by aggressive, sequential bass lines from a neat Tormod Fosso and by lucid, shrewd drumming unlike any of the other instruments in Fredrik Mekki Widerøe's corps, while the sax, seeming to be on the other side, refutes with bonanza. Another cataract of vigorous riffs and passages that, instead of uniting, unravel the song and compose it in a crazy structure.

"Eschaton Horo" is the song that ends side 1 of this picturesque album. It returns to the airy tone with which it began, only to break in the same way and sustain itself on a riff, albeit this time a little indie and in a more common and less risky structure that, equally, will soon crumble before a torrential rain of more onslaught of electric guitar-dominated successions. The repetition of riffs is still used to dominate the chaotic places of the album, and this results in an excellent processing in the listener of the feelings that want to permeate. Thus, in this track, the saxophone has a role outside that battle, and appears only when the calm comes after the storm, as does the vocalist when acclaiming his complaints with that particular phlegm that characterises him.

And just when you think that perhaps there is a possibility that the other side might be tempered, as if in search of a lyrical and sonic redemption, "Extraction" is the song that kicks off side 2 with an immediate irritation worthy of Porcupine Tree's most overwhelming albums. In less than a minute there are fragments of delirium, isolation, balance and release. The sax notes that set up the vocalist's entrance are, at least to my way of interpreting it, a clear homage to the famous flute of Octavarium, with Økland's unrestrained singing bearing some resemblance to those furious screams of the 80s. Hakon Vinje's keyboards take on a broader, more atmospheric role, and at times the other instruments seem to bring in a kind of acoustic Tool. Definitely, the most cautious instrumental sections of the whole album take place here, although there will also be no lack of the outlandish deconstructions that characterised the style of this album from its first minutes. One of the things that surprises me most about this band is their ability to make extremely versatile use of instruments. These instrumental sections hark back to the King Crimson of the 80s, with an elevation of the riffs and a deliberate weighting of the riffs that makes them stand out.

The album closes with its longest track: "God Left Us for a Black-Dressed Woman", which has a sensible and jazzy beginning. There is a subjective merit that I see in it, and that is its sense of temporality; how time passes, but at the same time it doesn't pass. And this happens when a song (or any work of art) is very good: all its parts are equally great. It's as if all the musicians have been preparing throughout the album for this subtle song, the highlight of this remarkable work entitled "City of the Sun", with a trembling but unsinkable vibe, with a rooted but fluctuating style. The most thematic arrangements are here. Each section contributes to an unrelenting consistency, and I think I can see that bands like Shamblemaths have made use of these fantastic disarmaments over the next few years.

Each track is a distinct complaint, always with a full awareness of the singer's psychological disorders and eminent instrumentation. One of the albums of 2014 and, I believe, one of so many of this century that need the passage of time for their value to be calculated, at least approximately. For fans of eclectic progressive rock? A primary must.