THE ORPHAN EPOCH

The 'galactic earl' is back, Robin Armstrong having carved a rather illustrious career for himself, on the strength of his mastery of two major factors for any kind of success (personal or artistic) : quality and consistency . Owner of pretty much his entire discography, I hold him personally responsible for providing me and my battered soul, countless days of unmitigated sonic joy, with such glorious productions as The Man Left in Space, Capacitor, The Hay-Man Dreams, among many others, and most especially his previous album Heroic Materials which I consider to be an outright prog classic. "The Orphan Epoch" features, as per norm, Robin's multi-instrumental prowess on everything but the drum kit, here held by long-time collaborator Kyle Fenton as well as asking Peter Jones to blow some sexy sax on "Seraphim Reels".

Piano to plunge into the "Division Warning ", a temperamental etude that launches a devastating surge of enraged guitars and even angrier vocals, the venomous solo flung two steps away from madness, the echoed distance in the voice ominous , oh my Robin is really pissed off! Fenton's depth charge concussions are petrifying as well. A merciless onslaught that finally subsides into abject solemnity. I feel already bereaved and it's only the opening track.

Thankfully, "We Are the Young" is easily more nostalgia than Armageddon, laced with a deep melancholia bordering on romantic souvenirs of times gone by in a flash, bullied by the next 'important' event. The piano maintains its haunting recollections of lost melodies, and the tired voice somehow urgently searches for something or someone. Robin doing some loving caresses on his fretboard, a bluesy feel to the flickers of his wrist, until fate hits the fan and the marching drums lead the parade into an expanse perhaps near the Waters Wall, the bass flirting with grumbling disaster, the electric guitar spitting out rancid slivers of aggression and an organ no longer in the confines of a church. A very cohesive sense of confusion, perhaps an eventual epitaph for the elderly.

Wailing voice and weeping saxophone meet in agreement on "Seraphim Reels", and they certainly hold on to each other like two lovers on the bow of the Titanic, the scorching solo guitar carving up all the emotions of the universe, as the dreams always seem different from what it seems. Peter Jones erupts into blistering scream on his saxophone, a brassy voice that compares to none, Robin gliding on his axe's neck, bending strings and dripping sweat, tears and blood.

A grandiose feeling of cavernous disassociation rules on "Kings and Lords", massive choir work in particular expressing the voice of the land. The drawbridge is lowered, and the teaching begins, the muscular riffs establish a foothold on the coat tails of the truth, the bass curtailing any form of objection to the path ahead, with Fenton pummelling like a man possessed. Its an angry, heavy and a tad insane blast of hissing prog. The mood remains gloomy on "You Didn't See the Thief", not surprising in the world of unending lies and distortions, Robin hitting the highest notes on the microphone whilst the atmosphere maintains tenseness as expertly shown by the intimidating bass revolt underneath the scratched surface. This polarity between the extremes is compelling and beguiling , traits that keep the listener on the brink, never quite knowing what comes next , even after multiple listens. It makes his compositions timeless and adventurous, always dancing close to the edge. An oasis of ambient reflection is more than welcome , and "Empty Box" is far from being devoid of any ennui or fluff, it's an incredibly poignant track that works more on a subliminal level, as if deeply ensconced in some soporific trance, touching not flexed muscle but grey matter instead. The guitar pyrotechnics underline the internal torture of solitude, just long enough for the appearance of some blessed panacea. Gorgeous.

Finishing off in raw mode is portrayed on the possessed "The Road of Endless Miles", a no-nonsense expression of pure emotion, no hint of theatrics, no frills, the melodic piano almost honky-tonk and the guitar definitely rock n roll. But it's the heartfelt vocals that really sets this track and album apart, Robin can alter his tone seemingly at will, in order to fit the right mindset. Not surprising for a master musician who is savagely uninterested in compromising his craft. We are therefore blessed once again to listen to his magical music, hallowed be thy name! 5 stray times

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