:ankoku butoh: - Faith and the Muse
Ankoku Butoh is the latest and best album by this beloved band. Where Annwyn, Beneath the Waves used both ancient and modern musical styles to explore Celtic mythology, Ankoku Butoh does a similar thing with Japanese culture and lore. But, being a Western band, Faith and the Muse's treatment of the subject matter isn't that of a native, but of an enthusiastic and affectionate outsider. I do not think the resulting product suffers for this, and in fact I love it very dearly, but as I am not familiar with Japanese culture I cannot judge the faithfulness of their appropriation. I can only tell you what I like.
And there is nothing here I do not like. From the first wordless vocalization in The Woman in the Snow to the eerie synthesis of electric guitar, bowed strings, and defiant lyrics in To Be Continued, this is an hour of music that makes me want to believe in magic. Many tracks blend rock, orchestral, and ancient instruments seamlessly, but not homogeneously.
Blessed is more contemporary-sounding. Battle Hymn and Nine Dragons are like primal warcries infused with the frenetic energy of punk. Bushido is a taiko drum piece, nothing more. But it doesn’t need to be anything more. The sheer power of this thunderous and yet subtly woven drumming, naked of any other instruments, is hypnotic to behold. Kodama tells a satirical parable, sung in a whisper, over a jazzy background. I shouldn’t like it, judging by my usual tastes (it’s similar in some ways to Gone to Ground, which I never liked), and yet I love it.
My feelings on the matter shift with time, but at the moment no song captures my attention as insistently as She Waits By The Well. To me, the menacing words, the driving force of the melody, and the echoing beat of frantic drums express all the desperation and uncaring passion of a love that cannot abide by loss. Nothing is more terrifying.
I bought Ankoku Butoh shortly after its release in late 2009, and at the same time learned that their upcoming tour of performances promoting the album would include a show in my own town, within walking distance of home. I immediately jumped at the opportunity to finally see one of my favorite bands live. That show is and will remain one of my most valued memories, and one that can never be repeated. After a long and late night of beauty, William Faith announced that their last song of the evening would be Sovereign, because they wanted to leave us with its message in our minds and hearts. That message is one of power, friendship, and encouragement to all who may feel neglected, denied, or marginalized - all of us, at some time or another.
Come out, come out wherever you hide
Time to stand and walk with pride
There’s a look in your eye
I could never deny
And it means the world
Tonight
Thank you.
Next: Save Rock and Roll
Monday, February 23, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
All My CDs, pt 44: Evidence of Heaven
Evidence of Heaven - Faith and the Muse
Of all Faith & the Muse's albums, this one strikes me as the most "goth" in terms of genre and style. Its sound evokes images of Victorian frill with a dark heart. The bulk of the tracks consist a series supertitled "The Haunted Palace in 3 acts," which sets a tone of courtly opulence shaded by spectral horror and presented as a theatrical drama. References to theater recur throughout the songs.
As usual, Faith and the Muse combines old and new instruments, but uniquely in this album the most pervasive representative of the old is harpsichord. It evokes a very specific period in European history, the Renaissance, when this piano ancestor was popular. Most notably, the harpsichord stars in the incurably catchy and curiously-titled instrumental, And Laugh - But Smile No More.
The association with the Renaissance time period is strengthened by lyrical choices. Importune Me No More takes its lyrics from a poem often attributed to Queen Elizabeth I of England. Plague Dance seems like a contemporary heavy metal piece, but seems to contain veiled references to the plague itself.
But the album is far from being a mere exploration of Renaissance history though music. Listening to it feels much more like hearing a ghost story - or, if the night is dark and you’re in the right mood, like conversing with a ghost yourself. Not necessarily a scary ghost, mind you - this album is not nearly as spooky as Elyria. Rather, it’s like having a friendly encounter with an afterworld that is pleasant, even seductive - like finding evidence of heaven. Through the Pale Door, a voice says “Welcome my dear / please take my hand / it’s wonderful here / it’s really quite grand.”
Next: : ankoku butoh:
Of all Faith & the Muse's albums, this one strikes me as the most "goth" in terms of genre and style. Its sound evokes images of Victorian frill with a dark heart. The bulk of the tracks consist a series supertitled "The Haunted Palace in 3 acts," which sets a tone of courtly opulence shaded by spectral horror and presented as a theatrical drama. References to theater recur throughout the songs.
As usual, Faith and the Muse combines old and new instruments, but uniquely in this album the most pervasive representative of the old is harpsichord. It evokes a very specific period in European history, the Renaissance, when this piano ancestor was popular. Most notably, the harpsichord stars in the incurably catchy and curiously-titled instrumental, And Laugh - But Smile No More.
The association with the Renaissance time period is strengthened by lyrical choices. Importune Me No More takes its lyrics from a poem often attributed to Queen Elizabeth I of England. Plague Dance seems like a contemporary heavy metal piece, but seems to contain veiled references to the plague itself.
But the album is far from being a mere exploration of Renaissance history though music. Listening to it feels much more like hearing a ghost story - or, if the night is dark and you’re in the right mood, like conversing with a ghost yourself. Not necessarily a scary ghost, mind you - this album is not nearly as spooky as Elyria. Rather, it’s like having a friendly encounter with an afterworld that is pleasant, even seductive - like finding evidence of heaven. Through the Pale Door, a voice says “Welcome my dear / please take my hand / it’s wonderful here / it’s really quite grand.”
Next: : ankoku butoh:
Monday, February 16, 2015
All My CDs, pt 43 - The Burning Season
The Burning Season - Faith & The Muse
The Burning Season differs from all other Faith and the Muse albums because of its solidly contemporary musical style, with none of the band's otherwise pervasive folk and classical influences. A few folk instruments, mostly percussion, is all that remains of the ancient in this album.
There isn't much of hard rock in this either, except for The Relic Song, which seems more punk-influenced than anything else. Honestly, if not for Monica Richards's very distinctive vocals, I would hardly have recognized this album as Faith and the Muse. While their music has always played with multiple styles and techniques, The Burning Season leaps into far different territory and explores new ground.
Nevertheless, the soul of the music remains visible under the new clothes. As ever, each song walks with one foot in the spirit world, showing or at least hinting at an undercurrent of mystical experience behind the veil of reality. This shows in the lyrics and in the sublime, trancelike rhythms that interweave diverse sound elements from warlike drums to tinkling dulcimer.
From the moment I first heard it, one of my favorite songs has been Whispered In Your Ear, which begins with a striking rhythm played on dulcimer and expands to incorporate a plethora of sublime rhythms from uncountable instruments, both electronic and acoustic. The hopeful lyrics speak encouragement in time of doubt: “Another hour. Another mile. One more year.”
Other favorites include Visions and the title track, The Burning Season, which also prominently feature dulcimer and compelling, spiritual lyrics. The Burning Season seems to make use of some of the same techniques as movie soundtracks I enjoy, by blending together light percussive sounds just arrhythmic enough that they might pass as background noise, and has the bonus of some truly heart-quickening drums.
Two songs I didn’t like at first. Boudiccea turns me off immediately with lyrics that I find distastefully false: describing “womanhood” in terms of fluid curves, painted lips, and even ability to read minds. I cannot even pretend to accept such traits as inherently female, and the lines claiming so are very distracting. However, after all this time, I decided to give the song a critical listen in an attempt to see past this flaw. I found that once these unfortunate lines are past, the music builds to an eerie climax that almost inspires me to overlook them. It may have helped that I read up on the historical figure of the same name.
Gone to Ground is another one I don’t like, but for some reason a similar critical listen has not redeemed it to my ears. I find it grating, possibly because of its obvious blues influences which do not mesh well with the other elements I hear in it. It might just be me.
I have a curious relationship with this album. I tend to view it as the black sheep of the Faith and the Muse family, with a clear resemblance but with so much idiosyncracy that it doesn’t quite fit in. I just think of the other albums as more quintessentially “F&tM,” and this one as “the other.” I realize this is ironic, considering the genre-defying nature of the band in general. For that reason I believe I don’t think to play it as often as I would if it was the single album of another band entirely, and from now on, I think I may try to correct that.
Next: Evidence of Heaven
The Burning Season differs from all other Faith and the Muse albums because of its solidly contemporary musical style, with none of the band's otherwise pervasive folk and classical influences. A few folk instruments, mostly percussion, is all that remains of the ancient in this album.
There isn't much of hard rock in this either, except for The Relic Song, which seems more punk-influenced than anything else. Honestly, if not for Monica Richards's very distinctive vocals, I would hardly have recognized this album as Faith and the Muse. While their music has always played with multiple styles and techniques, The Burning Season leaps into far different territory and explores new ground.
Nevertheless, the soul of the music remains visible under the new clothes. As ever, each song walks with one foot in the spirit world, showing or at least hinting at an undercurrent of mystical experience behind the veil of reality. This shows in the lyrics and in the sublime, trancelike rhythms that interweave diverse sound elements from warlike drums to tinkling dulcimer.
From the moment I first heard it, one of my favorite songs has been Whispered In Your Ear, which begins with a striking rhythm played on dulcimer and expands to incorporate a plethora of sublime rhythms from uncountable instruments, both electronic and acoustic. The hopeful lyrics speak encouragement in time of doubt: “Another hour. Another mile. One more year.”
Other favorites include Visions and the title track, The Burning Season, which also prominently feature dulcimer and compelling, spiritual lyrics. The Burning Season seems to make use of some of the same techniques as movie soundtracks I enjoy, by blending together light percussive sounds just arrhythmic enough that they might pass as background noise, and has the bonus of some truly heart-quickening drums.
Two songs I didn’t like at first. Boudiccea turns me off immediately with lyrics that I find distastefully false: describing “womanhood” in terms of fluid curves, painted lips, and even ability to read minds. I cannot even pretend to accept such traits as inherently female, and the lines claiming so are very distracting. However, after all this time, I decided to give the song a critical listen in an attempt to see past this flaw. I found that once these unfortunate lines are past, the music builds to an eerie climax that almost inspires me to overlook them. It may have helped that I read up on the historical figure of the same name.
Gone to Ground is another one I don’t like, but for some reason a similar critical listen has not redeemed it to my ears. I find it grating, possibly because of its obvious blues influences which do not mesh well with the other elements I hear in it. It might just be me.
I have a curious relationship with this album. I tend to view it as the black sheep of the Faith and the Muse family, with a clear resemblance but with so much idiosyncracy that it doesn’t quite fit in. I just think of the other albums as more quintessentially “F&tM,” and this one as “the other.” I realize this is ironic, considering the genre-defying nature of the band in general. For that reason I believe I don’t think to play it as often as I would if it was the single album of another band entirely, and from now on, I think I may try to correct that.
Next: Evidence of Heaven
Friday, February 13, 2015
All My CDs, pt 42: Elyria
Elyria - Faith and the Muse
Having fully digested Vera Causa, I knew I was going to eventually acquire Faith and the Muse's entire discography - no stopping at two this time. The choice of which album to get next could be completely arbitrary. So I chose Elyria, their first album.
Since that original purchase, it seems I've listened to this CD less than any other by the band. In fact, it's almost as if I am familiarizing myself with it for the first time now.
Elyria is spooky. Even for a band usually identified as "goth", this album has a significant creep factor to deal with. I think this is partly because, unlike bands like Evanescence that are uniformly dark, Faith and the Muse include enough brighter elements to provide a decent contrast and draw attention to the macabre themes.
It begins with the obligatory song made entirely of percussion, minimal melodic instrumentation, and Monica Richards vocalizing wordlessly and harmonizing with herself. The album proceeds with lyrical works such as the mournful ballad All Lovers Lost. The most upbeat, folky tune, The Unquiet Grave, describes a mourner's communion with the spirit of a deceased lover. All of these have just enough lightness mixed in to make the darkness all the more striking.
Midway through, however, the album turns spookier still, and the spookiness has a very different source. When To Her Lute Corinna Sings is a jilting tune reminiscent of a blind walk on jarringly uneven ground. It's followed by Caesura and The Trauma Coil, spoken-word poems accompanied by eerie atmospheric music.
The happiest song of the lot, Heal, has soothing lyrics but the melody seesaws between gloomy verses and a more lilting chorus. It seems to be about the tension between darkness and lightness heard throughout the album, and distills all into those two factions: Faith and the Muse. “Salute the essence / the essence of two performers / a pleasure-ridden torture.”
It is said that without pain we cannot know joy. I personally believe this is false - a platitude to give meager comfort to the suffering. What is true is that the sources of joy are often also the sources of greatest pain. Victory cannot be achieved without the risk of failure. Chasing after a dream may mean giving up on other goals. And love inevitably results in loss and grief.
While Evanescence simply revels in its own self-indulgent pain and melancholy, Faith and the Muse presents a much more mature approach to the romanticism of pain by showing the complexity with which it is interwoven with pleasure and with life itself.
Next: The Burning Season
Having fully digested Vera Causa, I knew I was going to eventually acquire Faith and the Muse's entire discography - no stopping at two this time. The choice of which album to get next could be completely arbitrary. So I chose Elyria, their first album.
Since that original purchase, it seems I've listened to this CD less than any other by the band. In fact, it's almost as if I am familiarizing myself with it for the first time now.
Elyria is spooky. Even for a band usually identified as "goth", this album has a significant creep factor to deal with. I think this is partly because, unlike bands like Evanescence that are uniformly dark, Faith and the Muse include enough brighter elements to provide a decent contrast and draw attention to the macabre themes.
It begins with the obligatory song made entirely of percussion, minimal melodic instrumentation, and Monica Richards vocalizing wordlessly and harmonizing with herself. The album proceeds with lyrical works such as the mournful ballad All Lovers Lost. The most upbeat, folky tune, The Unquiet Grave, describes a mourner's communion with the spirit of a deceased lover. All of these have just enough lightness mixed in to make the darkness all the more striking.
Midway through, however, the album turns spookier still, and the spookiness has a very different source. When To Her Lute Corinna Sings is a jilting tune reminiscent of a blind walk on jarringly uneven ground. It's followed by Caesura and The Trauma Coil, spoken-word poems accompanied by eerie atmospheric music.
The happiest song of the lot, Heal, has soothing lyrics but the melody seesaws between gloomy verses and a more lilting chorus. It seems to be about the tension between darkness and lightness heard throughout the album, and distills all into those two factions: Faith and the Muse. “Salute the essence / the essence of two performers / a pleasure-ridden torture.”
It is said that without pain we cannot know joy. I personally believe this is false - a platitude to give meager comfort to the suffering. What is true is that the sources of joy are often also the sources of greatest pain. Victory cannot be achieved without the risk of failure. Chasing after a dream may mean giving up on other goals. And love inevitably results in loss and grief.
While Evanescence simply revels in its own self-indulgent pain and melancholy, Faith and the Muse presents a much more mature approach to the romanticism of pain by showing the complexity with which it is interwoven with pleasure and with life itself.
Next: The Burning Season
Sunday, February 01, 2015
All My CDs, pt 41: Vera Causa
Vera Causa - Faith and the Muse
Shortly after getting Annwyn, Beneath the Waves, I found out about Vera Causa from the band's Myspace page (a fact which probably shows my age all on its own). I liked the few sample tracks I found there, so I decided to get that one next.
If you're getting acquainted with an established band and wondering where to start, I recommend getting an album like this one. Vera Causa is a two-disk collection of assorted covers, alternative takes, live performances, rarities and remixes from the band's entire repertoire up to that point. Thus, it served to showcase the full range of their styles, from A Winter Wassail (which sounds like it could have been played at an ancient Pagan Yule feast) to techno remixes complete with all the requisite unts-untsing.
As for those remixes, I can't say I'm too fond of them myself. If anything, they're often less interesting than the originals, having smoothed out some of the sonic peaks and valleys into a more homogeneous monotone. They're all clustered into the second half of the second disk - a fact which very well facilitates skipping the whole lot. I often do.
But everything else on the album is amazing. Among the live performances is a half-a-capella All Lovers Lost which convinced me that lead singer Monica Richards leads the way among my favorite vocalists. Her voice is also beautifully showcased in the gorgeous acoustic version of Annwyn, Beneath the Waves - a song I had found lukewarm in its electrified form. Their cover of Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill is what compelled me to buy the album in the first place; this version faithfully copies the original, but in a personalized style that makes it at once completely new.
Since Vera Causa is essentially a collection of disparate pieces, a scattershot sample of miscellany, it's hard to characterize it as a whole. Any description of the album will boil down to a description of Faith and the Muse, which is not an easy band to describe. They're gothic, in the sense of black lace and dusky acoustic guitar. They're theatric, in the sense of costumery and epic lore. They're mythic, but modern, but unstuck in time. Vera Causa is a good synopsis of all that complexity, with no pressure to include everything but including at least a representative.
Next: Elyria
Shortly after getting Annwyn, Beneath the Waves, I found out about Vera Causa from the band's Myspace page (a fact which probably shows my age all on its own). I liked the few sample tracks I found there, so I decided to get that one next.
If you're getting acquainted with an established band and wondering where to start, I recommend getting an album like this one. Vera Causa is a two-disk collection of assorted covers, alternative takes, live performances, rarities and remixes from the band's entire repertoire up to that point. Thus, it served to showcase the full range of their styles, from A Winter Wassail (which sounds like it could have been played at an ancient Pagan Yule feast) to techno remixes complete with all the requisite unts-untsing.
As for those remixes, I can't say I'm too fond of them myself. If anything, they're often less interesting than the originals, having smoothed out some of the sonic peaks and valleys into a more homogeneous monotone. They're all clustered into the second half of the second disk - a fact which very well facilitates skipping the whole lot. I often do.
But everything else on the album is amazing. Among the live performances is a half-a-capella All Lovers Lost which convinced me that lead singer Monica Richards leads the way among my favorite vocalists. Her voice is also beautifully showcased in the gorgeous acoustic version of Annwyn, Beneath the Waves - a song I had found lukewarm in its electrified form. Their cover of Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill is what compelled me to buy the album in the first place; this version faithfully copies the original, but in a personalized style that makes it at once completely new.
Since Vera Causa is essentially a collection of disparate pieces, a scattershot sample of miscellany, it's hard to characterize it as a whole. Any description of the album will boil down to a description of Faith and the Muse, which is not an easy band to describe. They're gothic, in the sense of black lace and dusky acoustic guitar. They're theatric, in the sense of costumery and epic lore. They're mythic, but modern, but unstuck in time. Vera Causa is a good synopsis of all that complexity, with no pressure to include everything but including at least a representative.
Next: Elyria
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