Spring has sprung (or will have, by the time you read this), and 2002's first onslaught of new releases has brought a little bit of everything. A recent delivery from Paras Recordings included Avalon: A Celtic Legend from the Arkenstones, as well as something called Conversations with Angels, which -- well, you'll see. The flood of Irish music continues unabated, and this time around I've picked out new releases from Danú and Altan, as well as a two-CD compilation from the Dubliners. Brotherhood of the Wolf was at least three or four movies rolled into one, and the soundtrack is no different; meanwhile, industrial rockers KMFDM have reassembled and released a new album, titled Attak. And finally, at long last, Kultur Shock's Fucc the INS has hit the streets.
Diane and David Arkenstone return with Avalon: A Celtic Legend (Paras/Neo Pacifica), similar in concept to their Music Inspired by Middle-Earth (reviewed last issue). It's immediately apparent that Avalon lacks the narrative drive of the previous recording, which is perhaps understandable; there are so many versions of the Matter of Britain, in print and on film, that any musical take on it at this point would be hard-pressed to maintain any kind of linear flow. So what you get, instead, is a set of loosely similar pieces, all adhering to the same evocatory mood. The first track, "Road to Camelot," I found simultaneously reminiscent of pan-Celtic music and Led Zeppelin in acoustic mode -- think "The Battle of Evermore" off of Led Zep IV -- while the second, "Enchantment," had that ethereal quality that is a mainstay of the Arkenstones' work. Between the two of these, you pretty much know what to expect from the rest of the album; while all of the pieces are well-done, most of the time they don't really stand out from one another. An exception is "The Wedding," placed near the very end, with its dance beat and merry tune.
Less exciting is Ariell's Conversations with Angels (Paras). As the title implies, this is a contemplative, introspective, meditative album -- in other words, it may put you right to sleep. The pieces consist largely of soundscapes, often a solo instrument (flute or keyboards) or else two or three layers of sound. With titles like "Wind Rose," "Harp Dream," "Guardian Angel," "Cosmic Conscience" and "A Father's Heart," one isn't led to expect much in the way of musical drama, and indeed there is none. On the other hand, Conversations with Angels has the kind of unfocused quality that is often sought in music for meditation, so the CD as a whole could be quite useful for that purpose. Likewise, if you have a ritual or guided meditation planned that requires a lot of visualization or contemplation, this might well suit. Take it for a spin first, though, to see if it fits with the mood, energy or entity that you're trying to evoke; I was led to expect an airy piece of work and wound up with a lot of water associations instead.
By comparison, the latest from Irish group Danú, All Things Considered (Shanachie), is the aural equivalent of someone leaning close to your ear and hollering: "Wake up!" Not that it's loud, exactly, but it's brimming with vigor and energy, even on the slower ballads, of which there are plenty: "Bridget Donaghue," "Easy and Free" and the closing number, "Idir Áird Mhór is Eochaill," are sweet as a spring sunrise. Their instrumental numbers tend to be faster, and highly danceable: check out tracks 3, 8, and 13 for examples. Musicianshipwise, Danú are on a par with Lunasa, whose Merry Sisters of Fate was reviewed for the Lammas issue last year, though they're somewhat lighter in mood. This means that while Lunasa's music was, indeed, quite suited for late summer, Danú are very much a springtime sort of band. A fluffy description, perhaps, but it's hard to put it more plainly than that; on every track, it sounds like Danú are having the time of their lives.
The three-decade career of the Dubliners is newly summarized in a new two-CD compilation, titled The Transatlantic Anthology (Castle/BMG). Unlike most groups in the genre whose recordings wash up on the Atlantic shores, the Dubliners have a distinctly unpolished quality, entirely appropriate for a band that got together out of pick-up jam sessions in O'Donoghue's Pub in Dublin in the early 1960s. You wouldn't expect to find this band onstage at the Paramount -- though they've done their share of large theater tours, as befits one of the most influential Irish groups ever -- nor would they play in, say, Tir Na Nog near Pioneer Square. You'd be more apt to find them at a bar in Ballard, the Lock & Keel, say, and calling for refills between songs. Transatlantic Anthology includes, of course, many of the greatest hits of the genre: "Tell Me Ma" is here, along with "The Rocky Road to Dublin," "The Leaving of Liverpool" and other songs that you'd more or less expect. There are also stories, ramblings, yarns and other spoken entertainment, much of it refreshingly politically incorrect. While the performances and the patter get smoother as you go, one thing the Dubliners definitely aren't is sugarcoated.
Somewhat smoother, in a pop-music sort of way, are Altan. The group moved from Green Linnet to Virgin several years ago, and then from Virgin to Narada World, which released their newest album, The Blue Idol. Following this succession of label hops tells you something about how Altan's sound has changed over the years, but they do seem to have struck a happy balance this time around; the traditional Irish sound has come to the forefront once again, but the music is just soft enough to slide easily off the ear. Thankfully, they seem to have abandoned the trance-pop notions that made albums like Runaway Sunday well-nigh unlistenable. Altan is often compared to Clannad, but the band has stayed a bit closer to its musical roots. The Blue Idol includes plenty of instrumental tracks, and most of these have the light texture that figures strongly in Altan's style. Altan is nowhere near as raw as the Dubliners, nor as pop-oriented as Clannad, but falls somewhere in between. And that's just about right.
If one is to conclude anything from this winter's Brotherhood of the Wolf, it's that French filmmakers have rather peculiar notions of American culture and of how to make an American-style action movie. The film is a hodgepodge, as though the filmmakers tossed spaghetti Westerns, Hong Kong kung-fu movies, Merchant-Ivory period dramas and maybe a monster flick or two into a blender, then hit frappé. I mean that almost literally; the movie is exceptionally violent, even to Hollywood-hardened sensibilities, and commits several historical atrocities as well. Among the real howlers, one may include the obvious -- the Mohawk of the late eighteenth century most assuredly did not know kung fu -- and the (for this movie) sublime: the notion that the French Revolution was brought about by a Sooper Sekrit occult society of bored aristocrats is, well, the kindest thing you can say about it is that it's an interesting idea. All of this wouldn't be nearly so egregious if the film didn't hit you over the head with its insistence that it's based on historical events; the movie itself is quite entertaining, as long as you don't think about it too hard. The soundtrack, from composer Joseph LoDuca (whose previous credits include Hercules, Xena and the Evil Dead movies), is a similar mishmash, as swelling strings and rolling timpani vie for your attention with skirls of American Indian flutes and musical motives lifted straight from John Wayne flicks. But on the whole, it hangs together rather better than the film, with some nice layering of musical texture and mood, and greater sophistication than either the movie or LoDuca's previous work suggests. Between the considerable musical variety from one track to the next, and the surprising unity of the whole, you've got a nice progression of styles and moods from which to pick and choose. Just ignore the song at the end. The trend of appending to the end of a score a song that has no stylistic or thematic relation to the rest of the music (presumably for Grammy or Oscar purposes; see also the soundtracks for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Lord of the Rings) is the sort of thing for which programmable CD players were invented.
In the pounding-of-pulses department, KMFDM is back and kicking some serious butt with Attak (Metropolis). While there's plenty of heart-thumping, aggressive industrial rock on the album -- "Sturm & Drang" and "Risen," to give you two obvious examples -- every so often Sascha Konietzko and company take the mood and tempo down a notch. This may be due in part to the addition of vocalist Lucia Cifarelli, imported from the MDFMK side project, who shares songwriting duties on several tracks. While "Save Me" and "Sleep" are no less intense than the rest of the CD, they're definitely slower and replace aggro with solemnity. Still, this is perfect angry music, cranking music, driving-down-the-highway-much-too-fast music, wake-up-in-the-morning-without-coffee music and dance-to-the-point-of-ecstasy music. In other words, KMFDM is back, and they still kick ass.
And, at long last, I'm so pleased to have gotten my grubby mitts on Kultur Shock's second CD, Fucc the INS (Kool Arrow). The band, whose core members left the war-torn Balkans for Seattle several years ago, have added a Japanese bass player and a trio of horn players from Seattle, including the incandescent Amy Denio, since their previous album, Live in Amerika. The result's a little less Eastern European folk, a little more the fusion-of-everything that is the band's specialty. There's an audible punk influence, for instance, but there's a bit of funk and blues as well, a pinch of R&B, and every so often vocalist Gino Srdjan Yevdjevich will start rapping. Yevdjevich only occasionally sings in English, but it doesn't really matter. He's got a strong, distinctive singing voice, and the musicianship of the entire band is excellent; even on a studio recording, this band's collective passion and energy comes through loud and clear. Kultur Shock tends to shift tempo, mood or entire musical direction midsong, but it always works; they're incredibly tight, especially considering the number of members who've rotated in and out of the band's lineup over the past few years. Really, Kultur Shock needs to be heard (and seen) live to be properly appreciated, but this CD will certainly do. Check Seattle-area stores or http://www.koolarrow.com to secure your copy of Balkan gypsy-rock goodness. (Check out the band bio on Kool Arrow's website, too; it's quite a read.)
Genevieve Williams is a Seattle freelance writer. She can be reached at rimrun@drizzle.com with feedback, suggestions or recommendations. Local musicians and pagan groups are encouraged to submit material for review.