IArtist: A Forest Of Stars
Title: The Valley Of Desolation
Type: EP
Label: Limited Edition CD (Lupus Lounge 2015)
The first in a short series of seasonal retrospectives of music that though only perhaps tangentially related to Yule have become a part of this season for me. And as is the way of things this EP is not just a treasure to me, but… not easily available. The only place I know you may hear if you do not already own it is to search for it by name on YouTube as this was a CD only included in the 500 piece edition of their gorgeous album ‘Beware The Sword You Cannot See’ and never appears to have had an official digital release anywhere.
Such is life… and like all mysterious, hidden manuscripts, it has such dark treasure to share. So instead of a link, search YouTube…
‘Gestation’ is a slow, deeply mournful string duet, violin and cello. It is the perfect dark and stark vestibule to this bleak establishment. It reeks of an age gone and of loss, funerals and death and those bereft of hope and even life. No words just the bone aching, soul stirring slow waltz…
And this then slides into ‘Catafalque Caravan Quandary’ on an echo of ‘Gestation’s sedate melody… deeper it slides into places of shadow, following the final journey of corpses, the spoken word sound of the esteemed Mr Curse describing the indescribable world of carrion and decay and the unwanted, uncaring act of interment in a shared grave. This is the last desperate breath of a body, and maybe the soul as it descends into the grave and into corruption and utter insanity. The music is a slow, ghastly spiral of dim-lit ghostly music. The vocals almost panting in despair, clawing at the notes as everything ends amidst the corpse pile as the music gradually fades and all we are left is the sound of the voice…”…I am the hive now. I am legs upon legs. Nothing to fear here, except for myself and perhaps…just a little… shortage…of breath…”
Which leaves us just the most bitter of Yuletide songs. ‘Plastic Patriarchy Lynch Squad (Enduring December)’ is the sound of torment and inner violence as the season happens around you, a bleary eyed, baleful glare as the world whirls and dances for no reason you can understand any longer. Musically, atmospherically, this is the perfect bookend to this quarter of an hour of desperation driven darkness. A slow piano, those strings. A rich deep bass and a steady, portentous drum. The voice this time is steady, measured and clear. It is the inner monologue to the leaden tread of footsteps too weary to bear this time of year. The lyrics are bitter, dark and bewildered at the banal horror of it all. A sweet, quiet moment, beautifully plucked guitar and the soft clean singing voice. A sound that reaches into your chest and squeezes tight. The piano and guitar seem to find a little energy, a final spirit and the bass rises, the strings slowly glide….”So the colour drained from the last of days….Nothing ever after. Hung from Heaven’s rafter, inverse your holy father. Strung up, stomach slit, bowels void, stench of the pit. Asgard reclaimed….”
There is such beauty in this grim and bloody gothic triptych; the music is elegant even in its horror. The lyrics reach deep into you, prise open your eyes and make you see through their eyes if only for a while. And yet this is not just an exercise in pointless cynicism. For all the stench of decay and bloody imagery this is a work of rare and glittering beauty. Glittering with the darkness of carrion feeders perhaps, but the lyrical and musical virtuosity held here, the songwriting and the sumptuous sound and simply breathtaking performances of every member of The Gentleman’s Club Of A Forest Of Stars is laid out with the grace of a master card dealer in some dimly lit, smokey Victorian room. There is a strong strain of dark, dark humour too in the poetic, rhythmic lyrics which somehow makes it all shine so much brighter.
Not for everyone at all but, if you want to look into the darkness this season, this is the place at which you should enter. Guard your heart, hold your soul as some visions are not for the mortal eye.
Gizmo
Walking The Liminal Space 