"Tarots and the North" (twelve writings each paired with a Major Arcana by Luis Royo)
I. Overture
It may appear as an oxymoron to speak of Nordic progressive music while relying on the art of a Spanish illustrator, but the tension of opposites that fuels the creations of the latter, in a delicate balance of light and darkness, is also the beating heart of the entire musical scene we are about to unveil, where darkness, alienation, and madness coexist with refinement, sagacity, and, above all, the allure of an inhospitable yet inviting world, keeper of treasures of inestimable value, accessible to the patient and savvy explorer who does not fear losing themselves in the mazes of the taiga and its evocative surroundings.
"Dikranoi" Parmenides would have called us, with a disdainful tone, accusing us of uttering nonsense worthy of two-headed people, convinced that "being" and "non-being" are the same thing, and behind him the faithful Zeno would have nodded emphatically, with a smug grin on his face, pointing to both the mad perpetrators of such art forms and us naive onlookers, willing to follow them in their creative journeys, disregarding the principle of non-contradiction and falling into a spiral of insoluble paradoxes. Except that it is precisely in the irreconcilable contrast of extremes that bands like Änglagård and Anekdoten have found the right alchemical formulas to revitalize a genre fiercely discredited and pushed to the brink, reduced for about fifteen years to wandering wearily as a shadow of itself in the worn and faded guise of so-called neo-prog.
It is necessary to clarify how in the esoteric circles, assiduously frequented by the unwavering acolytes of progressive culture, the movement never suffered vertiginous collapses, instead proliferating in the undergrowth of increasingly numerous alternative categories; nevertheless, it took the Swedish translations of ancient manuscripts by King Robert to once again illuminate the order and make it appealing to the eyes of the musically engaged general public, stunned by the torrential rain of "baneuosic" pop of the eighties. Thus, in the first lustre of the following decade, a series of shocking debuts occur, reopening the path of "erudite" sound exploration and projecting their inspired proponents into the timeless glories of legend.
While it is the Anekdoten who boast the title of "Crimson Prince" of the royal family, appearing in the court's genealogy, it is most likely the Änglagård who are the universally recognized emblem of the new era, thanks to the creation of two excellent works, the second of which, prophetically titled "Epilog", holds the chronicles of arcane events, inexplicable and twisted dreams, materialized by the mournful laments of a mellotron overwhelmed by sadness ("Prolog") and spurred, in the shadow of the imposing towers built by Thomas Johnson's whirling Hammond, by the hypnotic echoes of a flute about to disappear into the warm tones of autumn woods, painted by the crimson guitars of Tord Lindman and Jonas Engdegård ("Höstsejd").
The duo, in acoustic form, await the dying out of Johan Högberg's bass's angry roars, echoing in the twilight of dreamy and foggy landscapes, before summoning Anna Holmgren's flute from its hiding place and then singing a serenade that betrays a hidden agony, sweet but tragic ("Skogsranden"). Even Mattias Olsson's drums, intent on shaking the ground with irate tremors ("Sista Somrar"), spying on the scene, lose their ferocity and plunge into the impenetrable darkness of spectral abysses, the gothic theater of the soliloquies of a piano tormented by the vacuity of existence ("Saknadens Fullhet"), observed in its poignant musings by the mellotron and cello that, moved, mourn its bitter fate ("Rösten").
This last track, present in the 2010 reissue, is a brief seal intended to endorse the excellence of a brief but very concrete career, source of rich commentaries on lessons from masters of the caliber of Genesis, King Crimson, Yes, Gentle Giant, to name just the most obvious, and at the same time a source of unprecedented insights in a syncretism where the influences are felt but do not disturb, they are and they are not, much to the delight of the "venerable and dreadful" Parmenides and the Eleatic school and with the triumph of Heraclitus's identity of opposites, who, grim and disdainful, would have added in his sibylline manner: «The ignorant do not understand that what differs agrees with itself: harmony of opposites, like the harmony of the bow and the lyre» and we, in response, would have offered him "Hybris" and "Epilog", because, let's admit it, if the dark Ephesian were still among us, he would be an irreducible fan of Änglagård.
«This music is built on a very human base... ...through conflict.» (from the "Hybris" booklet)
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