Albireon
Le Fiabe dei Ragni Funamboli

We had last left them with the beautiful “I Passi di Liù,” a successful blend of folk, ambient sounds, and something extra. It was 2008, and the Emilian group Albiereon delivered one of the most interesting albums released in recent years in the realm of neo-folk. In 2013, they return with a double album aiming to satisfy an almost five-year wait: if “Le Fiabe dei Ragni Funamboli” is not as original and stylistically refined as its predecessor, the band's inspiration remains high, although today's offering seems simpler than in the past. The return of Albireon coincides with a partial abandonment of evolutionary ambitions and a desire to focus on the essentials: emotions.

What once appeared as a collective now re-emerges as a trio, always centered around the voice and guitar of Davide Borghi: a restricted formation that functions to enhance Borghi's songwriting skills, where Carlo Baja Guarienti (keyboards and flute) and Stefano Romagnoli (samples and soundscapes) dedicate themselves to the refinements. Therefore, “Le Fiabe dei Ragni Funamboli” is not a choral work, but rather a collection of ballads where Borghi's work remains the fundamental substance. Tracks composed over the years, the result of sporadic efforts between 2006 and 2012, which over the years evidently struggled to find a definitive form, and that today see the light thanks to a balance that gives them coherence and reason for being.

Coherence and balance that are evident first in form (the form of the acoustic ballad that rarely allows for stylistic digressions, that of Massimo Romagnoli's beautiful illustrations) and are confirmed in the dominance of themes long dear to Borghi the lyricist: the passage of time, the inevitable disintegration of things, an unbearable sense of loss, a poetic taste that loves to dwell on childish sensations and naturalistic details, both of the world of flora and fauna (with a particular attraction to the teeming world of insects). A bucolic folk, therefore, magical, fabulous, that speaks to us of an Arcadia that will never return (childhood?, the “beautiful world” of yesteryear?, the dominion of an unspoiled nature with which man harmonized?), without falling into a “paganism” of little worth, so popular within the confines of the proposed genre.

Nineteen episodes of precious acoustic minutiae that the band has chosen to divide into two distinct albums: “Fiabe di Rugiada,” sung in Italian, and “Fiabe di Vento,” performed in the Val d'Asta dialect (an Apennine area of Emilia). Two twin albums (the first with a long gestation, the second more recent and released impromptu to complete the first, which independently seemed not to possess the equilibrium sought by the artists) that constitute the two faces of the same coin: “the desire to return home,” to stop and linger in the rooms of one's own interiority, a gaze tinged with nostalgia toward an irrecoverable past of purity and innocence, testified by the candid memories of childhood (“Fiabe di Rugiada”) and by the wisdom of nature and the traditions linked to it (“Fiabe di Vento”).

The power of the songs, therefore, does not lie this time in presenting themselves as a part of a path (of awareness?), but in the intimate fragility of truths just felt and touched. The sense of search thus remains palpable even in this work, though it is more appropriate to speak of recovery: the recovery of memories and sensations, probably of biographical origin, but at the same time of a universal character. The simplification of forms benefits Borghi's lyricism, whose voice seems to enjoy better treatment than in the past, although even this time, alas, everything doesn't seem to flow smoothly at the mixing level (what a pity!). It is a pity, therefore, that the words are not always understandable, and a pity that the listening process proceeds somewhat laboriously: the effort expended in grasping the lyrical substratum of the work could indeed displace the listener from the predisposition to abandonment and surrender that such work would require.

The dance is opened by a brief instrumental, “Girotondo,” capable from the first moments of enchanting with its intertwining of acoustic guitar. It is followed by the album's highlight, “Nel Nido dei Ragni Funamboli,” with wakefordian vigor (here and there echoes of the early Sol Invictus) and a beautiful text, with the precious embroideries of Gianguido Corniani's sax (a brilliant choice), which nestles into the beautiful chorus and flits freely in the finale. The first volume, “Fiabe di Rugiada,” flows thus, among suggestive images, poetic sparks, and a simple but effective blend of acoustic guitar and keyboard tracks: a scheme here and there cracked by Borghi's errant notes and a vague sense of monotony, given by the excessive similarity between the various episodes. Giving them substance is Borghi's agonized lyricism, which in tracks like “Distanze,” “Il Deserto dei Tartari,” and “Linea d'Ombra” reaches remarkable heights of intensity and capacity to describe emotional nuances through the use of images and symbolism. The insistent accordion of “Prima del Buio,” of which a video also circulates online, and the dreary ambient on which the evocative “Acrobati” is constructed are instead the moments in which the band, in this first part, allows itself a greater desire to rise from a modus operandi perhaps a bit too naively devoted to spontaneity, which often rhymes with predictability.

“Fiabe di Vento,” with its contained duration (just thirty-five minutes), immerses the listener in an even more meditative and mystery-dense dimension. It is undoubtedly the disorienting effect of the Val D'Asta dialect, but it is also the approach adopted by the band, which shows a greater inclination to operate on the atmospheric front: worthy examples are the lugubrious moods of the opener “Al Cimiter du Fulet,” the ample six minutes of “Neva,” obscured by icy drones and the incursion of a sinister processed voice. More generally, the tracks that, despite their undeniable simplicity, turn out to be more composite often open or close with the chiaroscuro of environmental passages and are more rooted in ancestral folklore in their acoustic counterpart, as demonstrated by the evocative “La Spusa de Striun,” a timeless chant wrapped in a mantle of sublime sadness and enriched by seductive female warbles: a track that testifies to the band's ability to dig deep and give birth to enviable moments of pathos and artistic intensity. The same guitars, which sound more reverberated and intangible, align with intents that bring the band closer to the experiments attempted with greater conviction in “I Passi di Liù.”

Considering the moods of an exquisitely crepuscular nature captured by the record, attentive listening is recommended, conducted in the twilight of the evening or during a strictly autumn/winter period, which makes this work a piece not for all seasons, whose consumption necessarily ties to the listener's state of mind.

What leaves a bitter aftertaste, however, is the impression that if the work had enjoyed more care in the mixing process and a few more considerations during arrangement, we might have had in our hands probably the best example of songwriting of our times. The raw and minimal expression of a band which evidently, despite having the potential, does not intend to elevate itself above the dark confines of apocalyptic folk, thus choosing the courageous path of the niche, ensures that the work remains the preserve of only the genre's devotees.