Angizia
Das Tagebuch Der Hanna Anikin

There are albums that are not worth dusting off, albums whose rediscovery does not constitute an important historiographical recovery, but rather an unnecessary find, or even a counterproductive gesture, where this gesture has the demerit of inflating a present discography rich in trivial works that time will rightly condemn to oblivion.

Time is indeed often driven by an intrinsic justice; natural selection (truly natural) often preserves what actually has value, killing off the rest; time is also forgiving, and sometimes helps rediscover what the past failed to understand.

There are few true victims of time, and I certainly do not count Angizia among these victims: natural selection has dissolved them into the dust of time, even though they still exist and continue to release albums in the most deafening silence. Not that Angizia's albums are bad—in fact, they are very beautiful and original. They simply have not emerged, continue not to emerge, and even today it is difficult to reassess them: a rediscovery of theirs does not make one shout a miracle, or think "wow, they were so ahead of their time," perhaps it is not yet time for them, and probably never will be.

My collection is full of albums of this kind, meteors that sparkled in the blink of an eye, and like a temple of farts, my collection also includes this “Das Tagebuch der Hanna Anikin,” which I was re-listening to just these days to give it life again on DeBaser's generous pages. Stuff that could have easily rotted in the dust, so much so that I didn't even find a page in Italian on the net to better tell you about it. And I remember that at the time I found it even intriguing (this sort of whimsical gothic-metal), but taken out of its era it didn't prove to possess the qualities of a good wine that improves with age.

But who are these Angizia, whose name rather resembles a non-alcoholic beverage? Angizia is a collective of Austrian musicians centered around the figure of Michael Haas, known as Engelke. The project was conceived in 1994, in years when Haas could be defined more as a writer than a singer. It is no coincidence that all of Angizia's albums originate from his stories and end up developing into the tortuous script of a real drama in multiple acts. Angizia's music is therefore a kind of operetta with multiple voices, in which the predominant element is Cedric Muller's classical piano (known as Szinonem), who at the time was just a sixteen-year-old attending the conservatory in Vienna. In short, it will be understood that those who loved the quirks of various Therion and Arcturus will certainly find something for their taste, although Angizia is metal only in name. We could even define them as black metal, considering the dog-like barking that occasionally reigns among the grooves of music that is actually closer to the movements of a Schubertian lied. Henning's crackling drums and Emmerich Haimer's faint electric guitar (little in the economy of our sound) complete the original nucleus of the band, which over time will benefit from an increasing contribution of musicians from a classical background.

Thus, in 1996, the first full-length “Die Kemenaten Scharlachroter Lichter” was released, with a title that's certainly not easy to pronounce, which doesn't help make the band's name immortal: the music contained within is comparable to the gothic-doom genre popular at the time, and it was certainly easy to associate them with the more pompous and romantic formations of the genre (notably, Theatre of Tragedy with their unmatched debut), but it was already clear that the similarities ended on the surface, as Angizia were much closer, in substance, to classical music than to the metal universe, despite retaining electric guitars and sporadic screaming. The result is overall suggestive, though inconsistent and at times soporific, also due to the exhausting length of the compositions.

And here we are finally at “Das Tagebuch der Hanna Anikin,” dazzling second act: it's 1997 and the band manages to concentrate their ideas into a less dispersive form. The tracks are still long and complex, but they sound denser and more compact: dense because you can't understand the quantity of ideas contained within them; compact because the ideas are also well-developed, perfectly blended into the narrative plot woven by the ever-fertile Engelke.

Remaining faithful to the narrative structure, the work opens the so-called “Russian” trilogy (followed by “Das Schachbrett des Trommelbuben Zacharias” and “39 Jahre fur den Leierkastenmann” – you can't understand the effort of copying these titles), a heartfelt tribute by Engelke to nineteenth-century Russian literature. Listening to Angizia's music, in fact, means being catapulted into the lavish salons depicted by various Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, theaters of heated discussions on grand systems, absurd dialogues between grotesque characters, sly glances exchanged, and the neurotic actions/reactions of mad sentimental alchemies. In this picture, the female protagonist couldn't be missing, the pure-bred soprano Irene Denner, called to personify the heroine birthed by the band's lyricist's fervent mind, none less than the Hanna Anikin of the title.

Denner is much more than the usual gothic siren lent to metal, and with her enviable vocal talents, she will delight for all three quarters of an hour of the work, soaring among Engleke's thundering harangues, Christof Niederwieser's harsh voice (on loan from the Austrian avant-black-metaller Korova), and tenor Mario Kraus.

The rest is completed by Szinonem's classical background; the anonymous Haimer's shifting drums and guitar merely follow his continual "minuetting": the resulting music is grotesque and emphatic, even humorous at times (it's a funny thing to hear Count Grishnackh and Pavarotti conversing), but never ridiculous; and certain passages are nothing short of exceptional, for sensitivity and refinement closer to the depth of classical music than to the most audaciously progressive metal (though the elegant evolutions of the Sverde/August duo from Arcturus' memorable “Aspera Hiems Symfonia” often come to mind). If Angizia have a merit, it is indeed not slipping into the eternal clichés of the genre: consistent with an artistic vision that is beyond any comparison in the metal world, their music is so original as to defy categorization but, alas, also lacks that touch of cleverness that would have given greater appeal to a product of undeniable value. A product that remains undeniably (perhaps excessively) tied to the lyrical concept and the meticulously woven narrative plots by Engelke, who is the first to carve out the role of invisible scriptwriter, leaving ample space to the other singers tasked with lending their voices to his story.

In short, it's all very sublime, although honestly, this music, not very powerful, too little evocative, perhaps too pedantic, struggles to find a slot among the grooves of my life today. And I think it's the same for most of you, who will certainly prefer to entertain yourselves with something else, considering the dense jungle of music (good or bad) that envelops us.

Therefore, a commendation for originality: an originality that, however, does not garner the applause of the crowds, and perhaps, not even a solitary clap from those who love to travel the most controversial currents in solitude.

An ultimately unnecessary revival, but if even one of you finds the daring to venture into the baroque and glossy world of Angizia, I will consider myself satisfied.