•
Rating: It's 1998, and David Tibet decides to give his Current 93 another turn in sound. The industrial and esoteric harshness of the past is now a distant memory, but with this "Soft Black Stars," considered by many as one of the most fascinating chapters of the group's vast discography, Tibet seems to want to distance himself even from that acoustic folk that appeared as the ultimate evolution of his creation.
There are not many words to spend on this work, extremely introspective, minimal, at times autistic. With its silences and its chiaroscuro, it presents itself to the listener as a labyrinth of black mirrors, at the end of which you find nothing more than your own reflection. The experience is therefore something closely personal, and the sensations change depending on who we are and the mood with which we approach it. The sound body here is supported by the melancholic melodies of Maya Elliott's piano (far from any virtuosity, closer indeed, in attitude and sensitivity, to an author like Satie), over which Tibet's voice emerges, even more subdued and fragile in this setting.
Sporadically, one might hear a cello or voices or the creaking of distant footsteps that the virtually non-existent production work has not silenced. A separate discussion should be made for the last track, a funeral ambient where the drones and electronic manipulations of the loyal Stapleton (the mind behind Nurse with Wound, also acting as a producer here) reappear, along with the distant arpeggios of Cashmore's guitar (from Nature & Organization, also on piano here), 10 minutes that do not substantially change the overall mood of the album, a challenging, hermetic, extremely personal work, far from any type of label or genre, and even from any other work by the group itself: of their apocalyptic folk, only the tense and extremely melancholic atmosphere remains, as well as the depth of an artist accustomed to not holding back and giving his all.
This is a work that, in its disarming simplicity, demands to be listened to, understood, and interpreted. This clarification is important because, at first listen, we might truly end up being disappointed, despite all the goodwill we might employ. It is certainly not a record for everyone, and I am convinced that many will not like it, judging it too verbose (probably rightly so if one is used to other sounds): the different tracks tend to resemble each other, they flow into each other without offering noteworthy variations, the piano melodies flow lightly and seemingly anonymously, Tibet's quiet singing does not provide jolts. The lack of lyrics in the booklet of the CD, which are very beautiful, doesn't help either (to be honest, in the version I own, even the titles are not reported — minimalism to the extreme! — but luckily, I think this has been remedied in the recent reissue). A work that presents very few variations, yet, if one has the patience to wait, the perseverance to metabolize these sounds, the willingness to find one's own way in this melancholic labyrinth, like magic the work changes face: listen after listen, it begins to reveal its secrets.
Treasures that are not given to us but must be conquered, grasped, caught between the lines, found in the recurring themes, in the melodies that die and are reborn in continuous references, in the fragility and poetry of Tibet's words, reminiscences and memories of a past and often denied life, the painful grip of repentance and remorse, the search for forgiveness, the desire for redemption, the hope of a rebirth. Follow his slow poetry, catch its nuances, an intonation, an accent, the way a word is pronounced, here it is a true hunt for emotions. Therefore, a work to be consumed like fine wine, in small sips. To be abandoned if necessary, and resumed later, when one feels the need. A deep, crepuscular work, rich in nuances like the streaked reflections of a sunset sky, capable of adopting different faces depending on the mood and conditions in which we listen to it. I myself am astonished at how every time this music manages to take on a different form, how each time a new detail emerges, an aspect not captured during previous listens.
This work changes, grows, matures with the listener. Let yourself be captivated.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
02 Larkspur and Lazarus (06:03)
The empty streets
The songs of twilight
The clouds at rest
The churchbells chiming
A scarecrow shudders
And some birds tremble
I looked at you and saw it's time
The faded flowers
The faded pictures
Of faded lives
Your body waiting
And unfulfilled
With no regrets
And empty heart
And head in hands
I heard them say today it's time
The sunset heavy
On mother mountain
The cattle lowing
The cattle dreaming
The endless rain
In haunted airs
Your loss of hope
We were shown
We were shown it's only time
The smell of rain
The twilight leaning
Against your lips
Waterwheels turning
The forests brooding
You took my hand
And pointed full of pain
That fishes dying
You see the sign that this was time
I waited years for you
Or so it seemed
And stumbled through your world
Praying for just one kiss
To stop my fall from grace
And shelter in your palm
You gave me everything
Both lock and key
The oilclouds see it's only time
If I could have one wish
As in the fairytales
I would unmake my past
And rise like Lazarus
And stand in sunlight
And banish all the dark
That locked my face away
And say to you again
Oh that
That was only time
So willow weep not for me
And oak bend not for me
Though others died for us
And in our place
Though in the secret heart
Raw wound, raw source of all
I heard the news today
Whispered in the dark
At last
At last we know it's time
I knew at last it's only time
I'll come in glory
End of story
04 Mockingbird (04:02)
i saw the back of the stars
tremble and fall
while seahorses played
on the slope of your breast
i saw a hundred angels
rush to the ground
they were giving you garlands
and giving you crowns
the flowers are everywhere
Christ glorious entwined
the tip of the moon
and the sun as it shines
and the roots as they burrow
and tunnel through earth
and the birds as they soar on their wings
i heard them whisper your name
and i remember you there
and the turtle-doves hiding
as your eyes roared with light
and i remember your smile
so wide and so red
whilst the snowflakes covered
your hair with their seals
and i remember our bliss
as we gazed at the wall
and i remember you there
i remember you there
with your mocking bird hair
some years ago
we had sat down and wept
with the sea in our ears
and seven cats on our laps
whilst the books gathered dust
unread and untrue
and you flicked through the letters
i could not bear to read
08 The Signs in the Stars (03:41)
I had gathered some flowers
To lay upon your face
Though you were not gone
From the realm of the quick
I saw all the rainclouds
Being driven on forward
By horses long numbered
And featureless and free
And i wanted to call you a wife
Though I couldn't stop glancing at the signs
And the four heads of men
And all that they carried
And the four wombs of women
And all that they promised
And I wanted to write for you
Songs poems and bibles
Your face spotted with pearls
And hand-cuffed to Christ
But I couldn't stop watching the signs
I had seen the news
That the Trojan beast
Already and not yet
No longer near
Nor close at hand
Nor at the door
Is finally here
The great in the small
And I couldn't stop watching the signs in the stars
09 Whilst the Night Rejoices Profound and Still (04:22)
As we stared beyond the windows there
Over all the gardens
That have never been
And will never grow again
How long
How long
The shining winking stars
The clouds too high
So high
Pointing to some final star
The dull face of the sky
And the sound of the calling
Of the distant village bell
And all that
The sun is not enough for us
Any longer
And her smile
Though she wears her hat
And her cheery rays
Do not blanket with their glorious glare
The burning body
With distorted nimbus
I see too well
Just beyond my neighbour's house
It does not blank out
The last sigh of the soul
Whilst the night rejoices profound and still
At the edge of your street
Both shadow and destroyer
But not alas
The comforter
Loading comments slowly
