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Faced with summer sunsets, it often happens that we stop and observe life passing by, without thinking that perhaps we have stopped just to listen. Away from the "noise of silence," we are so enchanted by this languid song that the dying sun and its beauty offers us.
This is surely the feeling that the "maestro" experienced when, silent, he paused to listen to the words of his trees; words that we too, with "Brilliant Trees," might understand and love.
A forest of sounds and poetry "Pulling Punches" is a track defined by a strong presence of Bass with Slap technique and jazz trumpets in the background, the almost rock guitars of R. Drayton serve as a perfect weave between the singing and the minimalist effects of the keyboards. A young Sylvian, distressed by the pain of finding an answer within his own world, society, and religion, this is the soul of our singer who, like Orpheus, drags us into his soul.
"Picasso/is painting/a ship/in the harbor/".
"The ink in the well" has a very acoustic structure, the entrances of the trumpets are sharp and fleeting, Sakamoto's synth accompanies this nocturnal ballad while Sylvian, like Picasso, paints an indelible scar in our hearts. An oriental whisper with very atmospheric effects opens "Nostalgia", technically perfect, in this third gem the instrumental and vocal cuts travel in our minds, lulling us into lived dreams and bitter cries; Sylvian continues to create immense poems and sculptures, the instrumental and vocal beauty of his songs indeed constitutes a unique and immense wonder.
More rhythmic sounds become the frames of our listens ("Red Guitar") and minimalist tracks are instead the basis of that more hermetic and less loved Sylvian ("BackWaters"). Another evening ballad is "Wathered Wall", very dreamlike, formed on the basis of saxophones and very oriental effects; the drums mark a steady and martial time, while the voice of our artist flows like a vast ocean. Each described and loved picture, by the seventh track, seems to us only a prelude to "Brilliant Trees"; at 8:39, this WONDERFUL title track opens with dreamlike and spiritual trumpets, ghosts of the past emerge with Sakamoto’s effects, it seems you can smell the trees caressed by the autumn winds.
The maestro is again a fragile boy who discusses with his own soul; instrumentally "Brilliant Trees" is the artistic apotheosis of this work, an intimate whisper of leaves and twigs of Tibetan ballads and oriental rhythms. In the first UK edition on CD (Virgin 1984), the disc has a color very similar to copper, and inside the booklet, there is a set of photographs that visually materialize the music you are listening to.
Finally, I apologize to Luca Reed for having remade the review of the same record, but as you well know, it is difficult not to transcribe the emotions of 'Brilliant Trees'.
Tracklist and Lyrics
01 Pulling Punches (05:02)
If heaven watches over me
Sowing seeds back in the soil
With eyes that see, hands that feel
Why am I the last to know
Sheltered lives spent partially breathing
Are gathered together under new religion
Pulling punches, sleeping on our feet
Pulling punches, I needed someone to comfort me
Raised in summer days of splendour
Who would've dreamed of love never ending?
A better world lies in front of me
A sketch of life in the books I read
Then as I walk where heaven leads
Why am I the last to know?
Simple lives spent partially breathing
Are gathered together under new religion
Pulling punches, sleeping on our feet
Pulling punches, I needed someone to comfort me
Raised in summer days of splendour
Who would've dreamed of love never ending?
Nature feeds this nausea
Deep inside the heart of me
02 The Ink in the Well (04:30)
The lights of the ashes smoulder through hills and vales
Nostalgia burns in the hearts of the strongest
Picasso is painting the ships in the harbour
The wind and sails
These are years with a genius for living
The rope is cut, the rabbit is loose
(Fire at will in this open season)
The blood of a poet, the ink in the well
(It's all written down in this age of reason)
The animals run through harvested fields of fire
The bitterness shown on the face of the homeless
Picasso is painting the flames from the houses
The sudden rain
These are years with a genius for living
The rope has been cut, the rabbit is loose
(Fire at will in this open season)
The blood of a poet, the ink in the well
(It's all written down in this age of reason)
Fire at will
03 Nostalgia (05:41)
Voices heard in fields of green
Their joy their calm and luxury
Are lost within the wanderings of my mind
I'm cutting branches from the trees
Shaped by years of memories
To exorcise their ghosts from inside of me
The sound of waves in a pool of water
I'm drowning in my nostalgia
06 Backwaters (04:52)
Once again I'm hiding in backwaters
Running this way and that
Trying so very hard to please
(Beware of hidden snares)
Rushing to bite the hand that feeds me
Running this way and that
(There are always other possibilities)
This way and that
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By fede
Sylvian surprises everyone with a record that was prodigious at its time, a clear break from the Japan formula.
After a hard day, lie down for a moment, put on the record, and wander into the clearing of brilliant trees drawn by Sylvian's soft brush.
