Devil Doll
Dies Irae

Devil Doll are often associated with names like Jacula and Antonius Rex, not just because of the genre they play (dark-progressive?), but also due to the aura of mystery and legend that surrounds these formations. Mystery and legend created artfully, we might mischievously add, considering that we end up learning many stories and different backstories about these bands, not always related to strictly artistic aspects. This takes nothing away from the value of Devil Doll, undoubtedly a great band: a formation divided between Italy and Slovenia, a handful of works published in extremely limited editions (something that would discourage even the most fanatic collector – the first album was released in a single copy!), the charismatic figure of Mr. Doctor (alias Paolo Panciera, who revealed his identity years after the group disbanded).

Between 1987 and 1996, the band lived a real life, between concerts and the release of about six albums, the last of which is “Dies Irae”, whose production was nothing short of troubled: the band entered the studio in 1993 to record the suite “The Day of Wrath – Dies Irae”, but a fire in the studio during mixing led the irascible Mr. Doctor to temporarily shelve the project (rumors even suggested the band’s breakup), while the recordings saved from the fire were temporarily recovered with the "The Lost Tapes" operation. The work was nevertheless presented live the following year, and the good reception by the public and critics convinced Mr. Doctor to return to the studio and resume work on the album, which was completed with the help of the Slovenian Philharmonic Orchestra, and finally saw the light in vinyl form in 1995 and on CD in 1996.

But apart from the chronicle facts, there remains the daunting task of describing the music championed by Devil Doll, a sort of dark-progressive form with a pronounced symphonic tendency (speaking of classical authors, Maurice Ravel often comes to my mind), even though in the presence of Devil Doll any definition becomes pointless. Talking about unique and indefinable music is therefore not out of place, at least in this instance. Completely detached from fashions, trends, and codified musical genres, Devil Doll forge a product that can hardly find points of comparison in the vast panorama of dark music (but not only). “Dies Irae” remains in its essence a single composition of about fifty minutes, conveniently divided for the listener into eighteen fragments: fragments of two/three minutes each, themselves fragmented internally, making it difficult to give them meaning if taken individually (the tracks themselves fade into each other without continuity, and it’s curious to note how one interrupts the other while still finishing the instrumental passage of the previous one).

Indeed, “Dies Irae”, nothing but a complex mosaic of settings (but not devoid of its climax, as the work, especially in its vehement conclusion, can be read as a crescendo of tension and mystery that unfolds little by little), responds to an underlying intention where its parts are nothing but functional pieces to the narration. “Dies Irae” is indeed a concept: a concept centered around the imaginary figure of George Harvey Bone, the protagonist of the thriller directed by John Brahm “Hangover Square” (1945), in which Bone is a composer (the drama is set in early twentieth-century London) suffering from a strange form of schizophrenia that leads him to uncontrollable violence and even murder when he is exposed to dissonant sounds. This highlights the close connection linking the Italo-Slovenian project to the cinematic universe (not surprisingly, the band’s name is the title of the film “The Devil-Doll” (1936) by master Tod Browning, and the album “The Girl Who Was... Death” was inspired by the British TV series “The Prisoner”). Nonetheless, there is also a solid literary background, as many of the lyrics are inspired by verses of Edgar A. Poe, Emily Bronte, and Isidore Ducasse.

The songwriting is entirely entrusted to Mr. Doctor and his right-hand man Francesco Carta (piano), the leader of a formation comprising eight members (most of whom have Slovenian citizenship), not to mention the contribution of the orchestra and three opera singers, among whom the soprano Norina Radovan stands out, given ample space to express her talent. As stated in the announcement that Mr. Doctor posted in 1987 to recruit his band (“A man is minimally likely to become great the more he is dominated by reason: few can achieve greatness – and none in art – unless they are dominated by illusion”), so his music is perfectly faithful to the stated dictum, not only for the meticulousness with which every single detail is taken care of but also because of the good production, which only enhances the richness of the content. Focused artists mastering their means in the service of ambitious music, constantly carrying a sense of grandeur, the desire to surpass every human and artistic limit, intrinsic irrationality devoted to expressing profound feelings. Music tending to a synthesis that harmoniously and unpredictably contemplates distant components, such as chamber music (abundant parts performed with classical instruments), opera, gothic and horror suggestions, and more typically rock elements (a rock that does not forgo drums and electric guitar outbursts and even flirts with symphonic metal in certain passages).

And there he is, Mr. Doctor, a unique singer/non-singer of his kind (what kind then?), more inclined to theater and acting than singing: his “shrill hiss”, his disturbing whisper is a morbid middle ground between David Tibet (Current 93), Tilo Wolff (Lacrimosa), and an Alice Cooper (the one from “Welcome to My Nightmare) obviously purged of its glam component, not to mention the unsettling similarities (especially in the attraction to macabre and grotesque atmospheres) with the genius of Anna Varney (Sopor Aeternus & the Ensemble of Shadows), an artist who, however, when Devil Doll was composing, playing, and releasing their works, had not yet reached popularity. With a voice, not only sexless but even inhuman, Mr. Doctor's music ceases to be simple classical music, simple progressive rock, simple theater-driven dark music, and becomes an experience that can only leave a deep mark on the listener.

The development of the work is labyrinthine, the scheme intricate, yet the main quality of this complex of individuals is not to slide into tediousness, artificiality, empty mannerism, but rather to be able to give more than one memorable moment (not easy if you consider the disproportionate amount of ideas and solutions). Memorable moments that can be described in these terms: a sudden organ opening that captivates with its majesty, a delicate piano phrase that finds its way after the restless screeching of strings or after the roar of guitars and their progressive flights, the disturbing gyration of a soprano devoted to madness, gut-wrenching screams of a witch, the bursting of operatic choirs, the placid gurgling of Gregorian chants, and then the whole panorama of emotions delivered by the unique and inimitable interpretation of Mr. Doctor, not only the director but rightly the protagonist of the entire staging. From the insinuating whisper to the rabid declamation, passing through the exhausted wheezing of a being on the brink of death, verses that have something demonic, and unexpected concessions to a fragile lyricism: Mr. Doctor’s artistic vision is made of dauntless flights and schizophrenia, equal to that which seems to plague the disturbed mind of the story’s protagonist, nothing but a metaphor of the unfathomable link between psyche and music, between psyche and art (and perhaps only in this respect can Devil Doll’s proposal be defined as esoteric).

Never before had it been permissible to listen to such music, and it is a pity that the medium of words is not at all able to describe it: I had read effusive praises, but I had to listen to believe.

Listen for yourself to believe.