•
Rating:
“…death is an angel that transports us from the dark world to the bright world. Every evening, wrapped in shadow, I look at the sky and see the stars shining. I know that one day I will sail happily among them.”
(Alejandro Jodorowsky, “Loïe del cielo” - “Tre storie magiche”)
From the very beginning of Anathema's history, Duncan Patterson was a thinking mind: however, it would be with the “Eternity”/“Alternative 4” duo that his artistic personality would fully express itself. These two albums represent fundamental building blocks for the incredible evolutionary climb undertaken by the Liverpool band: from the decadent doom/death of the beginnings to the refined and thrilling “neo-prog” (if we want to call it that) of today, “Eternity” and “Alternative 4” were necessary.
“Eternity” still carries with it the forcefulness and majesty that characterized the band's first phase, but at the same time it ventures into more advanced territory on the path to emancipation from the metal word, arriving at a psychedelic rock clearly marked by Floydian influences. The arpeggiated bass and the majestic orchestrations curated by Patterson himself, his mournful lyrics, form the backbone of music taking on new metaphysical features that highlight the existentialist approach, the investigative tension toward themes of Life, Death, and Destiny, inherent to the bassist: these themes, at a musical level, translate into a layered, grandiloquent sound, dense with pathos, though not without flaws and sometimes over the top, previously introduced by the “Pentecost III” EP first, and by “The Silent Enigma” subsequently.
If “Eternity” marks the divide between two eras, it is “Alternative 4” that merits inaugurating a new course for the band, taking them from that moment on to more introspective shores, further distancing themselves from typical metal stylistic traits. From the universal to the particular, it is the tragedy of the Self in Society that takes center stage: the solemn touch of the piano, the delicacy of the acoustic ballad, the struggles of a broken interiority forever replace the sonic blasts, the chaos, the rivers of feedback from the past. If Pink Floyd had until then been a source of inspiration, now the boundary of the most blatant citationism is crossed: even too explicit references to works like “The Wall” and “The Final Cut,” together with a not yet complete mastery of new expressive instruments, will hinder the free flow of those live energies that previously allowed the band to structure a strong and peculiar identity within the metal-doom dimension in which it had grown.
A new, splendid identity Anathema will find later, just as Patterson decides to leave. Not so much in the still very good “Judgement,” a crepuscular and apocalyptic work from title and cover (released not by chance in 1999), where the ghost of the charismatic bassist will continue to reside (no longer present in the lineup), but in the subsequent “A Fine Day to Exit” and “A Natural Disaster.” Finally freed from the “watersian” component of the band, the more rigorous and conceptual one, the Cavanagh brothers will freely and without veto spread their wings, happily ferrying their art toward new “sweet” goals, album after album, fence after fence, up to the very high peaks reached by “Weather Systems” (absolute pinnacle of the latest phase of their production, the “refounding” that came with the release of “We’re Here Because We’re Here” after a long pause for reflection). A virtuous path dictated above all by the confirmation of the excellent compositional qualities of Daniel (the group's “gilmourian” soul, now undisputed in its “airiness,” and no longer forced into the rigid meshes of Patterson's aseptic and minimal artistic vision); secondly, by the progressive emergence of Vincent's personality (growing vertiginously behind the microphone and increasingly involved in writing, arrangements, and artistic direction – he would further push towards electronic experimentation territories); finally, by the compactness of a group of musicians (Lee Douglas primarily) cohesive and well-focused on a single convergent goal.
But this, after all, is another story. Once the specific weight of Patterson in the economy of sound and the evolution of Anathema is established (it was he who brought Pink Floyd into a band of mere metalheads, and perhaps, without him, the Liverpool combo today would be nothing more than an authoritative exponent of the New Wave of British Doom-Metal alongside Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride, who, after a phase of experimentation, soon returned to the gothic metal fold), with this fact clear, our spotlight must be turned on this artist who, with tenacity and determination, continued his path in the shadows, demonstrating an integrity and artistic depth certainly not inferior to that of his former colleagues.
“Trapped in time
A miracle of hope and change
A swirling mass, no mercy now
If the truth hurts prepare for pain
...Do you think we’re forever?”
(Duncan Patterson, “Eternity part I”)
His path is, in reality, the offspring of a stubborn artistic vision that over time will maintain the strengths and weaknesses of Patterson as a composer/executor: visionary architect of sumptuous sound structures on one side, and restless, fragile minstrel chasing nonexistent answers on the other, he will remain an incomplete artist, like his works, suspended between exceptional moments and an overall aftertaste of a missed masterpiece. Like the best exponents of apocalyptic folk, he is drawn to Death, his art expresses a desire for Death, he therefore undergoes the trauma of the End and his art is nothing but the expression of forces meant to exorcize it in the search for a guiding thread in the chaos and pain of life on this world: a path that leads him toward Eternity.
Musically, however, he has clear ideas, and his entire journey, as ambitious as it might be, is a remixing of the same elements: moving from a true cult for the pinkfloydian production of the late seventies/early eighties, namely from “Wish You Were Here” to “The Final Cut,” through, of course, that “The Wall” which has been the model desperately pursued for a lifetime, Patterson develops a pathway that has roots in the monumental catastrophism of Celtic Frost’s “Into the Pandemonium” (an influence mainly perceivable in Anathema's early albums) for later donning the elegance and decadent spleen of dark-wave. Simultaneously cultivating a passion for the tunes and atmospheres of the Irish folk tradition, his homeland.
A conceptual and then formal rigor that doesn’t really surprise if we consider Patterson (despite having confronted various instruments over the years) as an “existentialist bassist” (a category whose ideal-type is found in idol Waters and its perfect opposite in Pastorius): because for those who do not have rhythm naturally and an uncontrollable, compulsive attraction to slap, the bass becomes a comfortable refuge. Patterson, like all existential bassists, takes his first steps hiding behind those four strings (whereas the guitar is too vast and dispersive a universe to explore); playing in a doom-metal band, he had the opportunity to practice, grow, among one round after another, in the comfort of prolonged guitar chords; once matured, he’ll finally realize that the role of the director, rather than the leading actor, is best suited for him. And his music inevitably becomes minimal: a rigorous latticework of angular notes within which to pour fluid visions.
It is with Antimatter, his new project, that we will truly understand Patterson’s significance in Anathema: much of his previous band is present in Antimatter, a shared endeavor with singer/guitarist Mick Moss. Thus, it is the bassist’s heritage those settings reeking of bleak empty rooms where the soliloquies of a restless unhappy soul chewing its pain with clenched teeth and suddenly screaming its anguish are amplified: that psychotic universe where those words whispered or spoken in that way echo, composing a lyrical imagery that couldn’t be more typical (negative and pessimistic lyrics earning Antimatter the title of “the saddest band”). From a stylistic point of view, Patterson's visions find expression in many other quick solutions: the dramatic prolonging of a guitar feedback expressing irreconcilable tensions; a sudden and liberating cry that leads nowhere; the timeless solitary singing of a fairy (lullabies which had found space since the times of “Crestfallen” and “Serenades,” clearly Patterson’s contribution). More generally, those cinematic passages, those bucolic settings with metaphysical connotations are the offspring of the artistic sensitivity of the Irish musician, as previously mentioned, expressing an attachment to his homeland's tradition.
Antimatter, at least initially, incorporates into their sound corpus electronic patterns and the massive presence (no longer accessory) of female voices: elements constructing scenarios close to the smoky universe of Bristol’s trip-hop (Portishead primarily). This is probably a consequence of the fact that Patterson, with all his qualities, is certainly not a singer, nor are Antimatter a band in the canonical sense. For this reason, making virtue of necessity, and lacking a flesh-and-blood drummer to support him, Patterson, in his compositional isolationism, is forced to resort to electronic beats to give body to his compositions, and see his verses materialized through the throats of grieving muses. Apart from these tricks, dictated more by circumstances, Patterson’s artistic world remains largely unchanged, and for a good two-thirds continues to reflect what Roger Waters & Co. managed between “The Wall” and “The Final Cut.”
Thus, there is continued indulgence in that tearing introspection swinging between whisper and desperate cry, the word ending in echo, the minimal piano, prolonged organ chords, hypnotic guitar arpeggios, obsessive bass chimes: all, however, weighed down by a citationism that, as in the times of “Alternative 4,” becomes sometimes cumbersome, and by a mastery of the instruments that over time will remain approximate (over the years, sad to say, Patterson, perhaps due to calluses developed from strumming the thick strings of his favorite instrument, the bass, will never achieve a delicate touch with other instruments, stubbornly plucking piano, particularly, and guitar, generally, like an amateur).
The last chapter of Antimatter with Patterson in the lineup is “Planetary Confinement,” an album (even more so than the previous ones) split in two, a product of different sessions and no longer similar artistic sensibilities. Despite being able to speak of works brought to life by different bands, the material is homogeneous, and the two parts find a complementary nature. On one side, Patterson, faithful to his line, chooses to explore the more bucolic and scenic component of his artistic vision (not coincidentally, after his departure, he will focus on the folk music project Ion), entrusting his songs to the languid voice of Amélie Festa (which in some moments will recall those sweetness acoustic brackets that used to split the brutality of Anathema’s early works in two). On the other, Mick Moss, advocating a less visionary but more intimate and singer-songwriter approach, develops his poignant acoustic ballads, displaying enviable interpretative skills, and perhaps managing to surpass his counterpart in terms of pure emotion.
A few words then on this worthy travel companion: equipped primarily with an unusual timbre for the dark universe (a timbre that brings him very close to one of the most beautiful and peculiar rock voices, that of Eddie Vedder), Mick Moss will carry the project forward with honesty and conviction: Antimatter's first album without Patterson (that “Leaving Eden” which will enjoy the support of Daniel Cavanagh in person, just to remain in the Anathema family), carries with it a sensation of loss, of mutilation (the new Antimatter’s is undoubtedly more canonical and predictable rock, expressed predominantly in the acoustic ballad format), but confirms to be an undeniably exciting experience. Thus, if Moss remains indebted to Patterson for life, owing him the visibility that allowed him to establish himself and led him to notoriety, he will demonstrate the ability to survive him, even outside of Antimatter, by crafting credible works such as the debut of Sleeping Pulse, a project shared with Luís Fazendeiro of Painted Black.
This digression becomes necessary to outline the figure of artist/composer Patterson, because what he truly is understood especially when he leaves a band, from the void he leaves after taking care of a project’s start-up (his great capacity) and from how that void is filled: it is as if his former colleagues, once freed from the yoke of such a strong artistic personality, found momentum to freely express themselves, going to occupy those spaces fenced off with unyielding, obsessive and unresolved determination to chase the usual images. Patterson ignores the stylistic innovations introduced by Radiohead, Sigur Ros, post-rock, all elements that will determine the subsequent traits of Anathema’s course. Patterson, while Moss grows and perfects as a singer-songwriter, remains stuck, static at the hobbling piano intro to “Planetary Confinement” and stubbornly pursues the paths of the Absolute with the imposing keyboard textures of “Eternity part 24” (a hallucinated cosmic drift echoing the ever-present Pink Floyd, this time those of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”).
Patterson, indeed, over the years will continue persistently looking at his ideal-type of song embodied by the pinkfloydian “Hey You”. It seems he decides to abandon a project as soon as this intent, this “Creed” (achieving the “perfect song”), is hindered by the emergence of opposing forces within the creative dynamics established with his collaborators. Ultimately, Patterson’s entire career concentrates artistically in attempting to achieve that standard. The limit and at the same time the strength of the Irish musician is precisely this: clear ideas and determination shipwrecked in the unattainability of a standard inaccessible to him. Like mankind's comprehension shattering before the blind pursuit of Eternity.
After Antimatter, Patterson will continue his perilous journey, first with the aforementioned Ion project and then with an appearance in the fellow countrymen The Aftermath, an Irish pop-rock band able to achieve decent success in the homeland. After closing this chapter, he will establish Alternative 4, a name and a program: explicitly in the monicker choice (among other things the umpteenth starting with A and including in itself the letters A, N, and T!) is the will to self-celebrate and carry on the usual sounds, resulting in Patterson ending up recycling both himself and the formula that now characterizes him, but in a less convincing way.
Is Patterson, then, finally ready for retirement? Not at all! From his blog (where we now find him as a mature man, short hair and an intellectual beard) we gather that he is alive and well indeed. He will participate in the Resonance Tour 2015 of Anathema, a mini tour in Europe that the band will undertake with former members like Patterson, and the unforgettable Darren White, poet and visionary vocalist of the first era (then leader of the unfortunate Blood Divine). A temporary reunion that however does not shock or make us hope for the future: although over the years a sincere friendship and mutual respect bond has been maintained between Patterson and his former colleagues, Denny & Vinnie now more than ever demonstrate looking ahead with a clear communion of intent that obviously does not consider a rapprochement with an uncomfortable personality like Patterson, who, in turn, like his former colleagues, doesn’t seem at all eager to share his ideas in a project where he does not have full control.
But not only: another interesting piece of news we learn from his blog is that funding was recently completed for the creation of the most ambitious project of his life, namely an entirely orchestral album called, not surprisingly, “The Eternity Suite”: ironically, Patterson’s world, although not that vast, still looks, perpetually, stubbornly, toward distant horizons, with the heroic and fatal resolution of an albatross’s flight heading, tiredly, reflecting in the slightly rippled waters of a calm sea at sunset, toward the starry night of Eternity…
“…death is an angel that transports us from the dark world to the bright world. Every evening, wrapped in shadow, I look at the sky and see the stars shining. I know that one day I will sail happily among them.”
(Alejandro Jodorowsky, “Loïe del cielo” - “Tre storie magiche”)
From the very beginning of Anathema's history, Duncan Patterson was a thinking mind: however, it would be with the “Eternity”/“Alternative 4” duo that his artistic personality would fully express itself. These two albums represent fundamental building blocks for the incredible evolutionary climb undertaken by the Liverpool band: from the decadent doom/death of the beginnings to the refined and thrilling “neo-prog” (if we want to call it that) of today, “Eternity” and “Alternative 4” were necessary.
“Eternity” still carries with it the forcefulness and majesty that characterized the band's first phase, but at the same time it ventures into more advanced territory on the path to emancipation from the metal word, arriving at a psychedelic rock clearly marked by Floydian influences. The arpeggiated bass and the majestic orchestrations curated by Patterson himself, his mournful lyrics, form the backbone of music taking on new metaphysical features that highlight the existentialist approach, the investigative tension toward themes of Life, Death, and Destiny, inherent to the bassist: these themes, at a musical level, translate into a layered, grandiloquent sound, dense with pathos, though not without flaws and sometimes over the top, previously introduced by the “Pentecost III” EP first, and by “The Silent Enigma” subsequently.
If “Eternity” marks the divide between two eras, it is “Alternative 4” that merits inaugurating a new course for the band, taking them from that moment on to more introspective shores, further distancing themselves from typical metal stylistic traits. From the universal to the particular, it is the tragedy of the Self in Society that takes center stage: the solemn touch of the piano, the delicacy of the acoustic ballad, the struggles of a broken interiority forever replace the sonic blasts, the chaos, the rivers of feedback from the past. If Pink Floyd had until then been a source of inspiration, now the boundary of the most blatant citationism is crossed: even too explicit references to works like “The Wall” and “The Final Cut,” together with a not yet complete mastery of new expressive instruments, will hinder the free flow of those live energies that previously allowed the band to structure a strong and peculiar identity within the metal-doom dimension in which it had grown.
A new, splendid identity Anathema will find later, just as Patterson decides to leave. Not so much in the still very good “Judgement,” a crepuscular and apocalyptic work from title and cover (released not by chance in 1999), where the ghost of the charismatic bassist will continue to reside (no longer present in the lineup), but in the subsequent “A Fine Day to Exit” and “A Natural Disaster.” Finally freed from the “watersian” component of the band, the more rigorous and conceptual one, the Cavanagh brothers will freely and without veto spread their wings, happily ferrying their art toward new “sweet” goals, album after album, fence after fence, up to the very high peaks reached by “Weather Systems” (absolute pinnacle of the latest phase of their production, the “refounding” that came with the release of “We’re Here Because We’re Here” after a long pause for reflection). A virtuous path dictated above all by the confirmation of the excellent compositional qualities of Daniel (the group's “gilmourian” soul, now undisputed in its “airiness,” and no longer forced into the rigid meshes of Patterson's aseptic and minimal artistic vision); secondly, by the progressive emergence of Vincent's personality (growing vertiginously behind the microphone and increasingly involved in writing, arrangements, and artistic direction – he would further push towards electronic experimentation territories); finally, by the compactness of a group of musicians (Lee Douglas primarily) cohesive and well-focused on a single convergent goal.
But this, after all, is another story. Once the specific weight of Patterson in the economy of sound and the evolution of Anathema is established (it was he who brought Pink Floyd into a band of mere metalheads, and perhaps, without him, the Liverpool combo today would be nothing more than an authoritative exponent of the New Wave of British Doom-Metal alongside Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride, who, after a phase of experimentation, soon returned to the gothic metal fold), with this fact clear, our spotlight must be turned on this artist who, with tenacity and determination, continued his path in the shadows, demonstrating an integrity and artistic depth certainly not inferior to that of his former colleagues.
“Trapped in time
A miracle of hope and change
A swirling mass, no mercy now
If the truth hurts prepare for pain
...Do you think we’re forever?”
(Duncan Patterson, “Eternity part I”)
His path is, in reality, the offspring of a stubborn artistic vision that over time will maintain the strengths and weaknesses of Patterson as a composer/executor: visionary architect of sumptuous sound structures on one side, and restless, fragile minstrel chasing nonexistent answers on the other, he will remain an incomplete artist, like his works, suspended between exceptional moments and an overall aftertaste of a missed masterpiece. Like the best exponents of apocalyptic folk, he is drawn to Death, his art expresses a desire for Death, he therefore undergoes the trauma of the End and his art is nothing but the expression of forces meant to exorcize it in the search for a guiding thread in the chaos and pain of life on this world: a path that leads him toward Eternity.
Musically, however, he has clear ideas, and his entire journey, as ambitious as it might be, is a remixing of the same elements: moving from a true cult for the pinkfloydian production of the late seventies/early eighties, namely from “Wish You Were Here” to “The Final Cut,” through, of course, that “The Wall” which has been the model desperately pursued for a lifetime, Patterson develops a pathway that has roots in the monumental catastrophism of Celtic Frost’s “Into the Pandemonium” (an influence mainly perceivable in Anathema's early albums) for later donning the elegance and decadent spleen of dark-wave. Simultaneously cultivating a passion for the tunes and atmospheres of the Irish folk tradition, his homeland.
A conceptual and then formal rigor that doesn’t really surprise if we consider Patterson (despite having confronted various instruments over the years) as an “existentialist bassist” (a category whose ideal-type is found in idol Waters and its perfect opposite in Pastorius): because for those who do not have rhythm naturally and an uncontrollable, compulsive attraction to slap, the bass becomes a comfortable refuge. Patterson, like all existential bassists, takes his first steps hiding behind those four strings (whereas the guitar is too vast and dispersive a universe to explore); playing in a doom-metal band, he had the opportunity to practice, grow, among one round after another, in the comfort of prolonged guitar chords; once matured, he’ll finally realize that the role of the director, rather than the leading actor, is best suited for him. And his music inevitably becomes minimal: a rigorous latticework of angular notes within which to pour fluid visions.
It is with Antimatter, his new project, that we will truly understand Patterson’s significance in Anathema: much of his previous band is present in Antimatter, a shared endeavor with singer/guitarist Mick Moss. Thus, it is the bassist’s heritage those settings reeking of bleak empty rooms where the soliloquies of a restless unhappy soul chewing its pain with clenched teeth and suddenly screaming its anguish are amplified: that psychotic universe where those words whispered or spoken in that way echo, composing a lyrical imagery that couldn’t be more typical (negative and pessimistic lyrics earning Antimatter the title of “the saddest band”). From a stylistic point of view, Patterson's visions find expression in many other quick solutions: the dramatic prolonging of a guitar feedback expressing irreconcilable tensions; a sudden and liberating cry that leads nowhere; the timeless solitary singing of a fairy (lullabies which had found space since the times of “Crestfallen” and “Serenades,” clearly Patterson’s contribution). More generally, those cinematic passages, those bucolic settings with metaphysical connotations are the offspring of the artistic sensitivity of the Irish musician, as previously mentioned, expressing an attachment to his homeland's tradition.
Antimatter, at least initially, incorporates into their sound corpus electronic patterns and the massive presence (no longer accessory) of female voices: elements constructing scenarios close to the smoky universe of Bristol’s trip-hop (Portishead primarily). This is probably a consequence of the fact that Patterson, with all his qualities, is certainly not a singer, nor are Antimatter a band in the canonical sense. For this reason, making virtue of necessity, and lacking a flesh-and-blood drummer to support him, Patterson, in his compositional isolationism, is forced to resort to electronic beats to give body to his compositions, and see his verses materialized through the throats of grieving muses. Apart from these tricks, dictated more by circumstances, Patterson’s artistic world remains largely unchanged, and for a good two-thirds continues to reflect what Roger Waters & Co. managed between “The Wall” and “The Final Cut.”
Thus, there is continued indulgence in that tearing introspection swinging between whisper and desperate cry, the word ending in echo, the minimal piano, prolonged organ chords, hypnotic guitar arpeggios, obsessive bass chimes: all, however, weighed down by a citationism that, as in the times of “Alternative 4,” becomes sometimes cumbersome, and by a mastery of the instruments that over time will remain approximate (over the years, sad to say, Patterson, perhaps due to calluses developed from strumming the thick strings of his favorite instrument, the bass, will never achieve a delicate touch with other instruments, stubbornly plucking piano, particularly, and guitar, generally, like an amateur).
The last chapter of Antimatter with Patterson in the lineup is “Planetary Confinement,” an album (even more so than the previous ones) split in two, a product of different sessions and no longer similar artistic sensibilities. Despite being able to speak of works brought to life by different bands, the material is homogeneous, and the two parts find a complementary nature. On one side, Patterson, faithful to his line, chooses to explore the more bucolic and scenic component of his artistic vision (not coincidentally, after his departure, he will focus on the folk music project Ion), entrusting his songs to the languid voice of Amélie Festa (which in some moments will recall those sweetness acoustic brackets that used to split the brutality of Anathema’s early works in two). On the other, Mick Moss, advocating a less visionary but more intimate and singer-songwriter approach, develops his poignant acoustic ballads, displaying enviable interpretative skills, and perhaps managing to surpass his counterpart in terms of pure emotion.
A few words then on this worthy travel companion: equipped primarily with an unusual timbre for the dark universe (a timbre that brings him very close to one of the most beautiful and peculiar rock voices, that of Eddie Vedder), Mick Moss will carry the project forward with honesty and conviction: Antimatter's first album without Patterson (that “Leaving Eden” which will enjoy the support of Daniel Cavanagh in person, just to remain in the Anathema family), carries with it a sensation of loss, of mutilation (the new Antimatter’s is undoubtedly more canonical and predictable rock, expressed predominantly in the acoustic ballad format), but confirms to be an undeniably exciting experience. Thus, if Moss remains indebted to Patterson for life, owing him the visibility that allowed him to establish himself and led him to notoriety, he will demonstrate the ability to survive him, even outside of Antimatter, by crafting credible works such as the debut of Sleeping Pulse, a project shared with Luís Fazendeiro of Painted Black.
This digression becomes necessary to outline the figure of artist/composer Patterson, because what he truly is understood especially when he leaves a band, from the void he leaves after taking care of a project’s start-up (his great capacity) and from how that void is filled: it is as if his former colleagues, once freed from the yoke of such a strong artistic personality, found momentum to freely express themselves, going to occupy those spaces fenced off with unyielding, obsessive and unresolved determination to chase the usual images. Patterson ignores the stylistic innovations introduced by Radiohead, Sigur Ros, post-rock, all elements that will determine the subsequent traits of Anathema’s course. Patterson, while Moss grows and perfects as a singer-songwriter, remains stuck, static at the hobbling piano intro to “Planetary Confinement” and stubbornly pursues the paths of the Absolute with the imposing keyboard textures of “Eternity part 24” (a hallucinated cosmic drift echoing the ever-present Pink Floyd, this time those of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”).
Patterson, indeed, over the years will continue persistently looking at his ideal-type of song embodied by the pinkfloydian “Hey You”. It seems he decides to abandon a project as soon as this intent, this “Creed” (achieving the “perfect song”), is hindered by the emergence of opposing forces within the creative dynamics established with his collaborators. Ultimately, Patterson’s entire career concentrates artistically in attempting to achieve that standard. The limit and at the same time the strength of the Irish musician is precisely this: clear ideas and determination shipwrecked in the unattainability of a standard inaccessible to him. Like mankind's comprehension shattering before the blind pursuit of Eternity.
After Antimatter, Patterson will continue his perilous journey, first with the aforementioned Ion project and then with an appearance in the fellow countrymen The Aftermath, an Irish pop-rock band able to achieve decent success in the homeland. After closing this chapter, he will establish Alternative 4, a name and a program: explicitly in the monicker choice (among other things the umpteenth starting with A and including in itself the letters A, N, and T!) is the will to self-celebrate and carry on the usual sounds, resulting in Patterson ending up recycling both himself and the formula that now characterizes him, but in a less convincing way.
Is Patterson, then, finally ready for retirement? Not at all! From his blog (where we now find him as a mature man, short hair and an intellectual beard) we gather that he is alive and well indeed. He will participate in the Resonance Tour 2015 of Anathema, a mini tour in Europe that the band will undertake with former members like Patterson, and the unforgettable Darren White, poet and visionary vocalist of the first era (then leader of the unfortunate Blood Divine). A temporary reunion that however does not shock or make us hope for the future: although over the years a sincere friendship and mutual respect bond has been maintained between Patterson and his former colleagues, Denny & Vinnie now more than ever demonstrate looking ahead with a clear communion of intent that obviously does not consider a rapprochement with an uncomfortable personality like Patterson, who, in turn, like his former colleagues, doesn’t seem at all eager to share his ideas in a project where he does not have full control.
But not only: another interesting piece of news we learn from his blog is that funding was recently completed for the creation of the most ambitious project of his life, namely an entirely orchestral album called, not surprisingly, “The Eternity Suite”: ironically, Patterson’s world, although not that vast, still looks, perpetually, stubbornly, toward distant horizons, with the heroic and fatal resolution of an albatross’s flight heading, tiredly, reflecting in the slightly rippled waters of a calm sea at sunset, toward the starry night of Eternity…
“…death is an angel that transports us from the dark world to the bright world. Every evening, wrapped in shadow, I look at the sky and see the stars shining. I know that one day I will sail happily among them.”
Loading comments slowly
