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Rating: "Silence and I,” you used to sing.
Now you are together, you and that silence full of orchestral colors; and, frankly, I feel a deep sadness thinking about it.
You left, in silence, more than two months ago and hardly anyone has talked about it; so much so that I—who grew up with your and Alan's project—discovered it this morning at the office, almost by chance, with a coffee cup in hand and eyes still sleepy in front of the laptop screen.
I listen to this “Poe—More Tales Of Mystery And Imagination” with a veil of sadness in my eyes; and it matters little if perhaps it doesn't enchant like the parent that, seventeen years earlier, gave soul and body to a wonderful story. From Poe to Poe, facing torrid swarms of golden insects, traveling corrosive avenues, always watched by famished farm buzzards.
The ideal follow-up of that masterpiece is born from the adaptation of a musical that meanwhile the good Eric had written and sees, as the main performer, the excellent Steve Balsamo, a singer who comes directly from the theatrical stage.
The work, recorded at Abbey Road Studios in two thousand three, however, does not see any contributions from the historic musicians of the Alan Parsons project; Woolfson himself almost exclusively limits himself to writing and keyboards: only one of the songs is indeed enriched by his splendid voice, however supported by the young performer.
As in the illustrious predecessor, this work also develops some of the renowned tales of the ingenious American writer into song form, however, joining them with moments inspired by the degraded urban reality and the relentless human context in which the latter lived his short and melancholic life. The beautiful and elusive instrumental “Angel Of The Odd” immediately highlights the skill of the musicians—many, moreover—hired by the late Woolfson, among whom are guitarist John Parricelli and percussionist Martin Ditcham.
Introduced by jingles much owed to the old friend and performed with great charisma by Balsamo, “Wings Of Eagles” is a vision of the nineteenth-century reality filtered through the writer’s eyes; John Parricelli’s powerful bass adds further color to a very airy melody. “Train To Freedom,” on the other hand, is the disorienting transposition for choirs and a husky voice (that of Fred Johanson) of the political society of the time, the same that probably drove the writer into the arms of those vote hunters who would beat him to death*.
The wide-vision ballad returns with “Somewhere In The Audience”; it addresses one of the recurring themes in the American’s poetics, that of early death—he never fully absorbed the premature death of his mother and fell into deep despair at the subsequent passing of his wife.
Instead, the dissonant notes of “The Bells,” performed by the choir “The Metro Voice,” appear unsettling even in form; it aims to highlight the writer's attention to the sound of the words themselves, in search of the acoustic effect that delights the reader's ear (think, for example, of the exquisite musicality of “Annabel Lee”).
The hardest piece of the work, actually three movements forming a unicuum, is “The Pit And The Pendulum” (from the famous tale about the tortures of the Inquisition): sung by Balsamo and supported by a great rhythmic section (two drummers play on the album, Ralph Salmins and Ian Thomas) at both ends, it also distinguishes itself by its instrumental and keyboard-dominated central part.
In the transposition of one of Poe's most famous works, “The Murders In The Rue Morgue”, a Woolfson (very distant from Parsonsian glories) finally sings, but the scene is often sustained by the young Balsamo's narrative voice and the piercing and alienating choirs of the refrain.
After a brief and very sweet digression once again dedicated to the relationship between the mother and the very young son (“Tiny Star”), interpreted with passion by Balsamo, we arrive at the two beautiful pieces that conclude this work; “Goodbye To All That” is a track with a Celtic flavor, with Dermot Crehan’s violin embroidering the engaging pursuit of two different choirs, almost symbolizing the sad union—which will reveal itself to be very brief—between Edgar (Brighton Festival Chorus) and the beloved cousin Virginia (The Metro Voices).
The piece flows into a nostalgic yet hypnotic call back to the first album (although in the latter it will only be included in the second version, the one from 1987), namely the warm voice of Orson Welles.
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
“Immortal,” finally, is a moving crescendo manifesto to the enduring memory of the unfortunate writer; Balsamo's final cry is as prophetic as ever; especially today. Especially now that I have found out.
In one of his finest performances, he once sang these words:
You read the book, you turn the page;
You change your life in a thousand ways.
The dawn of reason lights your eyes,
with the key you realise
to the kingdom of the wise.
I like to imagine that now he is there, with the friends that time takes away.
Goodbye my friends, maybe forever; goodbye my friends, the stars wait for me.
Who knows where we shall meet again? If ever…
But time keeps flowing like a river (on and on) to the sea.
To the sea, till it’s gone forever.
Gone forever…
Gone forevermore…
Thank you, Eric.
*For the minimal thematic context I wanted to give to the review (and for the album credits) I referred to the net, and in particular to the text at this address; however, I tried to limit myself to minimal hints, so as not to undermine the personality of the review, which I hope will not be doubted.
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