Faun Fables
Born of the Sun

To talk about Faun Fables and this “Born Of The Sun”, it is essential to meet two fundamental prerequisites: 1) not harbor any animosity toward the flute, in all its forms 2) having seen the movie “The Wicker Man” at least once (not that awful remake from about ten years ago, but the original from the early '70s).

Why? Because there’s quite a lot of flute across the twelve tracks that make up “Born Of The Sun”, with a corresponding dose of committed hippieness and obligatory pastoral medievalism. And because that pagan and slightly eerie atmosphere that permeated the cult film mentioned above and its soundtrack is often found in Faun Fables.

But who on earth are Faun Fables? Basically, to simplify it for you, imagine a pair of pagan folk White Stripes. The image is terrible, but perfectly conveys the improbability of the duo. In truth, it is a project by singer Dawn, who emigrated from the late '90s New York scene and settled in California (where else?) where she seems to have found her personal rural and bucolic Arcadia (a story that seems very much like a 2.0 copy of the vicissitudes of a '70s revival folk singer, Vashti Bunyan).

But why, after so many not exactly positive remarks about the duo, do I find myself here in a shabby hotel room in Nocera Superiore past 11 PM writing about them? Because, damn them, they manage the incredible feat of maintaining an impossible balance of ingredients that, if mishandled, could become your new musical nightmare. What are these ingredients? Let's say British folk during the rural life return period (Sandy Denny, Fairport Convention, and their ilk), occultism and tendentially uneasy and unsettling solutions (Comus and the heirs Current 93), pastoral psychedelia between West Coast America and Canterbury rhymes.

Furthermore, both the vocal and instrumental lines, often skeletal, get immediately stuck in the brainstem for days. Like the almost irritating falsetto of “Madmen & Dogs”, or the distorted, grating and tremendously melancholic guitar that pervades the beautiful “Goodbye” or finally the nursery rhyme for possessed children “Wild Kids Rant”.

Obviously, Dawn takes center stage, with her powerful yet sweetly melodic voice (sometimes bordering on saccharine, but that’s part of the package); practically a mutant cross between Sandy Denny, Vashti Bunyan, and Grace Slick.

Beware, prolonged listening may cause an increase in armpit hair, especially for the female audience.