Kamelot
Poetry For The Poisoned

Wake up at 4. In the morning.

Crampons glisten under the dim artificial light of dying batteries, and anticipating the arduous arrival at the summit is intoxicating: that's practically the only reason I go. But I've been built in such a way that when the last rock arrives and there's nothing left for me to do but look down, I rarely manage to enjoy the landscape. I think, idiot, about the next climb that awaits me because I know that soon I will have to descend. I can't, you idiot, fully enjoy the present. While I let the steaming cd rest, I feel it taking shape, and finally, the image of a rollercoaster becomes clearer and clearer in my eyes.

Adrenaline: not the ones set up for the local fair in the square where lines of four wheels usually sleep in order at the cost of 1 euro an hour. But rather, the ones with the giant sign above the turnstiles. Reminding you that if you lose your breath due to a heart pause, it’s entirely your own problem. I am almost at the top after an exhausting incline and now I am ready for the imminent descent. This is the best moment and not the subsequent dizzying twirls at absurd speeds with churning guts, only if I had eaten something before... The pleasure is at its peak right up there. I can't know if it will be violent and fast or an honest, slow and progressive decline. But the more I listen to this album, the more I am certain that I am in the presence of their apex and, putting it back under the letter K, I think that a fat dozen years to get here is altogether a fair amount of time.

The feeling is supported not only by the deceptive repeated listens but above all by the general and lukewarm coldness that “Poetry For The Poisoned”, released 40 days ago, has received among various specialized sites.

From afar, shrunken into a few sparse pixels, this cover might even seem like a colossal crap: one of those gaudy Royo extravagances that God spare us from. And yet, after listening to the cd, I must admit that upon closer inspection it assumes the traits of a hot mulled wine with crackling chestnuts to follow. Two women in a cold pose. The features are beautiful, elegant and well-proportioned, but they are only visible because they are scratched and marred by mechanical devices surfacing under the pale skin. Dark colors and violent brushstrokes for the swirling hair and the blurred outlines of the portrait. The women represent the search for melody. Tortuous and yet not straightforward: the band's trademark since “The Black Halo”. Those mechanical scratches are deep and embody the desire to experiment by embracing other genres. The sofa, if one can define it as the place where that round tangle of butts and legs rests, is as inviting as a bed of nails. In short, melody yes, but not cheap. This cover warns you that the lovely half-revealed mandolin-shaped buttocks of the cover of “The Fourth Legacy” are distant, now blurred on the horizon line.

Taking for granted, and often it is not the case, an excellent sound production and the technical quality of the musicians and singer, I would like to outline the album in broad strokes. To my great jubilation, the power is definitively abandoned. Even the orchestral/gothic side of “Ghost Opera” is set aside in favor of an overall stern sound with sparse but effective growl and electronic inserts. The extremism in the lead single “The Great Pandemonium”. Despite its violence, it reveals the melodic elegance mentioned above. I particularly appreciated the reduced duration of the tracks and consequently the uncommon ability to synthesize a solid structure in a modest time frame. Often based on riffs, voice, and rhythm section rather than repeated choruses and solos.

I recommend listening, before a potential purchase, to “The Zodiac”: a sonic reworking of the eponymous American serial killer from which Fincher also drew a great movie. A normal classic heavy metal piece, yet capable of showcasing the maturity acquired by the band with a sound in perfect harmony with the lyrics. Sinister music, unsettling yet melodically satisfying thanks to the sharp contrast between verses and chorus. The same discussion could be developed for many other songs on the work, but it is certainly not my intention to spray titles that would end up forgotten. I just hope that the image given to the album is that of a valid and heterogeneous cd overall.

Possibly difficult on a first listen, but nonetheless sweetened by a couple of valuable ballads in which proven skill and professionalism blend the voices of Simone Simmons and Roy Kahn. That the album is carefully crafted is especially evident in the details. The mere flipping through of the elegant booklet; the ability to best highlight the guests by tailoring verses based on their so different voices and the decision to start with a strong single and end on opposite poles with a challenging and successful reimagining of Nick Cave’s “Where The Wild Roses Grow”.

ilfreddo