Landberk
Indian Summer

Welcome to our world... Welcome slightly...

At the brink of autumn, when winter, the real one, the one that can freeze even the soul, is about to make its entrance, in the northern regions it is possible to witness the phenomenon of the 'Indian summer'.

For a few days, a gentle warmth envelops everything: the trees, yellowed by autumn, bloom again, the animals, already ready for a long hibernation, awaken and repopulate the woods, the furs and heavy coats are put away in the closets, and people go out to the streets in search of the last rays of a pale sun.

It is a small summer that sneaks in where it shouldn't be, it's the mockery of winter that will soon whiten everything, it's the taste of sweet sugar before the bitterness.

The music of Landberk is like this: suspended between the crimson melancholy of autumn and the chill of those who are used to carrying the cold even in their hearts, between sweet and soft layers of mellotron and frippian guitar evolutions and slow and measured notes like the falling snow. Progressive... But not the impetuous and syncopated kind, nor the cerebral and alien, but the more emotional and natural kind, the one made of rarefied and hypnotic sounds, of simple instruments and few poignant notes.

With ÄNGLAGÅRD, they were the reference points for the Swedish prog renaissance, and like them, they disappeared too prematurely, leaving a few albums as witnesses of their talent.

Landberk is the name of a river in the north of Sweden, where singer Patric Helje and guitarist Reine Fiske used to go to fish, not for sport but to procure food. Every aspect of their music is therefore essential, created not to surprise but to strike directly at the listener's heart.

"Indian summer", their swan song, is the most accessible of their brief production, where the progressive component is rarefied in simple and incisive sounds, typically seventies but with a look at the new wave that shortly after would take over. They remind one of the early King Crimson, those of "Moonchild" or "Starless", to be clear. Those who are used to long and exhausting instrumental runs, who make self-indulgent virtuosity their creed, who love dressing up as court wizards and surrounding themselves with colorful organs and keyboards might fall asleep in front of the poignant notes of the title track, or like a gold seeker, toil to find virtuosity in "Humanize" or in "Dreamdance" coming out dissatisfied and disappointed.

It's an album I would recommend to those who love the more introspective Radiohead or the laments of Sigur Rós; it's an album that wants to be warm where there is only cold.

Here there are no protagonists: even Fiske's skillful guitar, now reminiscent of early Fripp, now of The Edge in the "Unforgettable Fire" period, stands aside to make its drawings, its doodles. Here, the protagonist is only the music, linear, now melancholic, now cold, now warm like that little piece of summer.