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Rating: From the deepest pit of darkness, where almost nothing can be seen, a cry emerges: not croaky, nor desolate, goodness, you wouldn't believe it!
Apathetic and calm, on the contrary, this cry gently cradles itself amidst a swirling and gloomy orchestral ensemble dominated by the harmonium and an imperious organ, during the first moments of "Janitor Of Lunacy," a sacred ode that preludes one of the most obscure and controversial albums in the history of Contemporary Music: Desertshore.
And this cry, apocalyptic and impassive, instills infinite fear within its own normality: it almost seems that the androgynous and persuasive voice of Christa Paffgen is simply higher. Very high. But there is no trace of pain in it. Only colorless tears falling, tears of nothing, of that subtle cry of someone who has already suffered so much and now is well acquainted with the world's misfortunes, and accepts them, or rather, integrates them piece by piece into their soul, crumb by crumb, and after finishing eating the last crumb, sings - or rather - cries out to the World what they have seen and felt, with resignation.
As a result of this inescapable and depressing resignation are odes (more than songs) such as the decadent march of "Abschied" and "Mutterlein," both accompanied by gothic and ancestral atmospheres - in which Our Lady evokes an eternal material and tangible with granite hardness - the sublime "My Only Child," sung entirely a cappella, where the voice melodically tunes with intermittent phases of silence, and the lugubrious concluding parade of "All That Is My Own," where John Cale's 'old' viola, accompanied in the background by trumpets, solemnly celebrates its triumphant revival for a Masterpiece.
Glimmers of hope - flat, faint, yet they are there - can instead be found between Cale's playful and childish sonata that, amidst the gloomy and abysmal backdrop of "The Falconer," finds an outlet at some point: the piano makes everything more gentle and sweet, and even Nico herself shows unexpected signs of positivity and comfort, abandoning herself in a clement and honeyed little song. Such is "Afraid," the most intense point of the work, where the 'cold androgynous' melts into a sweet melancholy enchantment: you will be attracted.
Even the shy and moving nursery rhyme in French, which is the absolute protagonist in "Le Petit Chevalier," grants a bit of joy, a bit of love: the singer indeed is a child, and not just any child, it is Ari, Nico's little son who, at the time, should not have been more than four years old. Accompanied by the harpsichord, the voice of the child is the absolute protagonist: if you turn up the volume to the maximum and listen closely, some may notice that in fact, you can hear in the distance the mother's voice suggesting the continuation of the ditty to her son, probably in slight difficulty.
Thus, I have at least attempted to analyze a work that, inherent in its cryptic and prophetic meanings, seeks to find its essence.
In the immobile and icy panorama of infinity, "Desertshore" is a mere, superb instrument in which Nico, divine and unapproachable, not so much as a priestess but as the earthly Judge of Good and Evil, seeks successfully in the impossible endeavor to untangle that very intricate knot that prevents Man from glimpsing the Truth.
And here, she, as centuries or rather millennia ago did the divine Alexander with the Gordian knot, inexorably and impassively severs it with her sharp and lucid sword, thus revealing the thin, eternal thread of Life and Death.
The Truth has finally been unveiled.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Janitor of Lunacy (04:05)
Janitor of lunacy
Paralyze my infancy
Petrify the empty cradle
Bring hope to them and me
Janitor of tyranny
Testify my vanity
Mortalize my memory
Deceive the Devil's deed
Tolerate my jealousy
Recognize the desperate need
Janitor of lunacy
Identify my destiny
Revive the living dream
Forgive their begging scream
Seal the giving of their seed
Disease the breathing grief
02 The Falconer (05:43)
The falconer is sitting on
His summersand at dawn
Unlocking flooded silvercages
And with a silverdin arise
All the lovely faces
And the lovely silvertraces erase
My empty pages
The falconer is sitting on
His summersand at dawn
Beside his singing silverwaves
And his dancing rebelrace
That compose ahead of timeless time
A sound inside my candle light
Father child
Angels of the night
Silverframe my candlelight
Father child
Angels of the night
Silverframe my candlelight
The falconer is sitting on
His summersand at dawn
Unlocking flooded silvercages
And with a silverdin arise
All the lovely faces
And the lovely silvertraces erase
My empty pages
05 Abschied (03:05)
Seinem Geiste bekenne Ich Mich
Ein Sehnen verzehret sein schones Gesicht
Das ermattet von Gute beschattet allmachtig ist
Sein Korper bewegt sich nicht
Im Traume sich endlich sein Zwingen vergisst
Den heulenden Jubel erkenne Ich nicht
Der Mir den heiligen Frieden zerbricht
Sein schweigender Mund, seine schlafende Brust
Harren zartlich der sussen Lust
Sein Korper bewegt sich nicht
Im Traume sich endlich sein Zwingen vergisst
06 Afraid (03:31)
Cease to know or to tell
Or to see or to be your own
Cease to know or to tell
Or to see or to be your own
Have someone else's will as your own
Have someone else's will as your own
You are beautiful and you are alone
You are beautiful and you are alone
Often the adolescent plague
Reward your grace
Often the adolescent plague
Reward your grace
Confuse your hunger capture the fake
Confuse your hunger capture the fake
Banish the faceless reward your grace
Banish the faceless reward your grace
08 All That Is My Own (03:28)
Your winding winds stood so
All that is my own
Where land and water meet
Where on my soul I sit upon my bed
Your ways have led me to bleed
Every child will be able to weep
Every wise man spoke of him
Every keeper will be sleeper
And a guide to ways unsure
Your winding winds did sow
All that is my own
Where land and water meet
Where on my soul
I sit upon my bed
Your ways have led me to bleed
He who knows may pass on
The word unknown
And meet me on the desertshore
Meet me on the desertshore
Your winding winds did sow
All that is my own
Where land and water meet
Where on my soul
I sit upon my bed
Your ways have led me to bleed
He who knows may pass on
The word unknown
And meet me on the desertshore
Meet me on the desertshore
Meet me on the desertshore
Your winding winds stood so
All that is my own
Where land and water meet
Where on my soul
I sit upon my bed
Your ways have led me to bleed
He who knows may pass on the word I know
And meet me on the desertshore
Meet me on the desertshore
Your winding winds did sow
All that is my own
Where land and water meet
Where on my soul
I sit upon my bed
Your ways have led me to bleed
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Other reviews
By egebamyasi
Describing this monument is not simple, it is indeed impossible.
"Desertshore" cruelly reveals to you that this is not true, it is your tenuous construction.
By COX
Desertshore is one of those milestones that makes its gloominess and spectral theatricality its strong point.
Dark and new wave enthusiasts cannot afford to have Desertshore absent from their discography.
By luludia
A divine and human voice (all too human).
Desertshore is a perfect title, but The Inner Scar would have been perfect too.
By Caspasian
The temple of Pöffgen is a psychic construction; the brazier burns eternally.
The High Priestess is surrounded by nothing, the noise of nothingness is deafening.
