:Of The Wand & The Moon:
Lucifer

“Lucifer”, released in 2003, is the third album by “:Of the Wand and the Moon” and concludes a trilogy that began with “Nighttimes Nightrhymes” and continued with “:Emptiness:Emptiness:Emptiness”: a trilogy intended to shine a light on paganism and Norse mythologies to examine and interpret the bleak “modern times”, in line with the traditions of apocalyptic folk, but with the intriguing variation brought by the “Danishness” of its artist.

"Lucifer" is the weak link of the trilogy, a set that in the two previous works had managed to captivate, despite the proposal of good Kim Larsen (the man behind the project) not being the most original. In this case, speaking of plagiarism no longer makes sense (the music of :Of the Wand and the Moon: has always been shamelessly close to Death in June of the paradigmatic “Rose Clouds of Holocaust”), because we are now moving into the dull territories of the most blatant self-plagiarism. Therefore, “Lucifer” adds nothing to what has already been established in previous albums, if anything, it subtracts something, further plunging the blade into the most extremist minimalism, pushing the music of :Of the Wand and the Moon: towards a more elemental form of songwriting (the pieces are almost exclusively based on the voice/guitar duo), yet still within the boundaries of the genre.

And yet, I like Kim Larsen, and here I lay my cards on the table: hypothetically lying on a couch, beyond the stern figure of my psychoanalyst, I find myself forced to admit that I like Kim Larsen (and a lot) despite my Superego continuing to tell me that his music has nothing astonishing.

I like it for the atmospheres our Dane can weave, intimate nocturnal atmospheres by a crackling bonfire in the grove, primal atmospheres that turn back the hands of the clock centuries back, atmospheres filled with a universality that seems to be the heritage of every man on this earth.

And yet Kim Larsen cannot bring out the masterpiece of his life. “Nighttime Nightrhymes” could have been it, as it is certainly his most inspired work, but it lacks something: perhaps what was missing was indeed Larsen's voice, which preferred to adorn his compositions with an anonymous and cloying whisper that ended up ruining the good insights pervading his songs (a choice conceptually justifiable considering that etymologically speaking the term Rùn means “secret, mystery”, and the verb Raunen “to whisper, murmur”). “Emptiness:Emptiness:Emptiness” had, from this point of view, taken a step forward, being a repository of a “real” voice, though terribly monotonous and plaintive. Too bad then that overall the album suffered from excessive prolixity, due to its exhausting duration and particularly a couple of dark ambient pieces that could have been avoided.

"Lucifer" has a voice and shortens the duration, but alas, it is penalized by a compositional weariness that lowers the overall level of the work.

Too bad, because it started well with the title track, a song that maintains a strong connection with the most successful episodes of the previous work: warm and seductive voice, fascinating arpeggios lost in the pitch black of the most desperate night, songwriting that retains a high devotion to the enigmatic world of runes. Even the pieces that immediately follow aren't bad: “Naer Skòg Naer Fjollum” with its archaic flute; “Megin Runar Followe thy Faire Sunne” strong with the embroidery of a dreamy electric guitar; “Unhappy Shaddowe”, a robust folk piece supported by a pressing and highly engaging arpeggio; “Time Time Time”, reinforced by the gentle caresses of an accordion; “Let It Be Ever Thus”, finally, epic in its progression thanks to the arrangements of cello and flute and made overwhelming by a guitar line that once again evokes the eternal ghost of “Rose Clouds of Holocaust”. While not a miracle, we are witnessing an honest and heartfelt apocalyptic folk in typical :Of the Wand and the Moon” style, with the only novelty being the virtually total absence of keyboards, previously used more generously.

These first six tracks would therefore constitute the perfect first half of a good album; unfortunately, the mechanism breaks down, Larsen commits an inexplicable artistic suicide: the almost ten minutes of “Reficul II” (an inevitable ambient track) are nothing short of tedious, while the reprise for voice only of the title track suddenly closes the work in general perplexity and embarrassment. But wait, is it all over already? The impression is therefore that of an incomplete album, “graceful” in its first part, thrown away in its concluding portion. Would it have been better to release an EP? A question not even worth asking, because beyond the form (that of a “horribly mutilated body”), in substance it’s Kim Larsen the artist who disappoints, perhaps skilled in building the usual atmospheres, but unforgivable from a creative point of view, as if the completion of his trilogy was just a duty to fulfill, a mere bureaucratic act.

Our Larsen will realize this, and with the subsequent “Sonnenheim” he will already impress a significant turning point in his project, moving to a more "multicolored" dimension from a stylistic and emotional point of view, but above all recovering his original inspiration.