Island
Pictures

Sometimes, events so improbable occur that, besides catching us off guard, they stir up a thousand doubts in our minds taken by surprise. When I listened to this record, I was exactly like that: shocked. Because the subject at hand is an astounding work, with an incredible beauty and originality... But then why? Why does nobody know about it? How is it possible that such a hodgepodge of sounds and styles, ranging from the dark and unsettling tones of the gothic-flavored art rock of Van Der Graaf Generator, through the baroque technicality of Gentle Giant, all the way to the jazzy airs of the Canterbury scene, has gone unnoticed for over thirty years? It's pointless to search for reasons by talking about how the musical tastes of the vast majority of people have evolved (evolved...) over this period and the passive indoctrination of the media on new generations, otherwise, I'll end up getting upset over nothing. So, let's focus on this work that has remained for too long in the recesses of the darkest shelf of the musical world, and get ready to give it a good dusting...

But before grabbing the cloth, I believe it's necessary and appropriate to say a few words about the creators of this work; the four Swiss who in 1977, under the name Island, went to the Dischi-Ricordi studios in Milan to record this "Pictures," their first and only recording. The band is led by vocalist Benjamin Jager (formerly with Toad, but he left after completing the first LP), co-author of all the tracks along with the keyboardist Peter Scherer, who also handles the bass pedal. Not by coincidence, there is no bassist... and the guitarist? Neither, but we don't miss him. Completing the lineup are saxophonist René Fisch, who seems not to mind using the flute and clarinet as well, and drummer Guge Jurg Meier, who also handles percussion (oh yes, in this group everyone plays percussion..).

Let's return to our cleaning intentions and start scrubbing. As we polish the cover, the first thing that strikes us is the illustration by Giger (a fellow countryman of the four musicians), stunning and menacing, almost disturbing in its boundless wealth of details (one of the peculiar traits of all the artistic works of Hans), so much so that it almost manages to take on the appearance of pure terror coming to life; a nightmare that inexorably spills over into our conscious dimension, following and tormenting our ephemeral certainties and shattering our reference points, thus making us sink into a distorted and grotesque reality, where the insecurities and fears we can't shake off are amplified beyond the human limit of endurance. It is in this climate of suspension and anguish that the first sounds of "Introduction" begin, or perhaps I should say choruses, voices, whispers, murmurs... And when our soul begins to get accustomed to the darkness, we too start not feeling like victims of some sophisticated auditory torture anymore.. no.. the notes become clearer, and we realize we are in the presence of a symphony not meant to attack us, but to guide us through this black labyrinth in which we cannot orient ourselves alone. Thus, it will be the combined use of keyboards and sax in the instrumental "Zero" that takes us by the hand and amazes us with its unpredictable tempo and tone changes, clearing the gloomy atmosphere that permeates the album.

From now on, the tracks won't last less than 12 minutes, and this "Pictures" almost reaches 17, so describing them would be quite difficult unless resorting to a dry minute-by-minute chronicle. Suffice it to say that Ben's voice often appears like a call from oblivion, an echoing lament in the darkest nooks of the dimension into which this record has catapulted us, sometimes so lyrical and visceral that it reminds us of the disasters prophesied by Mr. Hammill during the Assault of the Lighthouse Keepers. René's sax (played much less harshly compared to David Jackson's, just to continue the comparison with VDGG), always present with its fascinating and majestic airs in this last piece, gives way to the keyboards in the following "Herold and King, Dloreh," indeed introduced by a gloomy solo piano and then developed over the equally dark and deep tones produced by Peter's instrument, at times eclipsed by the verses sung in reverse that appear occasionally during the composition's progression (the title gives you a hint as Dloreh is nothing but Herold spelled backwards). The album closes with "Here and Now," where the clarinet and keyboards weave their intricate textures, supported by the inexplicable rhythm of Guge's drums and Ben's anguished voice, creating an atmosphere so dense and loaded with sensations that it could almost be touched.

But the real surprise has yet to arrive. Yes, because the Laser's Edge, which deserves great credit for reissuing this work by pressing it on CD, has included a bonus track at the end of the album... No! Not the usual discarded, filler, and useless track... No... we are talking about "Empty Bottles," a 23-minute suite in which the dark fogs of the actual album tend to clear in favor of a jazz-flavored jam session where all instruments contribute to constructing an imposing sonic tower, atop which we can almost recognize the beautiful Canterbury valleys stretching in the distance. It starts with the inspired wind component of the usual René and the now gentle and melodic keyboards of Peter, passing through Ben's more relaxed yet always evocative voice, and reaching the rhythmic section, where, besides Guge's improvisation, we find the mysterious bass of an unknown musician, not credited in the work's credits. After this hopefully comprehensive overview of what I consider a true masterpiece unjustly relegated to the perpetual shadow of most people's indifference, I leave you by clarifying a fundamental point: only (and I emphasize only) the bonus track is worth purchasing the album... You decide.