Sieben
Sex And Wildflowers

Matt Howden had been known to me for quite some time. I'm speaking of Matt Howden the violinist, divine dispenser of emotions often seen with Sol Invictus.

Only recently (and thanks to a suggestion from a discerning debaserian!) did I decide to delve into Sieben, Howden's solo project: an entity I had always been wary of, fearing it might be a faded copy of Tony Wakeford's Sol Invictus.

How mistaken I was: Sieben's music is unique and distinct from Sol Invictus. In it, Howden confirms not only his qualities as a violinist but also all those merits that distinguish every mature and complete artist: complete from every perspective (performative, compositional, expressive).

Howden thus proves to possess the caliber typical of those free spirits (as there have always been and always will be) who, in all times and in every field of artistic expression, find themselves relegated to semi-anonymity, appreciated by few, very few, due to a proposal absolutely out of time, genres, and commercial logic.

To set the record straight, I will say immediately that we are not faced with an apocalyptic folk album, and the only call to the genre is the more mature Sol Invictus (those of "In a Garden Green", just to be clear), occasionally evoked by Howden's unmistakable touch. For the rest, "Sex and Wildflowers" is a jewel with imprecise and elusive connotations, an opus skillfully suspended between folk and rock sonorities: an ancestral and atavistic folk; a rock that does not disdain rough passages, subtle psychedelic sounds, and settings that directly evoke certain bands from the early seventies progressive English scene.

Probably because the sonic corpus of Sieben is mainly composed of the violin, the figure that immediately comes to mind, rightly or wrongly, is that of the inimitable John Cale. Naturally, a Cale stripped of the urban obsessions of the Velvet Underground and the experimental boldness of his solo works. It is rather the Cale who warms with his viola the beautiful "Fly" by Nick Drake (in "Bryter Layter"): a Cale of Nature, fairy-tale, naturist, and pantheistic, whose bow of flowers and twigs slides fluidly on the fresh morning dew.

"Sex and Wildflowers" was released in 2003 and, as the title suggests, is a true hymn to Nature, sensual, painful, and intimate at the same time. In it, spring and autumn copulate wildly: "Sex and Wildflowers" is the contemplation of the changeable, effervescent, and pulsating miracle of Nature, the restless swarming of a wild and kind Nature that basks in a tangle of energies and beings, and that ultimately explodes in its fervent splendor, cradled by the mystical dance of the elements.

To the evocative power of the violin melodies, the keyboards, and Howden's velvety voice, are thus opposed the screeching of the strings themselves, the ferocity of the percussion, the roar of the guitars and the bass: images that the talented Howden (who decides to craft his masterpiece in perfect solitude, taking on all the instruments!), is able to project with grace and refinement on the walls of our mind.

And if the violin is already an instrument with a caressing and fascinating sound (so much so that even the most mediocre violinists can dispense great emotions with just two well-placed strokes of the bow!), it's worth noting that Matt Howden confirms himself as a master violinist: not only technically impeccable but also full of imagination, inspiration, and class.

True class.

So try to combine the magic of the instrument with the talent of the hand that wields it, and you will get "Sex and Wildflowers": eleven pieces supported by a violin that, like a blossoming shrub, explodes vigorously in an effusion of colors, shapes, and scents. Deep and very high notes, profound basses, and daring flights into the sky: the mastery the musician demonstrates in handling his instrument, the ability to instill feelings and emotions, and ultimately draw always different, yet so intense and consistent sounds with his artistic and human vision, is astounding.

The dreamy evolutions of the violin enchant right from the first chilly notes of "Spring Snowdrop", actually a warm sunbeam of late March called to warm our limbs after the lightning and thunder of a stormy spring shower: notes that caress our skin, flowing along the spine like shivers, inundating our arms and legs with intimate warmth, up to the very tips of the fingers, hands, and feet that seem to merge with the surrounding reality. To wake us from the torpor of a hammock swaying in mid-air, next to a calm rivulet, is the furious scraping of the strings in "Forget me Not", a daring flight in the clear skies of a still pure and uncontaminated world. Contemplative and more lively moments alternate without betraying the sensation of being crossed by a continuous emotional flow, one with us and with Nature and the Soul of the entire Universe.

"Virgin in the Green" is a suggestive ballad of violin, bass, and environmental effects and well represents the most painful and evocative side of Sieben's music: Howden's voice, expressive, crystalline and in its simplicity always engaging in becoming a vehicle for poetic verses and a fragile and suspended melancholy, sometimes recalls the most romantic Greg Lake, bringing to mind acts like Emerson, Lake & Palmer or King Crimson in their most relaxed and intense moments.

"John in the Pulpit", "Bleeding Heart", and "Winter Snowdrop" undoubtedly serve as an altar: the first is a bubbling rock that cannot renounce the scratches and remnants of an electric guitar called to dirty the fiery textures of the violin. The second, strong with the bacchanalian tribalism of the percussion, is undoubtedly among the most captivating tracks, certainly the one that most closely approaches the suffering and decadent spleen of certain mid-eighties dark-wave. The third, in its dark and obsessive procession of strings, reconstructs the typical atmospheres of industrial reiteration with only acoustic instruments (phenomenal!). Also worth mentioning is "Loki", another folk tune distinguished by an inspired classical guitar, and the concluding "Deathlust", in which more than ever the ghost of Sol Invictus seems to hover (thanks especially to a powerful distorted bass played in the manner of Karl Blake).

At this point, I have only one piece of advice to give: do not discard this album just because, in a certain way, it seems tied to the damned apocalyptic folk scene (which you might not appreciate, and with which, I assure you, the album in question has very little to do!). "Sex and Wildflowers", instead connecting to the broader tradition of 1960s and 1970s English rock, can truly provide emotions to anyone. As long as that anyone appreciates good music: the most sincere and genuine that comes directly from the heart.

So, let yourself be violently taken by Nature: plunge into the infinite depths of the Soul...