Sol Invictus
King & Queen

"King & Queen" is the usual album by Sol Invictus, nothing more, perhaps a little less.

It's 1992, while fellow apocalyptics Douglas Pearce (Death in June) and David Tibet (Current 93) release their masterpieces of maturity ("But, What Happens When the Symbols Shatter?" and "Thunder Perfect Mind"), Tony Wakeford instead reaches his artistic saturation: "King & Queen" struggles and crosses the finish line out of breath, the terminus of a series of works that, step by step, had slowly perfected the formula inaugurated with the debut "Against the Modern World," without, however, making significant changes. A formula that, after the good "Lex Talionis," "Trees in Winter," and "The Killing Tide," seems finally to fade, lose its vigor, weaken under the blows of a visible drop in inspiration. And it's no coincidence that "King & Queen" leaves no great classic of the Invictus Sun to posterity. And it's also no coincidence that the following year Wakeford will try (at least in his head) to embark on relatively new paths with a solo career that will later find its natural outlet in L'Orchestre Noir, a project that will characterize the second half of the nineties.
So, is "King & Queen" a bad work? Not at all: it just lacks the standout pieces that assertively rise above the usual and make spirits resonate as happened in the past (and fortunately, will happen in the future).
For the rest, the album settles at respectable levels nonetheless, where backing it up is still (and how could it be otherwise?) the passionate verve of the stocky minstrel. After all, sincerity and integrity have always been prerogatives of Sol Invictus' music.

In "King & Queen," Wakeford's apocalypse orchestra starts to consolidate, no longer a solitary knight in the desolation of a world hurtling downwards: Sara Bradshaw (cello), David Mellor (piano, keyboards, and percussion), Karl Blake (bass), Lu Belle (flute), and Nick Hall (drums) are the companions in misfortune, called to embellish Wakeford's sparse ballads of voice and guitar. Be it with apocalyptic piano chords, the patient weaving of strings and wind instruments, or the mournful beats of a solemn drum.

The sound thus becomes more articulated and choral than in the past: and more than before, the instruments help to color Sol Invictus' usual apocalyptic folk with the soft hues of a melancholic singer-songwriter rock, which knows how to draw equally from the tradition of the great songwriters of the sixties ("Someday") as from the progressive rock line of Canterbury ("Tears and Rain", which boasts a beautiful pseudo-jazzed piano). Naturally, the usual references to the English tradition ("Edward", a reinterpretation of a classic of the English tradition) and the tragic tones of a chivalric poem, which in this album reach their peak ("The Return"), are not neglected.

Only in "All's Well in Hell" are samples and distortions used, as if to recall the industrial suggestions of the early albums. While the fragility and loneliness perceivable in "Lonely Crawls the Night", perhaps the most inspired episode of the lot, are greatly appreciated.
The concluding title-track pairs with the introductory "Sun & Moon", as even the circular scheme typical of many Sol Invictus albums isn't disrupted.

Last detail worth mentioning: the beautiful cover by painter/musician Tor Lundvall, which inaugurates the fruitful collaboration with the band, also defining from a visual standpoint the melancholic and nostalgic mood that characterizes Sir Tony Wakeford's bitter contemplation of the world, straight among the ruins, today, as yesterday, as tomorrow... forever, probably...