Sol Invictus
Death Of The West

“The Death of the West” was the track that opened the EP “Burial,” the last record by Death in June to feature Tony Wakeford. Officially, apocalyptic folk was said to have begun in 1987 with the “Brown Book,” but “The Death of the West” is the first completed experiment where the London trio, entangled at the time (it was 1984) in the grooves of a dark and martial post-punk, tackled an entirely acoustic ballad: a revolutionary formula that would dictate the future journey for both the surviving Death in June under Douglas P.'s guidance and the surviving Tony Wakeford with his Sol Invictus. Apocalyptic folk was born, and perhaps “The Death of the West” was its first example.

“The Death of the West” is also the name of an album by Sol Invictus released in 1994. In its author's intent, it was supposed to be a brief work: Wakeford's artistic incontinence made it a full-length. Not an official album, rather an “obese” album (as the author himself defined it) where unreleased tracks and reinterpretations of previously published pieces coexist, and the idea of reclaiming a Death in June classic from ten years prior soon became the pretext for developing a concept around a central theme of Wakeford's thought: the unstoppable spiritual decay of the modern world, or “The Decline of the West,” which is none other than the title of the famous work by the German writer, philosopher, and historian Oswald Spengler (a fundamental text for understanding the cultural foundations behind the entire genre). But as it happened three years earlier with the “extended EP” “The Killing Tide,” of which this “The Death of the West” can be seen as a younger cousin, while on one side we are left breathless by the beauty of its contents, on the other we do not cry masterpiece for the overwhelming presence of inserts that could have easily been discarded. Thus, there are merits and flaws, which we also find in many other Sol Invictus works, even the finest ones.

“In the West” is just a brief acoustic introduction, but the three pieces that follow literally bring us to our knees, and alone justify the purchase (mandatory for fans of the genre!). The immense “Sheath and Knife,” for example, will remain a great classic of Sol Invictus for centuries, and perhaps that half-misstep that was “King & Queen” really served some purpose, which, despite sounding a bit lackluster overall, had the merit of finally setting Wakeford on the coordinates of a singer-songwriter folk that over time will become his preferred medium of expression to unleash his apocalyptic nature. Wakeford's flair finally spreads its wings, wrapped in a well-orchestrated and full-bodied folk, reinforced by powerful percussion and polished by the streaks of a chamber ensemble of great respect, where the divine cellist Sarah Bradshaw and the keyboards of the knowledgeable producer David Mellor, the primary architect of the new sound, take center stage: “Sheath and Knife,” inspired by the beautiful words of Andrew King, is thus Wakeford's chivalrous spirit emerging brazenly from the troubled clash between reason and feeling, from the confrontation between “sheath and knife,” the fiery and eternal crucible of human emotions. “Sheath and Knife” is therefore an intense medieval ballad, poignant at the beginning and impetuous in its development (look at the powerful restart just after the brief pause for voice and percussion alone): a magnificent track that even today holds the honor of appearing in live performances of Sol Invictus.

And if that's not enough, let's move on to the following pair: the overwhelming “Amongst the Ruins,” which we already liked in “Lex Talionis,” here enriched with new arrangements that enhance rather than detract from the pulsating energy of a track that managed to shine even for the vigor of the guitar and voice alone: an overwhelming track that delivers the harshest and most heroic Wakeford, at the peak of his Evolian beliefs (“straight among the ruins,” opposed to the decadent modern world, holding the fire of tradition to be passed on for the benefit of more lenient eras for humanity). But it's not over: “Kneel to the Cross,” also from “Lex Talionis,” was originally a clumsy mystical invocation by Ian Read, marred by terrible production and awful vocal intertwining between Wakeford and Read, which seem to compete for who can sing more out of tune. With “Death of the West,” it comes back to life totally transformed: the original version retains only the initial vocal mantra, but what follows is a ballad of apocalyptic folk with capital B, F, and A. Sometimes Wakeford seems small, floundering in his technical and compositional limits, other times he appears gigantic, titanic, completely in control of his incandescent emotional material and perfectly focused on his artistic vision, and “Kneel to the Cross,” with its bloodshed and tears, is undoubtedly one of those moments where Wakeford strikes me as tremendous: a track that should be listened to in order to fully understand what is meant by apocalyptic folk.

“The West” is a long instrumental suite that emphasizes Wakeford's new artistic framework, increasingly close to a sumptuous and evocative sound, but we're awakened by the same “The Death of the West” discussed at the beginning: the original's text and acoustic setting are preserved, but for the rest, we have a new song, Sol Invictus 100%, a reinterpretation that barely resembles the original, which was then interpreted by a carefree Pearce. The text filled with a childish anti-Americanism probably inherited from the Crisis phase gains new meaning thanks to Wakeford's epic verve, and in its two-minute duration (the majestic organ at the end further elevating the epic rate is unmissable) the song well justifies Wakeford's raison d'être as an independent artist (who over the years will continue – unjustly – to pay the dues of a burdensome past with those Death in June that with Pearce will become the symbol of the entire genre and often overshadow his work).

As mentioned at the beginning, the album is nonetheless not a masterpiece, and in its second half, one begins to feel a certain disorientation due to a noticeable drop in inspiration. In a sense, the compactness and conceptual rigor we felt until just a moment before are lost: the tracks that follow seem like discards from other works, hypothetical “B-sides” that in “The Death of the West” finally find a place due to the author's insistent will, who evidently couldn't do without publishing them. Nothing particularly horrendous, but the insidious “Here I Am” (with its cheerful trumpet and a serene Wakeford who, despite the pessimistic text, goes “pa pa paaaaa” as if it were Sunday morning and he were having breakfast in front of a nice bowl full of cornflakes) seems frankly out of context. Better is the following “Our Lady of the Wild Flowers,” a melancholic ballad with a strong evocative power that for a moment seems to lift the fortunes of the operation. But “Petals from a Rose,” despite its brevity, even manages to annoy, being a futile instrumental interlude in which Our Man seems to enjoy putting together the disjointed shards of a bizarre medieval-progressive with baroque hues. And not even “Come Join the Dance,” another track that will certainly not leave a lasting impression, manages to elevate the status of a masterpiece for an album that started off with great emotions and seems to conclude with yawns.

As per the script, the reprise of the initial “In the West” closes the circle, but it must be said that at least with this track, Wakeford leaves us going to bed with a smile: the initial arpeggio has undoubtedly set the course, the rest of the track then develops with the scheme of dramatic crescendo, piling up apocalyptic images as only Wakeford can do, and for this, we are grateful and will always be.

“The Death of the West” is therefore an album to have, an album where the flaws are overall minor compared to the merits: it is not the masterpiece of Sol Invictus, but it offers us a quartet of classics that certainly must feature in the collection of every true admirer of the genre.

Blessed be Prophecy, then, thanks to a series of providential reissues that give us the opportunity to finally get in touch with many great works by Sol Invictus that until yesterday were practically unavailable. With the purchase of “The Death of the West,” I thus place the last hard-won piece of a journey that began many years ago. And with this review, a journey here on Debaser is completed (which I certainly will not abandon, neither as a reader nor as a reviewer): a journey that has served mainly to acquire a greater awareness of the music I love. Going back to listen to these albums, returning to them with a renewed analytical approach, documenting myself and researching the artists who created them has undoubtedly helped me grow as a music enthusiast and as a human being. I remain essentially a “stopgap” here on DeBaser, and if over time my name has been primarily associated with a genre like apocalyptic folk, it is almost by chance: there were simply no reviews of these artists, and the intention that has always driven me was mere dissemination (I take this opportunity to apologize for the various inaccuracies I notice in hindsight when rereading my writings: for me, too, it has been a learning journey). However, seeing my reviews, although sometimes snubbed or even despised, still read over time by many users makes me feel proud: proud to have contributed to increasing the collective knowledge of a musical genre and bands otherwise little known; proud to have perhaps illuminated the path for some kindred soul; proud if my work has improved, even slightly, someone else's life, as many other reviews have improved mine.

The Apocalypse Must Go On.