Sophia
As We Make Our Way (Unknown Harbours)

Evidently, classicism in some cases constitutes an expressive limit. The anchoring to this aesthetic and existential dimension is not always a guarantee of a successful work. In invoking dialectical categories, we might say that the mental scheme underpinning the songs enclosed in this album can once again be summarized in the thesis-antithesis-synthesis formula. The problem is that the mind in which it is active belongs to the creator of The God Machine, and although he has repeatedly stated that the change of direction after the painful disbandment of that wonderful trio has distanced any hypothetical return to that compositional and productive mode, one can still detect the echo of an irrepressible foundational matrix, like an artifact with its gaze fixed on the observer (to quote Novalis). It appears that the absence of an expressive pattern endowed with its own space-time stability is destined to counterpoint the solidity of the incredible Loop-Cure-Jane's Addiction interplay that monumentally encapsulated the creation of the metaphysical opus signed The God Machine. As accomplished in their harmonic architecture and powerful rhythmic-sonic layout, as imbued with the transmissibility of a sense of infinity back then, the works of Sophia now appear more versatile and sometimes unnecessarily fluid (in the sense of stylistic ambiguity), each with too many weak points, all inevitably incomplete from a compositional standpoint, paradoxically too heavy and therefore unapproachable for the midstream audience (let's say, an audience that listens to Interpol, Mogwai, Placebo...). The preview on Bandcamp in February 2015 of "It's Easy To Be Lonely" opened a swirling sense of hope: a track marked by a fantastic emotional crescendo, endowed with an almost infinite harmonic openness, accommodating many echoes, including those of the Sophia segment most closely connected with the previous experience, a circular but not obsessive structure, embracing everything: the most arcane scenarios of Sophia from the "Infinite Circle" ("Woman", "I'd Rather") as the "Oceanic Rain" of Echo And The Bunnymen, a paced and hypnotic drum line (played by Isolde Lasoen) crescendo and choral ending: marvelous. The transparent orange vinyl Ltd. Ed. is on the turntable: the piano intro of "Unknown Harbours" brings to mind the opening of that epochal masterpiece that was "Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness" by the Pumpkins... a clear jewel shining with melancholic light. The next track, "Resisting", seems to channel the fate of a (hypothetical) new course for Sophia on other coordinates, crystallizing a new sound and radiating a stellar mood that makes one think "maybe this is the right time": distorted guitars à la My Bloody Valentine envelop an ethereal harmonic texture (again) akin to Echo And The Bunnymen (it seems like the drumming of "All My Colours") or evoke the paced and hypnotic atmospheres of "The Desert Song"... considering the precursors of the work, there would be reason to hope ("Resisting" has even been called "the resurrection of the God Machine")... instead, what follows is a splendid collection of Sophia-style ballads, "The Drifter", perhaps the best of the album in terms of quality, with a "lunar" piano touch, of immediate impact. Things go less well when they rouse other reminiscences: if "St. Tropez / The Hustle" unexpectedly realigns rhythm and sound to "Darkness (Another Shade In Your Black)" "California" and "Blame" bring to mind even "Holidays Are Nice." "Baby Hold On" and "Don’t Ask" reflect the stylistic coordinates back to the interlocutory moments of "There Are No Goodbyes" ("Storm Clouds" in particular)... there are no traces of the previous Sophia, neither those too homogeneous from "Fixed Water" that "sold more than the two God Machine albums put together..." nor those of "De Nachten," perhaps an unsurpassable live jewel. The spotlight is about to be turned off after an exhausting wait for Robin (between the high value of his God Machine and the singer-songwriter matrix reminiscent of Nick Drake's heartbreaking existential suffering) to give a determined and organically coherent sign of his otherwise immense compositional talent. Instead, discontinuity once again limits the intrinsic value of the album, even if just a moment before the darkness, the notes of the concluding, and wonderfully echoing "It's Easy To Be Lonely" play. But maybe it's too late even to close the circle, maybe once again it’s not enough.