Tony Wakeford
Cupid & Death

Recently reissued under the Sol Invictus label, "Cupid & Death" is actually Tony Wakeford's second solo album, but it cannot be considered a misappropriation, since even in this new work from 1996, much like in the previous "La Croix" (1993), the sounds explored do not stray too far from the mother band's most distinctive stylistic coordinates.

We are now in 1996, as mentioned, and since "La Croix," other Sol Invictus albums have been released, including that "In the Rain" from the previous year, which had outlined, with greater maturity than before, a less harsh and belligerent sound, a sound that is more relaxed and poetic, open to more refined arrangements. After all, we are also on the verge of what will become the experience within L'Orchestre Noir, Wakeford's symphonic project (the following year will see the release of "Chantos"). The dubious qualities of Wakeford as a classical composer have already been discussed, and unfortunately, even his first solo projects (evidently born to give vent to this irrepressible aspect of his artistic vision) already suffer from the unfortunate tendency to linger in long-winded and childishly pompous passages, a tendency that will plague the works released under the shadow of the Black Orchestra. But it is also true that it is precisely here that the visionary talent of one of the undisputed founding fathers of apocalyptic folk shines more vividly.

"Cupid & Death," slightly better than its predecessor, is thus to be counted among the works that prefer to show the more reflective and calm side of its creator. The beautiful cover already hints at the theme of the work: the eternal struggle between Eros and Thanatos, a theme certainly not original, yet far from trite when sprung from the pen of an artist like Wakeford. A vision that transcends a banal opposition between Good and Evil and tends to emphasize the power, even brutal, of the Love drive, while on the other hand, intensifying the devastating effects of its inevitable correlation with the destructive forces inherent in human nature. An annihilating yet terrifically vital dialectic on which the upheavals and revolutions of Being, both individual and collective, are founded: a bloody battle, noble and at the same time barbaric, here described in its tremendous splendor, a narrative that ultimately sinks its claws into the universality of Myth and classical literature.

The crystalline chimes of a delicate bell echoing in the silence begin the performance, making way for Wakeford's trembling voice, soon doubled by the dark recitation of Karl Blake, in a crescendo (the lyrics are beautiful) where Sara Bradshaw's cello, Wakeford's guitar, Matt Howden's violin, Eric Roger's trumpet and horn, and David Sanson's piano find ample room to move. Sol Invictus fans, for their part, will have noted that many of Wakeford's most illustrious traveling companions, that sort of Orchestre Noir in its inception, are present in this operation, helping him define with growing perfection what will be the sound of maturity in his artistic embodiment.

As in "La Croix," much of the work is occupied by instrumental compositions, and indeed, in the tracks that follow ("Le Lac Noir," "Jardin du Luxembourg," "La Nuit Est Arrivée," and "The Day of the Angel"), Wakeford's voice will not be present, preferring to allow ample space for the wind and string instruments to evolve on soft ambient carpets (worth mentioning are the restrained electronic beats and the suave jazz trumpet of Roger – one might even think of the more solemn Davis – from the fourth track, already attesting to Wakeford's broad artistic horizons back then).

Music in the service of pathos (the same enchanted and timeless landscapes we had known in "La Croix"), yet not without real surges, and I refer to the two small gems placed almost at the close: "A Rose in Hell" is a folk ballad of a few minutes (beautiful chorus adorned by a gentle female counterpoint) that in its simplicity brings us back to more comfortable territories of Sol Invictus, where the English musician evidently feels more at ease; the equally brief "Heaven and Hell" is another small masterpiece, a visionary ballad of piano and violin where Wakeford – his performance intensely dreadful – hits as many wrong notes as there are chills the piece sends down the listener's spine.

As expected, it is the reprise of the title track that puts the final seal, revisiting the theme and lyrics but developing them in the form and movements of a tense apocalyptic operetta, torn by electric slashes, dark symphonic passages, ominous percussion, and Wakeford's strangled singing that narrates the eternal struggle between Love and Death, the primary engine of human becoming.

Few innovations, therefore, but much passion and some winning flashes for yet another piece of the artistic endeavor accomplished by a man who in music has overcome his limits by putting his whole self into it, without reservations, without holding back even once.

Recommended, of course, to the die-hard fans of Tony Wakeford and his Sol Invictus.