Ulver
Wars Of The Roses

All things considered, I expected it.

I thought it was inevitable that Ulver would somehow reconnect with the path taken with the splendid "Shadows of the Sun" but, given the polymorphic and unpredictable nature that characterizes our Norwegian wolves, trying to make any prediction is rather useless. The expectations, however, in this case turned out to be anything but unfounded: the new album "Wars of the Roses" partially echoes the atmospheres of its illustrious predecessor, while molding them into a new dimension, a new context; and to be nitpicky, there are even certain nods to the atypical "Blood Inside".

All these references, admittedly a bit strange for a band that has always made experimentation its trademark, should not discourage, as they are simple points of contact: "Wars of the Roses" is not a copy of any record, but rather the natural continuation of that elegiac intimacy and spiritual quest that, apparently, constitute the new permanent guise of the band. We are facing an undeniably particular, personal work, which will once again divide fans (as happens with every Ulver release!), as well as provoke some puzzlement.

Do not pay much attention to the first listens, be wary of fleeting initial impressions, especially if negative, and above all do not listen distractedly: these seven tracks would slip away like eels, and you would reach the end of the 45 minutes without recalling a blessed thing. "Wars of the Roses" is an album as simple and essential from a technical perspective (probably the kind of thing Ulver could record while reading the newspaper or playing cards) as it is emotionally unyielding; do not let yourself be fooled by the somewhat sly opening of the electronic pop-rock of "February MMX", with its agile and elongated refrain, because you would find yourself a bit disoriented among the 'neoclassical' dissonances and the stumbling progression of "Norwegian Gothic", a track that will make many grimace due to its eccentricity.

This album may hold all the surprises and uncertainties you want, but on one thing we can always rely: good old Garm. Of course, his singing will not be the same as in a "Masquerade Infernale", we will no longer have the searing scream of a "Nattens Madrigal", and we hear him daringly vocalize less often like on "Blood Inside", but what other style could suit the current Ulver if not that contemplative, deep, mystical, subdued, almost whispered one, already experimented with in "Shadows of the Sun"? After all, this is the new dimension of our Wolves: the focus is not on impact but delves deeply, slowly, into our hearts, our spirit, our existence.

Thus, this existential journey continues with the splendid "Providence", marked by the duet between Garm and an enchanting Siri Stranger to the decadent tolling of a piano and closed by a majestic echoing noise tail; and, speaking of majesty, "England" represents the darkest episode of the album, initially sacred and solemn, then increasingly grave and restless. Entirely different in nature are "September IV" and "Island": if the former is completely absorbed in its relaxed intimacy (only to later wind up in a swirling finale), "Island" opens up to sublime landscape suggestions, throbbing with its own life amid pinkfloydian impressions and refined electronic infiltrations, all governed by Garm's voice soaring between the waves of a cliff and the cries of seagulls.

And what about "Stone Angels", the 15-minute closing marathon? Probably many besides me were shocked when, perhaps expecting the experimental ultra-progressive power-electronic coup de grâce, they found themselves listening to the most ethereal and sacred track not only of the album, but of Ulver in their entirety! "Stone Angels" (whose lyrics are nothing but the eponymous poem by Waldrop) is a white epitaph like snow entirely recited by O'Sullivan: its cultured references remind us that Ulver have also been the authors of an enormous 'musical-literary' work like "Themes From William Blake's The Marriage Of Heaven And Hell" and therefore, it is necessary to give a healthy reading to the poem in question to give sense and image to what we hear; this to remind us that music may not always be able to separate from its very words. "Wars of the Roses" closes thus in a blinding, indecipherable, metaphysical whiteness.

Music for the soul, deep, austere, essential, minimal, intangible: this is "Wars of the Roses", this is the Ulver of 2011. Perhaps the expressiveness and inspiration of "Shadows of the Sun" (a true masterpiece capable of moving me at any moment) will not be equaled, perhaps not all solutions will be equally effective, but we are nonetheless in the presence of yet another confirmation by a band that has never stopped amazing throughout their career, and it is hoped they never will.

All in all, I didn’t expect it.

"There is no deliverance
Providence is lost"