White Willow
Ignis Fatuus

THE REVIEW

It is the mist that dominates this work. The somber, deliberately reflective, dark, and gothic atmosphere contrasts with the sounds, at times barely hinted at, of flutes and mellotron, of acoustic guitars and violins, of voices soft and light as the wind. Over it all hangs an almost Renaissance flavor, skillfully mixed with Nordic folk and English symphonic progressive.

Despite the fact that the author never declared himself completely satisfied with this work, accusing it several times of naivety and fragmentation, this debut album by the Norwegians White Willow provides such listening pleasure that it is hard to understand why it remains unknown to most and relegated to a very small circle of enthusiasts.

The group leader, Jacob C. Holm-Lupo, guitarist and composer, I believe had some good youthful indulgences in Anthony Phillips and King Crimson, but also local folk authors, from whom he drew a singular ability to fascinate with melodies that come directly, woven on music that possesses a lyrical quality and an undeniably passionate charm. Someone has attempted comparisons to Gryphon, of which, in fact, they might represent a modern approach.

Ignis Fatuus (will-o'-the-wisps), is an album of many aspects. When the sweet female voices roll over the arpeggios, over the notes of the flute or the sad chords of mellotron, they manage to unleash a charm that cannot be resisted: it is a dream that begins, a journey among dark clouds that dampen you, like droplets of vapor condensing on your face, but instead of cooling, they give an immense warmth to the heart and soul.

There are also more determined and electric inputs, perhaps closer to the symphonic prog of the land of Albion. Then the sound is also charged with psychedelia and the guitars stretch the notes, like the violins that penetrate you into an almost space trip. And this describes the long "Cryptomenysis" and the concluding "John Dees Lament." It is even more particular and in its own way intriguing to fall from the bagpipes of the concluding portion of "Lord Of Night" to the Renaissance dance of "Song," managed amiably among sweet flutes, pipes, and acoustic guitars with polyphonic style singing and falsetto lead voice, for two minutes of time travel, wrapped in a window drape, as the knights move out of sight. As you can understand, this is a record made of sonic images, where with each note a memory, a sensation, a picture, a photograph emerges. Exemplary is the splendid "Ingenting" that takes you in a leap through the moor lost in a surreal and romantic atmosphere. Or "The Withering Of The Boughs", perhaps the best track on the album with a rhythmic and emotional crescendo that gradually becomes clearly palpable, until the explosive finale.

I believe I am not mistaken in highly recommending this album not only to lovers of the genres covered but more broadly to those who seek in music charm, personality, and peculiarity. There is plenty of it here.