Wolcensmen
Songs from the Mere

I remember waking up quite early that morning. I was on vacation but I didn't mind, it was something I willingly did.
The streets of Glastonbury at 6:00 a.m. were still asleep: no one around, just a few homeless people sleeping under the church arcades; the air was already fresh, crisp, positively tense, a characteristic I had come to know and appreciate, typical of that place.
I head towards the Tor: past the city center and down a side street, I start climbing the stairs carved into the earth, with the words of an English bard in my headphones, speaking to me of ancient legends, untamed nature, and magical places. I reach the gate at the top of the stairs, pass through it, and begin to climb the hill. The sky is splendidly clear, around me the typical morning mist, while the bleating of grazing sheep accompanies my solitary steps. Halfway up, I turn to observe the landscape: Glastonbury like Sleepy Hollow, a town in a valley shrouded by the English fog, sleepy and peaceful. Resuming the staircase, it's just a moment to reach the foot of the Tower of St. Michael: I look up, and its majesty intoxicates me. A light wind rises, the thistles sway, there's a sensation of electricity in the air, of magic, of positivity. As I pass through the entrance of the tower, a ray of sunshine surprises and blinds me for a moment: when I reopen my eyes, I have in front of me the most beautiful scene of the entire vacation. The sun rising in the distance, the flocks of sheep scattered along the hillside, the green grass swaying with the wind, and above all the calm, the peace, the distance from everything and everyone, and at the same time the communion of souls and spirits. I sit inside the Tower, on one of the stone benches carved inside, eyes closed, caressed now by the wind, now by the sun, and I breathe. The magic of the moment is amplified by the music I have in my headphones: it's the same bard from before, his warm words, the choruses that support and embrace the instruments, everything contributes to making the emotion of the moment tangible. Nothing special happens, in the end, it's just a person sitting with eyes closed inside an ancient tower, waiting for the sunrise and listening to music, but it is this "nothing special" that makes these moments so unforgettable. And moving, when months later you find yourself listening to that music again and recalling those scenes.
In a previous writing, I spoke of Wolcensmen's debut as "a record made of small things, small gestures, small emotions and joys, just like the English nature which is the subject of the songs that compose it." Well, I cannot help but repeat and emphasize this description. "Songs from the Mere" is an EP, a collection of pieces that follow the logical thread of the previous "Songs from the Fyrgen" while at the same time distancing from it in certain aspects. Musically, however, the chosen solutions are the same, arpeggiated guitars, winds, percussion, non-intrusive synth layers, choruses, for a neofolk/ambient record to be listened to in one breath.
Everyone who has had experiences not unlike the one described will have no difficulty reliving them among the tracks created by Ours. For everyone else, an invitation to approach this work with an open heart and the desire to let go, for a moment, to ancient atmospheres rich in pathos.