SIN FANG BOUS - Clangour

The delicate and precious "The Ghost That Carried Us Away" by Icelandic band Seabear had captivated the most curious and demanding lovers of folk-pop. Its creator, Sindri Már Sigfússon, pours the huge amount of material he'd conceived into a work composed, played, produced and packaged entirely by himself.

Still under the protective wing of the ever-reliable Morr Music, the record covers a very broad market segment. Suited to those nostalgic for classic indie-tronica, the compositions here also reconcile with a bold streak of experimentation that will be appreciated by even the most demanding palates. As the artist himself stated in a recent interview, the core of this record is his imagination, or more precisely the exposure of his wildest and most creative side. Indeed, listening to the eleven tracks gives the sensation of stepping into an enchanted place, scored by a sparkling, lively and colourful soundtrack. The artist's true nature is put into play, fully exploiting his flair, consistency and wild unpredictability.

The content of "Clangour" stands out from the plethora of releases in this genre thanks to its surprising variety; the ease with which the sound sticks in the mind, between well-judged choruses and unusual rhythms, plays a decisive role. There's a continuous shift between reverent, relaxed tones (the fairy-tale lullaby of "Sunken Ship", the hammering, obsessive progressions of "Clangour And Flutes") and dazzling melodic bursts (the striking "Advent In Ives Garden", the ordered chaos of "The Jubille Choruses"). The dry tone with which the music's clear folk roots are contaminated by other influences is its greatest merit, aided moreover by a decent fluidity that keeps things moving even through the trickiest passages.

The skilful handling of rhythm is the decisive step toward a genuinely interesting result. Playing the name-dropping game, we could piece together flashes of the poppier side of Animal Collective, classically-rooted folk with a slight streak of Jason Molina, and a discreet use of technology, from the electronics scattered throughout to the precise, careful final production. Within the weave of a canonical ballad we hear piercing electric clangs ("Melt Down The Knives"), the calm flow of a banjo ends up overwhelmed by an insistent drum-machine ("We Belong"), and the freshness of a lovely pop song brings us a sense of happiness ("Carry Me Up To Smell Pine").

The snare of a drum pulses between the lines of a voice first whispered then screamed ("A Fire To Sleep In"), choruses and guitar notes mix haphazardly over a bed of beats and sighs ("Fafafa"), and a pair of songs bound together by passion and enchantment fades into a calm, mystical conclusion (the two contaminated folk-pop gems "Poirot" and "Lies").

Among the most imaginative and rewarding offerings on the European independent scene, "Clangour" is a kaleidoscope of multi-faceted sounds. Curiosity and expectations for the follow-up are high, and the chances of it turning out to be something even more original are very good indeed.

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07/06/2009