The third album for this veteran crew is a wonderful year-end gift, as the previous two releases were met by acclamation in our little global community. “The Illusion of Choice” is a sprawling set of seven tracks that will titillate the ears and soothe the mind, clocking in a hair under one hour. All in all, great timing from multi-instrumentalists John Harris and Andrew Raymond , solidly anchored by supreme bassist (I see WAL, I get excited) Tony Lewis and the muscular Greg Haver on the kit. They bring along the amazing Christina Booth of Magenta fame and fellow vocalist Jilian Slade as well as good old Les Penning on recorders , each playing on one different track. In a historical context, I call this band “La Vielle Garde”, Napoleon’s veteran and most prestigious formation, also known as The Immortals.
The title track kicks off with quite the cannon barrage, a thunderbolt delivery with chivalrous synthesizer flurries, a brawny pulse that shows no signs of relenting as it’s carving the road ahead. The electric guitars slash mightily, the bass glides like skates on ice. The second half is a showcase for the soloing talent spotlight as both Harris and Raymond exchange feints, attacks and parries worthy of a fencing competition. The attitude is urgent, as both boards (fret and key) weave with unabashed flair. They are certainly in control!
Les Penning involves his recorders with bucolic glee, a pastoral overview that soothes the mind on the refined “Earth-Stepper”, a welcome contrast that casts an atmospheric spell. Then, out of the blue, a monster riff shakes all the foundations; resonant bass and explosive drums combine in furious alliance. The interplay between the shuffling guitars and the whistling synths is a pinnacle moment. As the groove is hypnotically effective, Haver in particular laying down depth-charge beats that show 5.7 on the Richter scale. The mandolin finale is a sensational insertion that adds another fantasy element to the mix. Absolute predator track!
The epic 11 minute and a hair “Bones Will Sing” maintains the majestic atmosphere with harp in a dreamy medieval feel, before the quartet kick into another gear as they arrangement incorporates the instantly recognizable female voice of the incomparable Christina Booth. The Harris guitars immediately swoon in devoted respect, streaking ahead in utter melodic beauty, before pausing at another lingering Celtic dreamscape. Raymond enters the space with glittering synths. Harris slashes away on his 6 strings with impunity; the elevation appears absurdly confident. Booth and Lewis shove this piece into another dimension, the crew following the charge, with Harris now grabbing the microphone and getting all worked up. The grandiose mellotron climax is like kneeling at the shrine, screeching axe slivers and a last gasp of harp. Oh my!
Change of course but still thicker than a brick, “Navigators of the Trym” (Trym is a river in Bristol, England) has a pleasant flow as befits the title, a streaming groove set down by the ultra-wavy right section, tight as a floating drum. Drenched in lyrical nostalgia, an otherwise personal window of inspiration as it relates a near death experience child recollection that has recurrent connotations for Tony.
The senseless tragedy in Ukraine is the theme for the next two tracks, power politics that disregard the damage to an entire generation of young men and women on both sides. Melodically, “Polina” chokes on crushing sadness and suffering, a devastating descent into madness which all wars deploy without mercy. A senseless waste perfectly expressed by a profoundly troubled piano that shakes from every single concussive explosion, cities burning, missiles flying overhead, drones and humans exchanging hatred for the enemy, lives overhauled, refugees fleeing the terror, children and elderly in tow . Courage under fire, sacrifices made, resolute defiance and perseverance. Harris exults with languid passion on guitars and vocals, one can feel the pain oozing from both, with a lovely appearance from American vocalist Jilian Slade.
Speaking of frozen Muscovite weather, “Snowfall Road” imparts the frenzied insanity that bulldozes young men into the endless meat grinder, imparting the tyrannic cruelty of unmitigated power. The disjointed pathos can be heard in the stop and start variations, the rubbery assault that chews up corpses amid the battle hymns, Haver’s syncopation verging on paranoia and dislocation.
The moody style really fits the final stretch as “Black Mist” unfurls like an opaque vapour over the ominous groove, exceptionally demented courtesy of Tony’s swirly bass (damn, the man can play like Mick Karn!), John tearing off another impassioned solo that scours the darkening clouds, a neat swerve into choppy rhythmic evolutions, and singing about some empirical lost cause. Only the bold piano dares to offer some semblance of salvation, the finale is simply sublime.
Easily landing on the 2025 throne of finest albums, Bonaparte would surely be proud. Do not dare to retreat any further from sending out the cavalry to get this masterpiece into your collection, as this is a band that has clearly arrived .
5 Delusions of option