Out of the blue, an unexpected, e-mailed request with a picture of a vintage old radio, found in some abandoned attic in Liège (or so, I presume) by a former member of a band I quite enjoyed, back in the day 1999, Ken’s Novel. Phonya is a new musical project that includes two former members of that said band, whose second album in 2004 “Domain of Oblivion” was their swan song.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, guitarist/keyboardist/bassist Eric Vanderbemden and keyboardist Bernard Piette brought on second keyboardist/bassist Gautier Delco to delicately plug in the power cord, turn up the volume and marvel at the amazing sound of this lovely German-made circa 1965 tuner /receiver radio (I know the feeling, I still use my Bang & Olufsen 1974 stereo, great sound and looks to kill). No video or any pulmonary imposition (aka no singing at all), just a plain old-fashioned soundtrack to a movie in one’s mind. Six fully developed instrumental explorations that will supply a vast mount of applause and surely, one the finer modern prog debuts in a very long time (the last being the Deposed King album).
The diodes warm up on the lengthy 10 minute + “Evolution “, a flowing and glowing textural conduit, heavily reliant on layered keyboards, frazzled e-guitar static, and no paucity of genius. The echoing piano embellishments, a patrician bass line, the suave fretboard picking and the absorbing lilt all paint a sonic canvas of plenty to fantasize about, with all kinds of variations, progressions and elevations. Hence the title. Dazzling opening program.
Modification of tempo on the copper wired “Let Me Out”, a heavier build-up, with a more chiaroscuro tension as the dial is twirled. Dreamy yet oblique, an astute electro-organic piece that conjures resistance, espionage, ominous luminosity and just enough levity to please the ear, such as the bluesy feel guitar solo that pierces the electronic circuit board with apparent ease.
The antenna is raised to capture the mesmerizing “Breathless”, led by a serpentine bass slithering with conviction, coiling inexorably around the receptors, slowly squeezing out the air from the petulant noise-laden keyboard components. The tingling synthesizers are utterly intoxicating, the slashing guitar forays exuding snarly gasps, and that nearly gruesome undercurrent. Electric eccentricity appears on “Trans-Human-ce”, a placid sonic duct that evolves at its own pace, the piano taking custody together with the adamant bass in close alliance. Shimmering axe shavings only add to the audio stew, fully programmed orchestrations with stereophonic bliss.
The recording finishes off with two prolonged numbers, first up “Lunar Sun” and its near 11-minute brighter than ever cosmic voyage, a definitely more melodic take with an unmistakably positive vibe. Vanderbemden peels off an emotive stream of glimmering lines, while both Piette and Delco keep the bandwaves finely tuned, with zero distortion or hiss. The programmed drums are exceptionally produced, delivering the necessary bombast to reach the fiery orange star at the center of the universe, pinging off our moon in full acceleration.
Opening with a suitably ethereal and profound atmosphere, “The Infinite Game” projects a synthesized irrevocability, veering into Vangelis territory, the piano caressing the heart amid the orchestrated ornamentations. The arrangement suddenly blooms into an attractive melody, where the various ivories do wonders for the soul, soaring ever so elegantly into ever higher realms of voluptuous sound and the eventual onset of a melancholic guitar follow up that shows off this trio’s savoir faire. The flourishing bombast plows straight into a symphonic upsurge, sprinkled with some more razor sharps flickers of the wrist that canalize the satisfaction of such a mercurial track. 14 minutes of unadulterated joy.
Arriving in the last week of December and AFTER posting my top 2024 albums, I will discuss placement with the band, as this is a most deserving addition to any prog collection.
Merci Bernard
4.5 Belgian wirelesses
