Swedish drum maestro Mattias Olsson is back, and we are all blessed for him getting involved in this inspirational project. A quartet that also features bass man Jiri Jon Hjorth , guitarist Jonathan Segel, and synthesizer specialist Mogens Deenfort with two guests each playing on a few tracks, namely saxman Oskar Forsberg and Francisca Marchan on clarinet and vocals. This was released quietly in the summer of 2025 and surely needs further investigation, as it’s an exploratory adventure that may recall a more cosmic version of German legend Can.
“Fattening” is a sprawling 18-minute monster of effervescent atmospherics that may also recall such extravagant experimentations like Quiet Sun, perhaps even “the Bogus Man” from Roxy Music’s early days as well as “Soon Over Babaluma” , my favourite Can album by far. Deenfort and Segel blend a multitude of crashing rhythmic wedges, incorporating shafts of electronic sounds punctuated by a mellow bass undertow, and Olsson keeping everything percussive and concussive. It’s a hypnotic feast of undulating hysteria that has no bearing in terms of time and space. I feel already satiated and full, ready for a digestif of some kind.
I have no idea who “Anders Bern“ is and frankly, it matters little as anonymity can be a great source of inspiration for one more aural deflection into some distant nadir. The sombre reptile is liberated from the straw basket, the forked tongue searching for a taste of prey, as the windstorm torments the palm trees and irritating sand pebbles seek to penetrate every single orifice. Another slow-burning procession, a caravanserai of doom. The screeching guitars pray to a much higher authority, obstinate and unforgiving, a mellow Hawkwind electro-vibe adds all the cosmic glow one can wish for.
Another leviathan epic has a familiar literary figure as inspiration, the one who farmed animals, back in 1984, and that we all know well, our friend “Orwell”. Fjorth gets really excited while having sax with Oskar’s horn, surely a ‘thoughtcrime’ in essence. Big Brother is not amused, but we certainly are entertained. The pulse if frenetic but tempted by moments of reflective pause and tempered with violations of freedom of expression that get immediately pushed aside, keeping the uprising strong (the wild guitar rants are particularly catty). Olsson shakes, rattles and rolls like an obsessive octopus gone berserk. Definitely ideal Halloween music (coming up soon in a couple of weeks).
Are we referring to the famous crocodile hunter and wildlife conservationist Steve on the massive “Irwin” and does it really matter anyway. Labels are for grocery stores or pharmacies, not valiant adventurers who are willing to stick their hands into a wide mouth full of sharp teeth. The instantaneous rise of a proper melody takes the edge off any overt tonal laboratory research, due to Francisca ‘s wordless vocalizations, a plaintive melancholia that takes us into the savannah, the golden horizons where water buffaloes roam, along with giraffes and panthers, hyenas and impalas. The clarinet swoons like a loving embrace, as the sun glows with fiery determination. The birds fly overhead, safe for the time being. An exceptional piece of structured music.
The whopping “Beatrice” shows her 17-minute girth with a volatile smile or is it a devious smirk. I venture either Shakespeare or Dante Alighieri, personally. But only the band knows for sure. One certainty however, this is another gradually burning affair, the tempo deliberately sedate and thoughtful, an expanse where the clarinet is clearly discernable amid the ebb and flow of sounds. Both the fluid bass and the marshaling drums keep the surge moving forward, another heartache in this sonic dream home. The second half raises the temperature to almost apocalyptic levels, the clarinet being the sole comfort left.
A worthy find for those looking for something off the beaten path, a space where one can lose themselves with little recourse than to just let go.
4 red handles