Wandering Willow / MoonJune 2026
Traveling through space and time, Dutch art-rocker dives into societal consciousness and other human conditions.
The Ballad Of General Jupiter
Never in a hurry to delve into a new album – no less than seven years passed between his debut “Dreamer” and sophomore effort “The Plight Of Lady Oona” and twelve more between the latter and this platter – and preferring instead to properly develop his concepts, Anton Roolaart seemed to have recently implemented a few of those ideas to real life. As a result, health issues and sense of own mortality may explain the blurring of lines which divide fantasy and mundane matters on “The Ballad Of General Jupiter” – but not the veteran’s exploration of perpetual movement across various continuums on his third artistic journey. There are many reasons for Roolaart’s trip from a long-term abode in America to his homeland of Netherlands, and for the record’s titular character embarking on a sci-fi voyage across the ages, and it’s the down-to-earth aspects of Anton’s songs that will keep the listener riveted.
However, the key to it all can be discovered at the album’s end, in the rather faithful cover of Jon Anderson‘s “Yesterday And Today” which first perfectly projects Roolaart’s translucent voice onto the ether and then takes off on the delicate weave of Anton’s six strings and, thus, pulls cosmic romanticism close to this mortal coil. There’s no explicit linking of the platter’s finale back to “Amsterdam” which opens the record via melancholically, and slightly otherworldly, vista that could make Jacques Brel revise his cynical view of the city, yet one’s able to sense a certain thematic circularity here. As supple bass and acoustic guitar glide over spaced-out dabs of Rave Tesar’s ivories, and aloof vocals sculpt tension, scintillating sonic nuances emerge to gel, in a very unexpected way, and form the title track’s blues, tinctured with snippets of radio chat the Dutchman mastered as a NYC DJ of yore, before switching to, in turn, effervescent reggae and shimmering jazz-rock, and creating quite a psychedelic effect.
But if the baroque stylings expand the horizons “The Cry Of Seven Doves” reaches for, ever so gently, a couple of choice riffs notwithstanding, and bucolic flurries of notes flying out of Wouter Schueler’s flute emphasize folk vibe of such a Wonderlandesque venture, gloomy here and light there, a similar approach to “Rain” is almost desperately histrionic, exotic female backing and Eastern motifs adding a layer of further alienation before sax passages tether instrumental clouds to the ground. Still, while “Star Child” – another of Roolaart’s tributes to Bowie – discharges immense cello-stricken sadness, “Touch Your Desire” finds Anton opting for a deliberately primitive pop strain of prog, and “And The Sky Turned Yellow” brings forth frisky beat and arresting harmonies that stitch soulful rapture to snatches of pure sorrow.
It’s a series of spiritual escapades, uneven yet interesting, as any homecoming should be.
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