Philips 1979 / 3VƐ 2026
Calatea
Locating deceptive neutrality in vivid reveries, five Luzerners embark on a progressive voyage out of this world – and back again.
“The more we free ourselves from external constraints, the greater the challenge of dealing with our own disorientation and loneliness”: this collective didn’t realize how prophetic the corollary of the story on which their first album was based would prove to be. While the ensemble’s later platters, from "Elements" onwards, elicited not necessarily flattering comparisons with English pursuers of the same genre, the Swiss artists’ debut sounded completely original. And though the concept behind the record might seem a bit too simple – a destructive trip to another dimension and return to ours – and hardly unheard of, there’s a lot of space in it for riveting melodies to take flight.
And the flight is taken in both cosmic and escapist senses of the phrase, the album’s opening passages so jazzy as to offer the listener the ultimate liberty of going out on a limb and make “Gate To Calatea” an overture to explore the great unknown. As Roland Ruckstuhl’s ivories and Peter Wolf’s reeds twist an inviting tune, it’s gaining a light groove to first morph into a medieval tango and then reveal an intrepidly futuristic scope of the group’s temporal warp before acquiring infectious harmonies and worming its way into the audience’s brain via Urs Waldispühl’s guitar riffs. The pieces on display never appear cerebral, however, with “Gate Out Of Calatea” wrapping up the platter in a rather rocking, deliberately rough, organ-fleshed fashion, after songs like the upbeat “Survey From The Summit” unfold a much softer fabric which acoustic strum and delicate rumble of Urs Hochuli’s bass tether to earth for Waldispühl’s voice to retain gravity and render fantastic instrumental weave even more impressive.
So once the playful flurries of classical piano set the epic “Volcano” ready to erupt, all these elements come together to paint a landscape that’s simultaneously alien and familiar enough to lure a curious soul towards a soundscape where lush vocal polyphony and virtuosic delivery from the whole band reign supreme. With Wolf’s flute and sax bolstered by Pit Furrer’s imaginative drumming, the intricate sonic pictures become utterly compelling, especially when chamber keyboards get swept away and Eastern motifs erect the fusion edifice of “Pyramids” which is as jovial and polished as a pop number, albeit much less predictable, particularly in terms of synthesizer wildness. Surprisingly, the wordless “Apocalypse Of Sounds” feels tranquil in its Saracen-rectal flow – and descriptive of the entire trip.
“Calatea” should be up there with the best of art-rock gems: up for reevaluation now, the album has stood the test of decades.
*****
