Storsveit Nix Noltes - Royal Family - Divorce [Album]

FatCat Records

March 17, 2009, 11:31 PM

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Storsveit Nix Noltes are an 11-piece supergroup of Icelandic musicians so flagrantly talented and prolific that many of them may well already be scattered amongst your CD shelves – they’ve played within múm, Sigur Ros, Benni Hemm Hemm, Animal Collective and Mice Parade to name but a few.

But what happens when such a distinguished group meet around quite a big table and decide to record an LP consisting solely of Bulgarian and Balkan folk music? You get an impressively immersive and fascinating listening experience, comprised of layers and layers of twiddly electronics, pissed violins, weeping trumpets, guitar, accordion, sousaphone, cello, banjo, double bass and god knows what else, all tangling and entwining deliciously, like Super Noodles.

One of the first things you learn about Bulgarian and Balkan folk music is that it is seriously technical. The first track, Wedding Rachenitsa, is a furious, jaunty 7/4 time trumpet massacre, sprinkled with eastern guitar noodling. We instantly see that while traditional English folk music was fannying around wearing green sleeves at Scarborough Fair and looking sad near some trees, Bulgarian folk music was sleeping in ‘til 2pm, drinking a shot of vodka, doing 200 press-ups, going to a wedding, pulling the bridesmaid and punching an old lady in the face.

In fact, there’s often so much going on in the distinctly complex arrangements (11/8 time makes an appearance) that the uninitiated listener is almost on the verge of being constantly lost. This is where the drummer, Ólafur Björn Ólafsson, plays his most important role. He is essentially a cartographer. With his woody (invariably snare-less) snare drum he leaves a breadcrumb trail of scattered backbeats for the listener to follow to the final destination.

The busy inferno of the opening set of songs is doused by the disarmingly reflective tone of the fourth track, Atmadja Duma Strachilu (Revolution Song). Here, the slowly swelling hi hats and stuttering trumpet imply a grim and dangerous scenario is about to unfold. It acts as an ominous precursor to danger, like when the Wild Western barman ducks behind the saloon bar, just before a gunfight.

And the following track harbours a suitable amount of tension for this grand introduction - Elenska Rachenitsa is driven by a more familiar-sounding guitar riff (which could fit comfortably into the western rock oeuvre, perhaps in the catalogues of bands such as QOTSA or Mars Volta). The track is slow, and miserable - burdened by a huge weight - until half way through, when the piece is uplifted and bursts into life. Suddenly, the tempo has doubled and the same riff is embellished with trumpets and accordion. It is exuberated, liberated.

Three tracks from the end, Cetvorno Horo, marks a significant shift in the album’s pace. It comes to a complete standstill. This is a post-rock swill of slowly mingling and weaving tones. The instruments sound physically exhausted. The track feels structureless and fluid, as if it’s a by-product of the rest of the album – like the beige, murky smudges left on an artist’s palette after he’s finished his greatest work.

From this emotional valley, the final two tracks rise like a pair of shiny phoenix. Winding Horo features some of the most outright rock on Royal Family – Divorce. Filthy guitar tones, and even power chords, make a brief but devastating appearance, sending the other elements scattering and spinning madly around them like a tornado in a rice field.

Nevestinko Horo is a wonderful closer. It flaunts a calculated and complex, but relaxed and uplifting melody which is interpreted by various instruments in turn before feeling the full force of the collective behind it. This is a truly magical end to a turbulent album.

Royal Family – Divorce is a real eye-opener to a different musical culture. It sounds so authentic due to the dexterity, skill and passion of all involved in its performance and production, as well as the countless thousands who nurtured Bulgarian/Balkan folk music over the centuries.

For something a little different, this album is certainly worth taking a risk on – sometimes a smooth slab of post-rock, others a kettle full of boiling blood, staining the extractor fan red – it’s a difficult album to forget.

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