Listeners familiar with Frank Schültge Blumm’s Mondkuchen, Ankern, and Lichten may wonder if his latest, the 38-minute Zweite Meer, will deviate from his signature style of rustic instrumental folk. After all, the earlier albums’ titles suggest themes of movement and searching—Ankern (to anchor), Lichten (to lighten, to pull the anchor)—with Zweite Meer translating as “second sea, a new place.” As it turns out, the new album sounds much the same as the earlier material, though that’s hardly cause for complaint when it sounds so delightful.
Apparently, his ideas for the album gestated during a journey from Canada to Mexico in the company of Greg Davis and e*rock, with Blumm captivated by desert expanses witnessed along the way. Though fragile in feel, the album’s panoramic vignettes are similarly expansive. Though he apparently had Burt Bacharach, Tom Jones, and Brian Wilson on his mind during the trip, the album’s twelve pieces hardly draw an overt connection to any of them. The material is, rather, instrumental folk, with nary an electronic sound to be heard anywhere. While Blumm plays numerous instruments (mallet percussion, guitars, bass, drums), his arrangements often emphasize melodica and harmonium, a move which consequently bolsters the music’s timeless quality. While the album makes its strongest impact when broached as a whole, “Nie,” a lovely and stately march featuring melodica, clarinet, and glockenspiel, stands out as particularly beautiful. Elsewhere, Harald Ziegler’s affecting French Horn deepens the somber mood of “Blick,” and a relaxed vocal by David Grubbs appears in the concluding song to nicely complement the album’s overall mood. Only “Nah” works up some aggressive, guitar-driven steam, with the remaining songs bucolic and reflective in spirit. Put simply, Zweite Meer is a gorgeous album of chamber folk tunes filled with yearning, heartwarming melodies.
Ron Schepper |
