Beginning with what sounds like a dial tone, Hamburg singer-songwriter Rico Friebe’s new double album gets off to a disarming start.
Once the (traditional) instruments are introduced, an acoustic guitar and a jaunty piano lead the charge. There are no drums – for we don’t need them – the percussive quality of the acoustic strums fills in perfectly. After a short intro, the vocal comes in, and it’s ghostly and ethereal. Lyrically, it’s seemingly full of regret and remorse. Put it all together, and it’s quite the audible tapestry. It feels like a combination of Villagers, Bon Iver and something else altogether that we can’t quite put our finger on. We love it when that happens. Rico’s fifth album this year continues on a path that he’s carved out for himself – doing what he wants, when he wants – see his work as his dance music alter-ego Rico Puestel for further evidence of this. And the opening tune here is so individualistic that it feels like an embodiment of that ethos.
Another song, another unusual intro. This time, a repeating bell. The sound of an old-timey train, perhaps? No matter, it sets the scene beautifully. Cinematic, atmospheric and intrigued, we begin. The piano and vocal for Minneola come in simultaneously. The piano arrangement feels classical whilst the vocal is quietly baroque or choral, with cryptic lyrics and uncertain meaning. In a similar fashion to the work of our own Misophone, Rico’s style is quickly established as quite unlike any others, or at least any others in recent memory. The closest thing we can think of to compare it to is perhaps Beirut or Lonely Dear. Its artistic eccentricity, traditional approach and musical single-mindedness mean it feels out of place in today’s hellish landscape of instant-everything, abusive algorithms and AI overlords. It feels like it belongs on its own, in another time. It doesn’t feel overblown to say that listening to this for the first time seems like a significant moment of musical discovery.
Baton Rouge opens with a flurry of birdsong. This gives way to a gentle piano motif that evolves quickly, blossoming into bloom. Hypnotic and enchanting, it has a nursery rhyme-like naivety to it that is both charming and compelling. But there’s also an almost sinister undertone, or an air of contrition, about the spectral delivery. Similar to the last song, it’s not clear exactly what Baton Rouge is about, and that makes it all the more intoxicating.
What sounds like a fist rapping on a wooden door begins Friend Pt. 1. The proceedings thereafter are in keeping with the tone of the rest of the album thus far. Warm, acoustic instrumentation, expertly executed and beautifully realised. The eerie, retro-leaning – almost-vaudevillian – atmosphere continues here, a thread that has been prevalent throughout the album. We wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Rico was a fan of Amanda Palmer’s based on some of the vibes here. Friend Pt. 2. follows and, at only 97 seconds long, it feels well and truly like a continuation of the first song. An addendum to Pt. 1, in Pt. 2, the vocals are drenched in echo, creating an even more otherworldly sensation than the songs that we’ve come across so far.
Reintroducing the theme of utilising unexpected introductory noises, Suddenly begins with the sound of an old school telephone ringing. It gives way to a sorrowful, pensive lament. The acoustic guitar playing here is second to none, bringing to mind the skilled dexterity of Start Tracks’ very own folk hero, the Brighton-based troubadour Rapt. There’s a percussive phantom element to the instrumentation here that, as well as almost acting like a metronome, completely commands your attention.
Eugene opens with an environmental field recording. The hustle and bustle of people in a crowded place – perhaps a market or a town centre. This quickly subsides, and a throbbing musicality takes over. It’s dominated by a prominent, persistent piano and is full of mystery and character, and we can’t help but wonder who Eugene might’ve been. Towards the end of the song, the piano gets deeper and feels almost foreboding. But before anything truly sinister can come to pass, the birdsong is back – in the form of the introduction to the next song, Scarlett Tanager. Rico’s classical piano training comes shining beautifully through on this one – although saying this, it also reminds us of the piano in Space Dementia by Muse. We’re utterly transfixed by his transcendental performance on the keys, and then that vocal comes in again. As ghoulish as ever – in a good way – There’s a gossamer delicacy to his delivery that commands your attention without being especially attention-seeking or overbearing. It’s a difficult skill pulled off perfectly by someone who clearly really knows their craft. We also think the double-tracked vocal on this one works particularly well – listen out for it!
A pencil on paper introduces us to Take Away, which starts with – whisper it – an almost funky bass part(?!) just when you think you know what to expect from a record, an element that so far has barely featured is flung to centre stage. The combination of that vocal and those rolling keys comes in and again, there’s a distinct vintage vibe to the songwriting here. It feels like it could’ve soundtracked a European carnival from the 1930s or, going back even further, have been lifted from a Victorian Music hall or something. It’s amazing how music can transport you to places you’ve never been.
The curiously titled “..” is up next and features the most traditional vocal performance thus far. Stark naked and absolutely stunning, there’s a fragility and an openness to the voice here that we haven’t met yet. All theatrical pretences are dropped for “..” and it makes us love it even more. Just as we come to that conclusion, the song ends with a recurring beeping noise, and the first half of the double album concludes.
Anthem For A Forgotten Generation is the first song of the second part of the album, The Open Glade. With a piano part as stunning as we’ve come to expect from this album, it has us ensnared from the very first notes. When Rico sings “Why did you choose not to take my hand?” it’s absolutely gut-wrenching. Positively heartbreaking. Such a simple question, such a large emotion.
Wandering returns to the childlike innocence of Baton Rouge. Almost musicbox-like in its melody, the twinkly, innocent-sounding piano is eventually complemented by bassier undertones in the background – like a beautifully scenic backdrop behind an actor performing a soliloquy on stage, it frames the whole thing perfectly and vitally provides context and support.
Rise and Shine has an Elliott Smith-esque vulnerability to it. It’s a potent blend of introspection and morose outlooks. However, there’s also a touch of the classic California by Phantom Planet near the beginning and a bit of Knocking On Heaven’s Door to the acoustic guitar chord progression – which is, of course, no bad thing, for we love a bit of Bob (and also The OC, LOL). Later in the song, an organ is introduced and adds a beautiful additional dimension to a thing that was already fantastically lovely, if a little unnerving.
Crossroads is surprisingly upbeat and begins with a jaunty rolling piano – that actually lasts the entire length of the song – accompanied by some lively handclaps. Where the hell did that come from?! The lyrics, however, quickly veer into familiar territory with Rico crooning “cry if you feel like it, cry if you feel” – a sentiment that feels decidedly at odds with the aforementioned jovial feeling instrumentation. The pairing is an interesting prospect – a brave artistic choice and a little confounding, but we’re sure there’s a good story behind it! (Answers on a postcard, kids!)
I Don’t Know takes the pace back down again. Again, centred around some liberally used high piano parts, Rico again combines this high lead part with deeper, darker backing. A picture of despondency on this one, Rico sings “I don’t know what to say, or what to do”, and you can’t help but relate, for we’ve all been there. Sometimes helplessness consumes you, and it certainly feels that way in this song. Some synthetic strings come in towards the end and complement the repetitive, meditative piece wonderfully. As the song ends, he ends with an a acapella phrase of “you gave no reason”, and it feels that much more powerful, out there all on its own. Like your deepest darkest thought projected onto a movie screen in the pitch black night.
Up next is Close Obedience, which is the most haunting piece so far. Sounding like the soundtrack to a scene in a horror film, it’s full of tension and terror, intrigue and intensity. The piano sound is absolutely huge and the most significant sounding it’s been on the whole record. This is probably the most theatrical and dramatic moment of the album so far. And in an album this epic, that’s really saying something.
The handclaps return on True Heart, although in a much more reserved manner than on Crossroads. The verses lull you into a false sense of security, and then the chorus kicks in.
An explosion of sound ensues, and everything seems to be occurring in double time. “Do what you have to do, do it from your heart”, Rico sings over galloping piano and increasingly percussive clapping. It feels almost manic compared to the rest of the album – like a sudden injection of adrenaline in a sleeping giant.
You Are begins with a solitary repeating piano note. Suspenseful and dramatic (there’s that word again), it sets the scene quite vividly. Laying a foundation of intrigue and curiosity, you can’t help but think that what will come after it has a rather tough act to follow. But the song builds naturally, growing organically and subtly over the course of its duration. Special mention must go to the piano part being played, where it is. This tonal deviation – in the context of the album as a whole – makes the song even more compelling and captivating and sets it apart nicely. Our favourite song on the record is emotive and measured and a real work of art. The contrast generated by the return to the more tried and tested piano range on the subsequent song – Efforts – further supports this. Don’t get us wrong, Efforts is undeniably beautiful, but we still just are not yet over that last tune. We’re not ready to move on from it. However, just as we realise that this is what we’re feeling while listening to this, Efforts surprises us. The last third of the song sees a shift in exactly what we can’t quite place. But there’s definitely a gear change that elevates the song to levels it wasn’t at before. It gets bigger and bolder, brighter and better, and all of a sudden, we don’t want it to end. Then it does.
A delicately picked acoustic guitar introduces us to In Peace. The piano takes a distinct backseat here, and actually, at this stage in the record, it’s a nice change of pace. The balance that has been struck on this song is just right (Rico also produced and engineered the record, by the way) and serves the song perfectly. The piano comes back to the fore for the subsequent, penultimate tune, Harmony, which is centred around one lyrical phrase – the mantra “Living in harmony”. Something we should all aspire to.
The last song is entitled 212 and – don’t worry – it’s not an Azealia Banks song. Although that might’ve actually been quite interesting. Anyway, we digress. The real 212 is a rollicking, good time. It feels like a combination of the sound of the first disc and the second one. A hybrid of haunting old-timey melodies and the essence of The Desire Path, paired with the more percussive stylings we’ve encountered on The Open Glade. As a result, it feels like an appropriate way to close the album, a fitting end to this most unique and beguiling record.
Written by Kinda Grizzly
