Straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak: "Celestina is a concept album (remember that term?) about a doomed space flight by a bunch of astronauts getting high on pure oxygen while exploring a giant gas nebula in the constellation Cassiopeia. Really." That would indeed make sense. The word 'space' is likely to feature quite highly in this review. I'm afraid it can't really be avoided, not when the listener is faced with music of such an expansive nature. Let's be clear though; this isn't the cold, 'scientific' space as defined by Nasa. This is the sort of space as seen in sci-fi, space-exploration films of the 50s, 60s and 70s. This is space as seen through a kaleidoscope. And despite the expansive nature of the album and the wandering, meandering nature of many of the songs, there is also a real sense of claustrophobia. It's psychedelic, heady and intoxicating, like being trapped in little more than a tin-can, sharing your oxygen with four other people for twelve months. The album and tracks take their titles from 'Celestina', a mediaeval Spanish text from the 15th century. The text, which deals with courtly, but tragic, love, provides the thematic base for the album as well: love and longing. An orchestral space-opera is on the cards.
All the tracks are titled 'Celestina' plus a Roman numeral, the point being that this is an orchestral suite, and a piece of music that should be listened to in its entirety. No skipping, no fast-forwarding and no singles. 'I' opens proceedings with a Caravan-esque bass-line. This is a woozy, spacey opener with 2001-style guitars and a ringing organ. Simmering and atmospheric it may be, but ultimately it feels a little dragged out and lacking in development. It's clearly meant to be a scene-setter, and understandably the sort of thing that is to be expected from a concept album. However, at three minutes plus, it's rather a long scene, which feels distinctly lacking in action. The opening track raises an issue that is inherent in many soundtracks, and particularly soundtracks that exist for their own sake. The music is there to offer accompaniment, to, indeed, 'soundtrack' the images. The relationship is generally symbiotic. Films without music can often feel empty. And soundtracks without images can often feel under-developed, limited and will sometimes struggle to hold the listeners attention for the simple fact that the music is simply there to complement the images. Soundtracks that exist without images, without one half of the formula, are generally going to be at an immediate disadvantage. Courageous doesn't begin to tell the story.
'II' launches us back into the fray. The seductive female voice whispers a 'How does it feel/to be so close to heaven?' refrain and the whole track embraces a more orchestral feel. It's languid, it's relaxed, it's trippy, but it also feels more developed and properly formed. This is the soundtrack to floating in space (as if I knew what that actually felt like).
'III' trades in the slightly stoned haze for a soaring, retro, indeed rather grandiose space-pomp. This is exactly the sort of music that would sound right at home soundtracking the Carousel scene in Logan's Run. There are plenty of cymbals and the track adopts an almost ambient, down-tempo vibe for the last minute and a half. Synth lines pour into the void that is left around the 2.45 mark and the pompous meandering is left behind. However, the retro-feel remains strong throughout and the song sways to its conclusion, leaving me with the slightly irrational desire for tinfoil jumpsuits and the entirely rational desire for Jenny Agutter. Indeed, even the numeric appellation of the tracks feels authentic and faithful to the sci-fi of old: Logan's Run (Logan 5, Jessica 6), Star Wars (IV: A New Hope, V: The Empire Strikes Back etc etc), 2001: A Space Odyssey...
'V', at 12 minutes plus, is the longest track on the album by some way. It's a haunting piece that makes use of the time at its disposal: shimmering melodies weave in and out but remain tantalisingly out of reach, reluctant to really take proper form. Guitar echoes float up through the mix at various intervals, seemingly at their leisure. At about the half-way mark, everything starts to coalesce, and finally arises the possibility of an actual song appearing from the hypnotic, swirling mess. The drums, never actually absent, become a bit more insistent, a bit more driven. But it never really happens. The bass starts to throb a bit more, but rather than reaching for the climax, the song stops and the listener is left with more echoes, like a star that has just imploded with nothing more than a pop and a slight ringing in the ears. It's an intriguing track that refrains from really cutting loose, but sits on the edge of perception, hanging onto a real air of menace, and a brooding, ever-so-slightly frightening atmosphere. This sinister, other-worldly aura is heightened by the mournful, throaty voices that bring the song to a close.
After the rumbling, sinister overtones of the previous track, 'VI' feels like a breath of fresh air (ironic considering the lack of just such a thing in space). It feels like stepping out of an debauched, all-night party of alcohol and drugs to bright, clear sunshine. Meg Maryatt's vocals are light and airy and whilst the shimmering, psychedelic feel never goes away, the twinkling keys and buoyant percussion makes this song incredibly pleasant. It's an impressive change of mood that nevertheless hangs onto the general theme of the album. The theme of love and longing has not yet really been discussed, but to my ears it's the longing that is in the ascendency for most of the album. Any sense of love is tempered by feelings of insecurity, uncertainty and unease, as if love is but a transient high to be experienced and savoured just like another fleeting, more often than not chemical, high. VI is a good example of this, the mournful 'Why did I love you/from the start?' and 'You touched my soul/now I know I can love no-one but you' lyrics signifying a serious comedown. Indeed the lyrics are entirely contrapuntal to soaring delivery and laid-back groove of the music.
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'Celestina VII', a three-step swing, with Maryatt again musing on 'heaven', is another chilled-out trip, far more lushly orchestral than the previous tracks. This spacey-wander through the galaxy lulls the listener into a delightful reverie as the music washes over. It's a sweetly beautiful track that is completed by the distant chiming of a bell, the last sound left as the song fades to a whisper.
Having lulled the listener into the almost soporific, doped-out haze, 'VIII' performs a complete reversal of the relaxed, languid 'breather' of the previous two tracks. This one throws the guitar into overdrive, and the track takes on an aggressive, throbbing attitude that has been markedly absent from album thus far. Female harmonies push the guitars apart, calling for calm, but it is merely temporary. The throbbing overdrive is joined by another, this time squalling, guitar. The angelic, ethereal voices soar out of the speakers, the gorgeous yang to the guitars' dark and foreboding ying. Neither appears victorious, for both collapse, seemingly exhausted from the conflict. Silence reigns, punctuated by little more than a faint xylophone melody. But wait! The voices, noticeably fatigued and diminished, return for one last appearance. Weakened but not bowed, they see out the last thirty seconds of the track.
'IX', another noticeably retro track, has enough space-age synth chords and reverb to send any galactic traveller into throes of ecstasy. It's another more ambiently-orientated piece, unsurprising considering its predecessor, and is less concerned with where its going, merely content to enjoy the leisurely ride while it lasts.
The final 'proper' track of the album, 'Celestina X' opens with a dreamy glockenspiel twinkle, languid in tempo but crystal clear in tone. Wavering chords creep up on the melody, the first indication that all may not be as it seems. A sinister synth bass-line starts to pound, clearly intent on upsetting the mood. Like a dream that starts off pleasantly, but becomes more and more unnerving, this track leaves the listener unsure as to how to feel. The unease never fully materialises, but remains constant and nagging. The mood is not helped by the sudden, slightly disorientating disappearance of all but the twinkling keys, right at the end.
'Celestina XI' closes the suite by reprising the caravan-esque bass-line, this time slightly fleshed out by arpeggiated guitars and sharp pulses of strings, resolutely anchored in the background. The tempo picks up briefly towards the end, teasing the listener with promises of development and elaboration, before the whole thing rolls to a halt.
As is to be expected from a concept album, themes revolve, rotate, fade in and fade back out. The whole album is awash with reverb and a general feeling of being ripped to the hilt. And yet, far from getting high off too much oxygen (see the press release blurb), some of these tracks are so dense, so close, so incredibly heavy that it's like the listener has rather been deprived of oxygen. The very paradox of space, that it can be at once so immense, so open and so liberating, and at the same time be so constrictive, claustrophobic, and restricted is reflected perfectly in the music. It reaches for the stars and takes us on a journey that is both futuristic and retrospective. Psychedelic, heady and overwhelming at times, it also manages to hold onto that grandiose, cinematic, wide-screen scope. And to finish off the argument began at the beginning of the review regarding the very nature of soundtracks, it should be noted that there is another, as yet unmentioned, type of soundtrack, a sort that taps into both the listener's imagination and experience, to create a piece of music that can soundtrack dreams, ideas or indeed moods. 'Celestina' falls into that category. Cassiopeia was a mythological Greek queen, fabled for her unrivalled beauty. Unrivalled is always a dangerous term, all too often leading to overwhelming vanity, overweening pride and hubris, the sin to top all sins in the ancient world. So without offending anyone on this plane or any other, I shall just say this: 'Celestina' is an impressive, at times unnerving, at others staggeringly beautiful, piece of music.
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