Review Summary: Patience, dear.
Straight off the bat, Belgian softies Flying Horseman have mastered a remarkable trait that they’ve embraced in full on their latest record. They’ve mastered the art of subtlety and slow-building melody, almost of the And Also the Trees level. None of their songs explode into immediate chaos of catchiness and flamboyance that forces its way under your skin, leaving the veins open bleeding on the floor. Instead, they softly creep around and with a surgical precision open up your brainpan, insert themselves in and carefully sew heal the wound.
Indeed, the patiently, gently crafted tunes are the key hook on this album. They never insistently try to make you like them; you just do it yourself freely. Take the opener “The Key” as an example. Nothing really seems particularly outstanding at first, but as it goes on and on, and as your ears start to get used to the musical aversion to change and any stylistic harshness, you find yourself getting hooked on the almost vulgar simplicity of the thing. It is vague. It is banal. And it is gorgeous.
The following cut, “Deep Earth”, however, is above one of the pinnacles of this album’s magnificence. It not only uses the aforementioned subtle melody-work, but also brings in the ever-fascinating detail in background instrumentation that would go on to be carried over track-to-track. The synthetic waviness of the musical locus here is both intricate and histrionic.
Nevertheless, the band doesn’t shy away from a punchier cut either. The meaty trembling of “Fever Room” (affectionately followed by the album’s quietest track, “Reverie”), cuteness of “Stars” or a slightly more despair-ridden “Bright Light” (complete with an honest to god guitar solo, of all things), be thy examples. So don’t you be afraid of too tepid a sound, for there are plenty of surprises to come.
But what you definitely shouldn’t expect is a crescendo-obsessed beast that is designed to puncture your mind and rip it apart with its bloated, in-your-face aesthetic. This is the exact opposite, even in spite of its handful of unexpected guitar solos, bluesy influences and relatively trippy cuts. It works on you the same way the cover does: it is so minimalistic and peaceful, yet somehow manages to pour cold water on your head with poignancy and calm beauty.
