Review Summary: Putting the candle back.
Some projects just don’t work out. Competing ideas, personal conflicts, lack of income, loss of interest, and many more are abounding in the obituaries of terminated bands. What could have been is left to stray musings by the odd fan or two that remember what once was. This is what makes something such as Falconetti compelling in a certain way; it is a group that shouldn’t have a record out in 2020. Their brief existence spanned from 2003 to 2008, which has long since passed, and along with it any semblance of lingering memory. For all intents and purposes, the fledging post-metal/rock collective was left buried and forgotten in the vast cemetery of modern music acts that bowed out of the industry. Perhaps, in a year full of surprises, it should seem moderately believable that Falconetti would once again see the light of day. After core members of the four-piece reunited, the prior works of the collective were dug up, hastily cobbled together, strapped to the nearest operating table (decrepit castle setting optional) and zapped to life. The result of this is a hypothetical made into Frankenstein’s monster—a what-if scenario embodied in the form of the only full-length effort crafted by the Yorkshire gents. This beast may not be heard very clearly and it surely looks worse for wear (you would too, being dead for over a decade!), but the sound emitted on technical debut LP
A History of Skyscrapers is worthy of acclaim. Striving to encapsulate how a Falconetti release
might be like, the album includes nearly all of the project’s tracks regardless of release date, configuring the product so as to portray the heavily atmospheric approach the quartet applied to the genre. Although this zombie of a disc lacks a degree of finesse, what Falconetti were able to accomplish is lovingly put on display.
The foundation of the group already pushes it a fair distance ahead of the crowd. Of the original four-man setup, one member was dedicated to performing a trumpet. Brass and post-rock are well acquainted, but this tends to take the form of a big-band approach, with multiple contributors providing additional elements such as classical string instruments. Due to the smaller scale Falconetti operated on, the trumpet inevitably earned a more prominent placement in arrangements, assisting greatly in definining the intriguing soundscapes discovered on the record. Contrary to what preconceptions might portray, the distinctive woodwind rarely adopts an overwhelmingly bombastic quality; its purpose is to cooperate with the guitar, percussion, and bass output rather than outshine it—an even plane that is held constant across the nearly hour-long duration of the album. In the opening number from which the album receives its namesake, the trumpet sneaks into the evolution of the song as the repeated riff augments its intensity. It remains a critical component of the tune as it trudges on, the crunching guitars punctuating the climax reinforced by the instrument’s distinguishing call, adorning the track with a broader, cinematic scope. In a similar manner, the trumpet assists the gradual construction of “Body of Water,” gently urging the formation forward into its cacophonic climax. Among heavy, pulverizing bass and guitar riffs, the trumpet wails in the background, adding a finishing touch to a devastating wall of sound as the four-piece lays siege upon the listener with the full capabilities of their output. Both examples demonstrate little fanfare for the instrument as it enters the fray; it is simply an integral part of Falconetti, omnipresent in each of their captured works. Even in a creation dedicated almost exclusively to atmosphere, such as the gloomy “Sonatine,” the trumpet shines for how it inserts a captivating element into the canvas the band portrays.
For the majority of
A History of Skyscapers, ambiance indeed remains the principal agenda. Crescendo-Core, as it is often derisively termed, tends to be the reigning theme of modern-day post-rock acts. The album presented here, despite being an exhumed corpse, is not entirely wed to such cliches, and in doing so noticeably increases its appeal. Typically, by aiming for a cathartic apex of sorts, projects miss the importance of
the journey—the series of instrumental movements that lay out a path for the listener, twisting and turning through different locales until finally emerging at a culminating moment. The conclusion isn’t in doubt, as the audience is well aware where the track is guaranteed to end, thus making the odyssey
towards that goal of utmost importance; it must feel earned rather than tacked on because the Crescendo-Core gods decreed it so. Despite having layers of predictability to an extent, Yndi Halda and We Lost the Sea manage to be memorable by exhibiting enthralling expeditions en route to a pinnacle. The ebb and flow of a song is how it can ensnare passers-by, surrounding them with melancholia, triumph, or whatever emotion the band at the driver’s wheel intend on displaying. The imposing monochromia of the album’s cover is evidence enough that Falconetti desire to intimidate their audience to a degree, providing an ominous sense that pervades the runtime of the amassed tracklist.
Instead of abiding by trends, Falconetti’s methodology goes a step further by making their climaxes either surprisingly understated or nonexistent, allowing the sensations radiating from their tracks to sink in. This is where the collective is most comfortable, and it particularly shines in “Finisterre” and “Oceanography.” These entries are unique for featuring female guest singers—credited to Emma Adams and Holly Irvine, respectfully—that embody the only vocal inclusions on the disc. The former song sports a slow tempo sparked by a buzzing bass riff, the distant static of the guitar painting the setting. Adams slinks into this almost noir-esque environment with grace, quietly wandering about the towering cityscape that seems to sprout from the ground, her voice the only light in the murky depths of industry. When an instrumental refrain creeps upon the track, the alto crooning pairs off beautifully amidst subtle distortion employed in the background. The roaring of the trumpet during the sudden, intense finale perfectly caps off the mountainous despair Adams delivered. On the latter number, Irvine is faced with a reverberating rhythm underneath a twisting guitar riff, the subtle twinkle of the passage supplying a mystique to the track—an indescribable veil that cannot be pierced through. Her more defined delivery, less curving than Adams, sounds contrastingly serene when placed into an ominous context, enabling the aesthetic of Falconetti to bear the weight of the tune’s strength. Without the vocalists in the equation, however, there is still plenty to enjoy from what the act offers; they are not used wholly as a crutch, rather enhancing what is already excellent. The heavy conclusion of “Body of Water” rises as an incredible high point, whereas the title track accurately portrays Falconetti’s climax-less approach. There are enchanting sections abound going off of the structures the group are able to showcase.
The positive attributes of the LP are unfortunately unable to mask the fact that this is an album out of time; the production quality sounds as if it was preserved through mummification. Possessing a thin sound is not a negative in of itself, but when the group wants to push the limits of their productivity, the mix simply won’t allow it. It may be avoided in “Body of Water,” but in the lengthy “Straights of Messina,” the meandering second half craves a beefier punch. Then there is the matter of the tuning of the bass, which is either too quiet or containing a tonality that doesn’t mesh well whatsoever with the drumming or guitar. In the aforementioned number, the bass has a tendency to disappear into the nether whenever fellow instruments amp up their force—a curious phenomenon in a LP that has comparatively few separate components at play at a given time. If this was a grandiose, large outfit, such an occurrence may even be expected, but for the bass to lose itself so easily inside the thin production is jarring at times. Part of the issue is the fact that the organization of a track like “Straights” is presented in a way that doesn’t allow any portion to do much of interest, save for an interlude halfway through that introduces a pleasing strings arrangement. The song simply seems to enter into different phases without having very clear reason to proceed in any direction. Such is the Achilles’ Heel of
A History of Skyscrapers: Falconetti’s commitment to their personal style causes a multiple of songs to drift in and out.
It is admirable to craft an experience akin to an ambient album wherein the overarching
vibe of a tune is relied upon to seduce the listener. What the Yorkshire quartet demonstrate, while exciting in various areas, is equally tepid in others. Not much more can be written regarding “Sonatine” and album closer “Magna Via” because their own writing proves to be unworthy of citation; their lack of progression exacerbates the dilemma of each respective track possessing an enduring idea that isn’t charming enough on its own. This can also be observed in “Kino,” though the finale of the creation does endeavor to crank up the volume. The collective was obviously onto something incredibly fascinating when performed correctly, yet the absent flow between individual cuts and the missing development in certain respects leaves one with an unfinished portrait—a zombified project that has spent too long decaying in the throes of time. Had Falconetti the opportunity to retrace their steps with the knowledge of experience and an improved budget, a better production could easily address aspects of the disc’s downfalls. Provided that, however, there would still be fundamental flaws causing the record to reach lower heights than it may have potentially attained. A beast capable of amazing feats, undoubtedly, but one that has trouble standing on its own two feet, tripping over close to the finish line like Daniel Jones on a breakaway. For these U.K. Frankensteins, it wouldn’t hurt to head back to the castle crypt and give the level another crank; greatness, if they wish to reunite and pursue it, may await.
