Review: Gösta Berlings Saga ‘Forever Now’
The relentless pace of Pelagic’s releases come thick and fast these days, and Robin Staps’ label remains committed to shining a light on bands that share a similar ethos to the expansive vision that has guided The Ocean Collective since their inception 25 years ago.
This means that, on a regular basis, many of the releases feature unfamiliar names, with each new promo bringing a voyage of discovery, which for me is one of the biggest joys of this ‘job’.
Gösta Berlings Saga have the distinction of becoming the latest artist I hadn’t heard of that I was tasked to sit down and experience. As ever with the Berlin based label, you can place your trust in their selection and each addition throws out an interesting, challenging listen that creates a different, unique and interweaving vision.
Named after the debut novel of Swedish Nobel Prize winning author Selma Lagerlöf, the band might be a new discovery, but they have been plying their trade since the turn of the millennia.
Formed in Stockholm by keyboardist David Lundberg and drummer Alexander Skepp before expanding to a five-piece, Gösta Berlings Saga have created six albums of boundary-pushing, instrumental music that blends raw rock energy, delicate light electronica and darker experimentation that drew from jazz’s disregard for convention, and chaotic, surreal cosmic concepts.
Whilst not a concept album, their latest seventh full-length release, Forever Now, uses the complex sounds they have honed over their evolution to articulate themes that celebrate memory and moments of eternity. Their goal was to create a timeless piece of music that tells a story over its ten interconnected parts, painting a sonic tapestry with piano, pedals, Mellotron, a distinctly Swedish melancholy and avant-garde sensibility.
The introduction Full Release starts with a rumbling drone and horns, like a Viking funeral or the sci‑fi panning shot of a future dystopian city. A rising cacophony of jazz‑like brass instruments and orchestral swells then pulls itself together, as if disassembled pieces were reassembling from a smashed mess on the floor.
Through The Arches disrupts this woozy kaleidoscope of sound with a dramatic sting and rattling drums, like the sudden entry of a silent‑movie villain. It then breaks out into an urgent, chugging rhythm, punctuated by bright melodic notes that dance in a film‑score‑like way. The result is a shining, panoramic sound that strikes a similar tone to Per Wiberg’s The Serpent Is Here.
Virtuoso techniques flash past with the dexterous interplay between Rasmus Booberg’s soulful guitar and flickering notes of David Lundberg on keyboard as they add in flute sounds, nagging electronica and lush progressive runs that chatter like excited voices.
The short interlude Arrangements flutters waif‑like through the wistful proceedings, its detached, calming air – like a recording of a recording – forms a bridge between the previous up‑tempo track and the darker strains of the title piece.
The music remains complex, always moving, shifting slightly and evolving…
Over drifting synth notes, the deep ringing bass of Gabriel Tapper and frenetic percussion of Jesper Skarin jars with the drums of Alexander Skepp to form a constant movement of skittering pace as the weeping harmonies grow to a mix of delicate arpeggios and soaring passages. These moments of high elation clash with the moody bass runs and deliberate plodding pulses as the track veers to a stately, delirious waltz that is both triumphantly stately and yet contains moments of hazy madness.
The Sprig And The Birch is another fleeting segue. Light, airy piano floats over almost imperceptible bass and low-end hum, before the crackling intro of Fragment II draws out a ‘60s flavoured refrain with lively guitar squalls that feels like freeform improvisation after a clapping rhythm.
Ascension returns to the faster-paced picking and lusher, full sound that the band locked into earlier. The mournful bass sounds give way to moments of triumphant major‑key dalliances and bounding grooves with an assured pomp and a neo‑classical sense of composition. The music remains complex, always moving, shifting slightly and evolving as the track progresses. Over the galloping notes, synths stab like choral voices and cymbals smash with crisp drama making the complex composition feel rich and inviting.
The more sinister, creeping bass and guitars of Dog Years feels like a come down as the band start to build a new foundation. One of the striking things about Forever Now is how evocative the music is. The pulsing menace of the chords are complimented by the insistent hi-hat and the stalking guitar. This track, along with other highlights of the album, makes me think of Jeff Wayne’s War Of The Worlds soundtrack, with its high drama and complex, multi‑layered richness that pulls you to and fro under the emotional weight it carries.
Almost acoustic, Make Of Your Heart A Stone, is a ballad laced with a country/folk feel. The quiet atmosphere is a contrast to the raging sound of Gösta Berlings Saga at their most intense. Ethereal and delicate, the track passes like a sigh before the concluding majesty of Ceremonial.
Full of dragging sci‑fi sounds, Forever Now’s final journey soon breaks out into a lush, summery, vibrant piece of music that feels hopeful. Yet it remains full of strikes and asides, keeping a slight edge bubbling under the surface that is suggestive and subversive under the uplifting, sparkling notes.
As the track charges forward with an action‑movie‑soundtrack‑like race to the finish line, there is a glorious sense of finality that makes the whole experience complete. It almost renders the distinction between tracks irrelevant, as together, they create an odyssey driven as much by emotion as by the ever‑shifting percussion.
Forever Now is definitely another high-calibre addition to Pelagic’s growing arsenal of releases and showcases the depth of composition the band have at their disposal.
Label: Pelagic Records
Band Links: Facebook | Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram
Scribed by: Mark Hunt-Bryden
