Øyvind Torvund‘s latest opus on Hubro is a sweeping gesture laying open his love for the kind of crazy exotica that the likes of Martin Denny and Les Baxter wowed the unsuspecting public of the 1950s. It is not about copying what came before, though, as there are some curious modernist elements that attempt to update that classic lush and string-laden sound. The album was originally commissioned by the Bit20 Ensemble and Oyvind has taken advantage of their interest by co-opting the fifteen-piece ensemble for the full Technicolor, widescreen effect.
Opener “Ritual 1” is a little bit of esoterica with whistling and flute lending a Disneyfied Snow White kind of vibe. The strange bubbling that appears at various points throughout the album is like some ghost of the Radiophonic Workshop popping up at inopportune moments to rattle the cages. It doesn’t really prepare you for the diaphanous sweep of the harp and strings that opens “Starry Night”, though. It sets a romantic sunny scene and glides from the speakers like two perfect partners in unison, soft sand squirming through sun-kissed feet as little rock-pools bubble and mysterious creatures poke their heads up to check the romantic scene.
The beauty of the album is the juxtaposition of these charming vignettes that hark back to the idea of travel via your hi-fi and the more modern, freer sections that stand out like a sea urchin in the sparkling sand. Piano chases the electronic birdsong in “Wind Up Paradise Birds” in a wide-eyed way, but is interspersed with shadowy sections that cool down the drama of the other parts. It is romantic yet enigmatic, and this juxtaposition continues with some palette-cleansing white noise at the start of “Waking Up Again”. It sounds like emerging from a nightmare as the honking sax makes things rather uneasy.The surfy tropicalia of “Rainbow Crystal” harks back to the likes of South Pacific, but with funny little staccato horns preventing it from settling. It is reminiscent of the cover — which at first glance looks like a beach, but is actually a Polynesian mountain scene. You are expecting one thing and actually receiving something rather unexpected. The angry rasping sax of “Jungle Alarm” sounds like the title or frustrated cruise ships, but gives way to a kind of tango energy that smooths things over.
As the end of the album gradually arrives, so the ideas keep coming; the disconcerting shooting stars of “Ritual 2”, and the crazed and emotional sax of “Cave” blowing in a very free 1970s manner, before gradually descending into the gloom. The lush sweep of final track “Out Of The Jungle” throws everything the ensemble has into the mix, building into a tribal drum-filled cinematic full-scale finale. The image of a lovelorn girl standing on a sunset beach as the prow of a lover’s ship appears around the headland is irresistible, and a perfect ending to this wonderful trip down memory lane and back to the future all at once.
-Mr Olivetti-
