Given the fact that Matteo Paganini and Michael Künstle have already composed for TV and film, it’s no surprise that their debut album is cinematic. The bonus is a 92-piece orchestra, which makes every piece sound like a film trailer or theme. Together, the tracks form a “Musical Travel Diary,” excerpts of which are found in the accompanying book; each is accompanied by a photo and a brief essay.
This being said, one may wish to make their own associations, especially in the opener, “Abstract 2.0.” The tone is Jurassic Park, widescreen large, bursting when the drums and brass advance. Inspired by the overstimulation of a big city, the piece also promises adventure and teems with possibility. In this world, anything can happen, and probably will.
The duo certainly know that “Isbjerge” is a highlight, as it was chosen as the first single. At first, the strings swirl and coalesce; one can hear them teeming in the background, a natural outgrowth of the album’s prelude; then they begin to engage in a pas-de-deux. By mid-piece, the action seems to have died down, but this is only a pause; in the third minute, the density and volume increase and the drama is raised to the nth degree. Inspired by the vast landscapes of Iceland’s fjords, as seen in the accompanying video, the piece cuts between intimate and overwhelming, conveying conflicting emotions: a single bird on a floe, the matching colors of ice and sky, the slow motion waves of Vik.
After this, the album turns romantic, because what’s an adventure (or a movie) without a little romance? “Freedom to Live” launches in a serenade of strings, inspired by the Moroccan sunset. Our set is hopping around the world like James Bond. In the video, a ballerina dances in solitude, inhabiting the shadows of dusk. Appropriately, the piece was first titled “Light & Shadow,” and is followed by “Fireflies,” whose flittering notes are sonic echoes of gently flashing lights. Although separated by a track, one might consider “Lighthouse” the completion of this triptych, accompanied by a fragment of an unfinished manuscript by Edgar Allan Poe. The tone is calmer, more reflective, taking the listener by the hand and leading them to twin scenes of heartbreak: “Child Wish,” which reflects a dream unfulfilled, and “Love Letters,” which holds on to a memory with all its might, no matter what the emotional weight.
We’ve experienced awe and adventure, fallen in love, and felt the tug of shadow and light. We’ve struggled through the dark night of the soul, culminating in the frantic energy of “Noctambulism.” And now the denouement. In “Brutalist” (coincidentally the title of a recent award-winning film), Paganini and Künstle knit the threads together to reach a triumphant conclusion. The liner notes speak of a refugee returning home to a devastated city and rebuilding a house, motivated not by resentment and anger, but determination and hope. This brief piece wraps the album back to the start, but also sets up the sequel: what challenges, what adventures yet await? (Richard Allen)