"As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself
transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect." The opening line
to Kafka's Metamorphosis, the source of this Richmond, Virginia orchestral slo-core band's name, is perhaps, an opening into their first full-length
album, coming six years into Gregor Samsa's collective career. These eight
songs, full of oceanic swells, sudden silences and naked vulnerability,
have both the clarity of Kafka's prose and the otherworldliness of his
storyline. There are transformations here, too, as the music moves
serenely from one state of being to another, from minimalist murmurs to
triumphant explosions. These are lovely, tranquil, yet deeply disturbing
songs, built on slow-changing textures of guitar, whispered voices, stately
drumbeats and mournful piano chords.
Not much is known about the members of Gregor Samsa, at least beyond the
founder and sole remaining original member, Champ Bennett. The band's last
record, 27:36, was intended to be a full-length, but money ran out
mid-session and it became an EP. The band foundered for a while on
interpersonal issues, then regrouped with Bennett's brother Billy on drums
and friend Jason Laferrera on bass and keyboards. Nikki King provides the
mysterious female element, her pure soprano intertwining with Bennett's in
quieter moments. They recorded again in 2005, just the four of them,
generating an almost orchestral sound, with quietly meditative interludes
alternating with giant emotional payoffs. There's a minimal purity to
songs like "These Points Balance," that might remind you of early Low, yet
comparisons to such post-rock symphonists as Godspeed and Mogwai are also
relevant in the slow-growing grandeur of 10-minute long "Even
Numbers." When the cut erupts, breaking out a tidal swell of violins
and drums after more than two minutes of sparse guitar interchanges, it's
breathtaking and in retrospect, almost inevitable.
Perhaps the most beautiful of all these songs is "Young and Old," a dreamy
slow drift of reverberating guitar tones and brushed percussion. The
voices, King and Bennett in soft, breathy harmony, enter in, blowing gently
on the song until it glows and finally catches fire. There's a quiet
break mid-track, some sort of mallet on cymbals and barely discernable
guitars, joined finally by cello, swelling that instrument's heavy
warmth.
Gregor Samsa's music is filled with vast spaces, barely muted
silences, and voices that may or may not make themselves
understood. Gorgeous, lonely, thoughtful and mysterious, these are songs
for people who wake up one day not completely sure who they are, but are
willing to forge on through unfamiliar landscapes.
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