The Kamelot Superpost, Part 5: A New Voice

And finally we come to Silverthorn, the first Kamelot record in nearly fifteen years to feature a vocalist who isn't Roy Khan. Fans waited with held breath and much speculation to see how new boy Tommy Karevik would do with Youngblood, Grillo, Tibbetts, and Palotai at his back...and the band turned it out, as we knew they would. Silverthorn is in many ways a callback to classic Kamelot albums like Karma and The Black Halo, but it retains the experimentation and dark vibe of Ghost Opera and Poetry for the Poisoned, creating a pleasing hybrid effect. Silverthorn is also a concept album, like Epica and The Black Halo, something many metal bands enjoy creating; however, Silverthorn diverges from Kamelot's past concept records by creating a familial drama rather than a personal one. There is a lost love on this album (the narrator's wife, murdered by his brother), but the chief source of agony and estrangement is the brothers' dead sister. Where Khan and Co. created deeply individualistic narrators, knights-errant on quests for self-discovery and higher knowledge, Karevik and Co. have created a Greek tragedy of warring brothers, dead sisters and wives, and--of course--an ancestral home. Silverthorn is steeped in mythology the way most Kamelot albums are, but it draws from a different well, and to great effect. 

 

(album cover from Prog Archives)

Even more than previous records, the women of Silverthorn suffer from the phenomenon known as "fridging": being killed off so that the male narrator(s) may experience personal growth. Jolee's death tears the family apart; the father becomes abusive, the mother withdrawn, relatives die off like flies, and eventually the narrator and his twin are irreversibly estranged. Aurora, the narrator's wife, is murdered by his brother, who escapes blame until the very end. Both events are catalysts for the narrative, but the true core of the record is in the relationship between the two brothers. The major overarching theme is repentance and forgiveness (or absolution), but neither man seems too interested in Jolee's forgiveness for their negligence--instead the narrator eventually forgives himself after he deems he's suffered enough, and brother Robert apparently seeks salvation through the destruction of his brother and assumption of his identity and life in a kind of sublimating act. Aurora is a means to this end for Robert, and for his own arcane reasons, the narrator only tells the truth of what occurred after a period of penance in prison.

Karevik switches voices on occasion throughout Silverthorn; the chief, unnamed narrator speaks for most of the songs, but a few, including "Veritas" and "Falling Like the Fahrenheit," are sung from Robert's perspective. Perhaps coincidentally, these are two of the most popular tracks on the album. Kamelot fans do enjoy their singer showing off his dark side. Musically, Silverthorn is an incredible production, filled with orchestra, chants and backing vocals, and elaborate instrumental pieces. Karevik's voice is fresh and though still very much in the power metal vein, different enough from Khan's to create an intriguing new effect. "Sacrimony (Angel of Afterlife)" and "Solitaire" are possibly the most typical power metal tracks, with the bulk of the album made up of midpaced, gothily atmospheric songs. The clearly formidable combination of Karevik's fresh voice and the seasoned songwriting talents of Youngblood, Tibbetts, Palotai, and Grillo seem to be a winning formula for creating a record that displays both the iconic Kamelot elements fans love--epic stories, soaring and powerful melodies--and a desire to continually forge ahead and break new ground. Silverthorn is sure to be the first in a new string of classic records.

Necessary Track: "Torn" (live).

The Kamelot Superpost, Part 4: Beyond the Pale

Released in 2010, Ghost Opera was Kamelot's much-anticipated follow-up to the commercially and critically successful Black Halo; however, it wasn't quite what most fans might have been expecting. Darker and less fantastic (in the genre sense) than what came before, Ghost Opera broke new ground for the band both instrumentally and lyrically. In terms of content, Ghost Opera is perhaps the most similar of Kamelot's albums to those of frontman Khan's former band Conception; Khan and Youngblood's religion-related lyrics were always unorthodox, but on Ghost Opera they became downright cynical, interrogating everything from humanity's effects on the world to whether Christ was truly divine to war in the name of God. Furthermore, the three love ballads largely don't veer toward even the slight hopefulness of those found on previous albums--"Blücher" and "Love You To Death" both feature the ultimate separation of untimely death, while "Eden Echo" blends sex and religion to evoke a bleak betrayal. Most of Kamelot's familiar mythological and fantasy elements are missing from this album, replaced with geopolitical musings, stories from recent history, and an array of dark mutters about faith. The overall atmosphere of Ghost Opera is world-weariness: grounded, harsh tracks like "The Human Stain" and "Under a Mourning Star" stand in stark contrast to the soaring, ambitious nature of The Black Halo. However, Kamelot's consistent focus on soul-searching remains--though the conclusions drawn by the narrator indicate a more fatalistic worldview from Ariel on Epica and The Black Halo. Ghost Opera's songs are also significantly shorter and somewhat more straightforward, leaning away from archetypal power metal flourishes and toward goth metal and hard rock influences. Ghost Opera may not have been the follow-up to Kamelot's epic that fans were expecting, but it's a worthy record and one that signifies that the band weren't willing to rest on their laurels or churn out a boilerplate production of power metal tunes.

 

(album cover from Prog Archives)

Poetry for the Poisoned, rather than being a return to power metal form, was even more experimental than its predecessor. These two albums are much debated in the fandom and Poetry particularly evoked strong reactions, with some listeners decrying it as muddy, boring, uninspired, and nigh un-listenable. I find Poetry to be opaque, certainly, but ultimately a beautiful album which served a couple of purposes. First, it allowed the band to continue expanding their musical borders and experimenting, which they clearly wished to do; second, it allowed Khan some room to breathe, which--since he retired before the "Pandemonium Over North America" tour started--he clearly needed. His vocals on this album are vastly different from previous recordings, to suit his somewhat-diminishing range, and the complex instrumental work surrounding each track gave him back-up and a cushion to rest on. It's not every band that can turn the problem of a burned-out lead singer into an interesting, thoughtful record. 

 

(album cover from Prog Archives)

Lyrically, some of Kamelot's familiar elements are present; the fantasy motifs turn toward horror in songs like "The Great Pandemonium" and the title track, a four-part suite of incubi and beautiful prey-turned-predators, and "Hunter's Season" is a companion ballad to Karma's "Don't You Cry." However, the majority of the tracks are oblique, even menacing, with "The Zodiac" and "Necropolis" recalling real-world dramas. Poetry is a dark album, to be sure, and it's especially notable in my view for its treatment of women in the lyrics. As discussed in previous posts, the female characters in Kamelot songs almost always fall into the mold of "lost lover on a pedestal": Irea, the unnamed women in "Forever" and "Temples of Gold," Helena, and the subjects of "Love You to Death," "Blücher," and "EdenEcho." Poetry sees arguably the first female villain (not counting "Elizabeth," as that character is her song's protagonist and the listener is expected to identify with her despite her actions, and Marguerite of "The Haunting," who is Mephisto's dupe): the woman in "If Tomorrow Came," a femme fatale who crushes those who love her. We find as well the first overtly sexual woman in part two of "Poetry for the Poisoned." Unlike some other bands, Kamelot has never been one to go in for female archetypes other than the princess in the tower, and to a lesser extent the female victim, particularly on Ghost Opera; there are no evil sorceresses or crones, and until Poetry there wasn't even a temptress (again, not counting Marguerite, who is largely a channel for Mephisto to work through)--and most importantly, none of the tracks on Poetry feature the princess in the tower/lost love figure. "House on a Hill" comes closest to the male/female vocal duets of yore, but certainly isn't in the same vein as "Love You to Death" or "The Haunting." Too, "Poetry for the Poisoned" spins the female-victim trope on its head, creating the woman in the story as a predator once she encounters the incubus. Ultimately, the modes and roles in which women appear in Kamelot lyrics are up to the listener to analyze; most of them aren't straightforward.

Necessary Tracks: "The Human Stain" from Ghost Opera and "If Tomorrow Came" from Poetry for the Poisoned.

The Kamelot Superpost, Part 3: Iconography of Kamelot

Karma, Epica, and The Black Halo form the core of Kamelot's catalogue, with The Black Halo still being hailed as one of the greatest power metal records in the history of the genre. It was with these three albums that Kamelot really came into their own and refined their sound, placing themselves at the front of the European power metal scene. Thematically, Karma followed in the pattern of The Fourth Legacy with fantasy and myth-inspired lyrics on many tracks (particularly the record's three-part epic "Elizabeth," about the legendary Elizabeth Bathory), but also branched out with two of the band's most popular love songs, "Forever" and "Temples of Gold," as well as the deeply personal ballad "Don't You Cry," written about guitarist Thomas Youngblood's father. The telltale themes of love and loss are strongly present on Karma; all three ballads are concerned with the loss of a loved one, whether it be romantic or familial love. The title track and "Elizabeth" encapsulate another of Kamelot's favorite themes: the lines between holiness and profanity, physical desire and spiritual longing. This theme would be expanded upon between Epica and The Black Halo, but on Karma it takes the shape of reflections on power, creating one's own immortality--and thus sidestepping God--and desire to escape mundane ties or the corporeal form and its strictures, and ascend to something greater. Both a heavily mystical album, between the monster-themed "The Spell" and the blood magic of "Elizabeth," and a personal one with "Don't You Cry," Karma blew open the doors to gorgeous, powerful metal, refining what The Fourth Legacy had begun.

(album cover from Prog Archives)

Epica and The Black Halo form a diptych of concept albums centered around a loose interpretation of Goethe's epic Faust, with Khan and guest singers, including Shagrath of Dimmu Borgir and Simone Simons of Epica (yes, they named their band after Kamelot's album), taking on specific personae in order to tell the story through song. These core characters are listed below:

• Ariel (sung by Khan)
• Helena (sung by Mari Youngblood)
• Marguerite (sung by Simone Simons)
• Mephisto (sung by Khan on Epica and Shagrath on The Black Halo)

"Center of the Universe" and "The Edge of Paradise" present a pairing tied together by the theme of egoism--a trenchant topic in both Conception and Kamelot's music, which in this case deals with the (possibly vainglorious) soul-searching of Ariel and encapsulates the crux of his quest: he will forsake earthly treasures, including the love of his life, Helena (and even God, as seen in the song "Farewell"), in pursuit of higher spiritual knowledge. At the outset, Ariel's journey is the fruit of his own vanity; however, eventually he is tempted by Mephisto and falls prey to the demon's wiles and promises. Sacred and profane desires intermingle in "On the Coldest Winter Night" when Ariel encounters Helena once more, and this is where the core themes of the album emerge. Though in love with Helena enough to spend the night--and a few weeks after--with her, Ariel then shelves her in order to continue his quest. Despite his ostensibly pure intentions of shielding her from Mephisto's evil, his actions result in Helena's suicide and the death of the child she carries. Once Ariel discovers this (in the depressingly named "The Mourning After"...way harsh, Tai), his journey takes on a new dimension of redeeming himself for causing her death. It's also implied that Helena, in Heaven with her child, has become the symbol of what Ariel is searching for, though he won't become aware of that until The Black Halo. Helena serves as Ariel's moral centerpoint throughout the story, alive and dead, an icon of purity, goodness, and clarity; whether this is fair to her or not is debatable. Ultimately Epica finds Ariel alone and wrecked by his desires--though not necessarily his physical ones. The narrative doesn't indict Ariel for his love, but rather for placing his desire for otherworldly knowledge above the very real, earthly factors of Helena and their child.

Musically, Epica finds Kamelot riding the rising wave of Karma, delving into a more symphonic sound with expanded keyboard sections, female vocals, and choir backing suitable for themes of salvation and damnation. The record also utilizes "interlude" segments that are reminiscent of film soundtracks--Poetry for the Poisoned would perfect this trick--and act as transitions between major plot occurrences, such as Ariel meeting and leaving Helena. Rifftastic guitar lines abound, and the album's atmosphere runs from the pure power metal glory of "Center of the Universe" to the haunting ballad "Wander" to the operatic prog of "III Ways to Epica."

(album cover from Prog Archives)

The Black Halo, Kamelot's magnum opus, is the concluding half of the Goethe story and picks up with Mephisto's ongoing seduction of Ariel via a woman named Marguerite, who bears an uncanny resemblance to the dead Helena. An area where Kamelot steps outside the bounds of their fellow power metallers somewhat is in terms of erotism--Rhapsody of Fire, for instance, is apparently adhering to a strict no-sex policy, lyrically speaking. Kamelot imbues many of their songs, particularly on The Black Halo, with oblique nuggets such as "how could that first time recur" and "I see her shame in my desire." "When the Lights Are Down" is a lengthy metaphor for sex cloaked in a veil of loneliness and betrayal, while "The Haunting" and "This Pain" drive the point home. The album's simultaneous concern with carnal passion and sacred wisdom can be interpreted in a few ways: first, there is the ever-present influence of chaste courtly love narratives, in which the male voice speaks of and longs for his lady love from afar but may or may not actually consummate things; second, there is the possibility of Ariel's romantic/physical desire being ultimately the same drive as his lust for spiritual knowledge and higher wisdom. I think the latter point is more likely, given that in "Memento Mori" Ariel dies, ascends to Heaven, and finds Helena waiting for him--she has become the embodiment of his salvation and his reward all in one. However, these two angles may be synthesized as well, since aspects of courtly love infuse all of Kamelot's albums from Siege Perilous up through Ghost Opera, mingling seamlessly with their ongoing themes of personal search and development.

Though like its companion album The Black Halo is derived from Faust, for my money it also evokes another of Kamelot's favorite literary sources: Arthurian legends. Specifically, Ariel's interactions with Marguerite call to mind Lancelot's relationships with Guenever and Elaine--to be brief, Lancelot is tricked into sleeping with Elaine under the belief that she is Guenever (in his defense, he's super drunk). White emphasizes that the triangle between Lancelot, Guenever, and Arthur is actually a quadrangle, with God being the fourth partner, as Lancelot vacillates between trying to be a good Christian and a good lover to Gwen. This is eminently relevant to The Black Halo, witnessed when Ariel is seduced into sex with Marguerite while believing she is Helena returned from the dead, and echoes the themes of Epica, which show him torn between his love for Helena and his obsession with obtaining arcane knowledge. It's possible that something of Khan's private life came into play in creating these two albums as well; both have a personal vibe unique from more typical fantasy-derived power metal lyrics (in this interview Khan talks about how his personal life inspired many of his lyrics). Regardless of where exactly the core inspirations for The Black Halo came from, the band capitalized on the tensions arising from soul-searching, epic quests, and heartache to create a record both mythological in scope and human in perspective.

 

(album cover from Prog Archives)

 

The production on The Black Halo is flawless, showing off every aspect of Kamelot's arsenal, from Khan's pipes to Palotai's keyboards. The guest vocalists and musicians add even more layers to increasingly complex music, and the array of songs displays a band capable of switching from passionate ballads such as "Abandoned" to the riff-heavy "Moonlight" and the intricate "Memento Mori," one of Kamelot's longest single-part songs. Taken together, Epica and The Black Halo are Kamelot's most iconic albums, and the albums most indicative of their distinctive sound and songwriting prowess: essential, textbook Kamelot.

Necessary Tracks: "Temples of Gold" from Karma, "III Ways to Epica" from Epica, and "Memento Mori" (live) from The Black Halo.

The Kamelot Superpost, Part 2: Finding Focus

In 1997, former Conception vocalist Roy Khan joined Kamelot; the following year the band released Siege Perilous, their third album and the first to feature Khan on vocals and Casey Grillo on drums. Another record oft-overlooked by fans, Siege Perilous is a bit more well-regarded by people who don't consider themselves Kamelot devotees (one Encylcopedia Metallum review refers to the genre as "flower-metal" but gives this album a good review. So there you have it!); it's a bit rougher and murkier than what was in the cards, with Khan still finding his footing, but a bad album it is not. Both lyrically and musically, Siege Perilous is firmly within the boundaries of power metal: operatic vocals, fantasy-themed lyrics, and speedy guitars. Arthurian mythology appeared for the first, but definitely not last, time on a Kamelot record with the title itself, referencing a particular seat at the Round Table; other fantastic elements found in the lyrics include references to the fantasy roleplaying world RhyDin and questing/adventure plots typical of power metal, such as "King's Eyes" and "Expedition." At this point, Khan had not yet joined with Youngblood for full lyric-writing duties, and penned only three songs on Siege Perilous. However, these three were indicative of the themes and motifs that would arise in his writing going forward; "Millennium" and "Parting Visions" (the former containing a familiar phrase for close listeners who happen to be Conception fans, AKA me) focus on personal quests, the hunt for truth, and struggles between earthly knowledge and heavenly wisdom, while "Irea" sets a template for songs mourning a lost love. Perhaps most significantly, "Irea" places the hope of the narrator's salvation on the shoulders of the woman he loves, a situation which pops up continuously in Khan and Youngblood's lyrics.

  (album covers from Prog Archives)

The Fourth Legacy, released in 2000, was the first record to really put Kamelot on the map as an international power metal force to be reckoned with. With glossier production than previous albums (the band themselves produced Siege Perilous), outright joyful guitar work, and plenty of Khan's operatic pipes, this fourth album remains the most typically power metal Kamelot gets--and it also laid the groundwork for what was to come. Not to say that what followed was formulaic in any way, but the big hooks, impressive vocals, emotive ballads, and connective, coherent lyrics found on The Fourth Legacy formed a foundation Kamelot continued to build and expand on. Overall, The Fourth Legacy showcased a band that was hitting its stride, molding a unique sound, and shaping its personal mythology. Featuring several soaring anthems worthy of being staples on every power metal fist-pumpers playlist (including the title track and "Until Kingdom Come"), lyrically the album mines familiar thematic territory: kings and crowns, mystical female figures, mythic-historical settings--this time with "Desert Reign," "Knights of Arabia," and "Alexandria," all featuring desert-flavored keyboard work--and the Arthurian tune "The Shadow of Uther." 

"Silent Goddess," "Until Kingdom Come," and "The Inquistor" in particular spell out some of what would become Kamelot's narrative signatures: faceless women who hold the narrator's life and soul in their hands, and a servant of God who's more akin to the Devil. The voice of the cleric in "The Inquisitor" is similar to the voice of Mephisto on Epica and The Black Halo--a taunting allure that promises wisdom and everlasting life, through means not so different as they should be. Meanwhile, the women of "Silent Goddess" and "Until Kingdom Come" foreshadow the saga of Helena; cast in terms of destiny and pleas to elevate the narrator's soul, these figures are never glimpsed up-close, never speak themselves. Instead they, along with the woman in "A Sailorman's Hymn," function as beacons for the questing soul. Various aspects of courtly romance can be found in these tracks, from the princesse lointaine embodied by all three (particularly the silent goddess) to the possibility that the narrator subscribes to a chivalric code, which will ultimately test his loyalty to his lady. This lyrical ambivalence would be played up and ultimately resolved as Kamelot's career moved forward.

Necessary Tracks: "Where I Reign" from Siege Perilous (note: this link goes to the full album on Youtube; "Where I Reign" is the fifth track) and "Until Kingdom Come" from The Fourth Legacy.

The Kamelot Superpost, Part 1: Introduction and Early Years

Yes, it's that time again...SUPERPOST AHOY. This time around I aim to inquire into the mythical, literary, and courtly-romantic elements that inspire many power metal bands' lyrics, with specific emphasis on the power metal band I'm most familiar with: Kamelot. The post series will take the shape of this introductory post, a post for Roy Khan's first two ventures with the band (Siege Perilous and The Fourth Legacy), a classic Kamelot post (Karma, Epica, and The Black Halo), a Kamelot-branches-out post (Ghost Opera and Poetry for the Poisoned) and a speculative post concerned with Tommy Karevik, Silverthorn, and the band's future. As ever, if this is not your bag, apologies and ignore at will. I'll try to intersperse these with other things of interest.

Starting off, a few relevant details: Kamelot was founded in Tampa, Florida (HAAAAAY) in 1991. The lineup originally consisted of Mark Vanderbilt on vocals, Thomas Youngblood on guitar, Richard Warner on drums, and Sean Tibbets on bass; David Pavlicko played keyboards for a time as well. After releasing two albums, Eternity and Dominion, Vanderbilt and Warner left and were replaced by Roy Khan and Casey Grillo respectively, while Glenn Barry took over for bass on Dominion and remained with the band until Poetry for the Poisoned. These first two albums are often ignored by fans for being subpar to what would come during Khan's reign, but both are solid power metal records and deserve some consideration. Both featured lyrics by drummer Warner and music chiefly from Youngblood, with some involvement from Barry and Warner, and both albums illustrate the fantasy bent of many power metal songs. Lyrically, these records delve into mythology and history, often with a medieval setting--songs such as "Gleeman," "Song of Roland," and "Birth of a Hero" are good examples of these tendencies, which are found throughout power metal, beginning chiefly with the mighty Blind Guardian. Battles are fought, crusades embarked upon, demons encountered, and the only inklings of what would become Kamelot's chief lyrical themes are "Sin" and "Crossing Two Rivers." These songs, both from Dominion, emphasize fruitless love and loss as well as the relationship between bodily and spiritual desire, topics which would come up repeatedly on future albums.

 

     (both album covers from Prog Archives)

In terms of lyrical content, the fantasy and mythic-historical base of the band's songs was obvious even at the beginning of their career. Courtly love stories and poems range from sensual to highly spiritual and even platonic, often positioning the female object of desire as a noble, nigh-sacrosanct figure: the princess in the tower. To what extent Kamelot utilizes these concepts, along with popular myths such as those of King Arthur, and classic literature, specifically Goethe's Faust, will be examined in later posts. It wasn't until Khan arrived and merged his vast song-writing talents with those of Youngblood that what I consider Kamelot's classic sound and themes really began to emerge...but that's a song for another day. Arguably Kamelot is one of the best examples of seamless fusion between three of the major forefathers of European power metal; Blind Guardian, Helloween (as well as Gamma Ray), and Stratovarius each pioneered the genre in notable ways, with every band following acknowledging these groups in some fashion, whether to pay homage or to diverge. Though Kamelot is an American band and one of the early US power metal groups, their most iconic work is in the European vein--yet their later work has opened up into gothic and even doom metal territory. This hybridization makes them one of the most interesting power metal bands to analyze.

Necessary Tracks: "Call of the Sea" from Eternity and "We Are Not Separate" from Dominion. Unrelated to anything else but amusing to me, these album covers kicked off a trend of purple that wouldn't be broken until The Black Halo.

What makes a queen?

Assuming a reading order of The King's Peace, The King's Name, and The Prize in the Game, the reader first meets Elenn ap Allel in The King's Peace, when she arrives in Tir Tanagiri as Urdo's queen. Thus for two books we see her only through the eyes of Sulien, who likes Elenn but doesn't understand her very well. They are two wildly dissimilar specimens of womanhood. It isn't until The Prize in the Game that the reader finally gets a glimpse into Elenn's head, as well as viewing her through the eyes of other characters who know her well and yet not at all. The reading order of these books doesn't really matter that much, but I imagine that reading The Prize in the Game first would be an interesting experience. Regardless, Elenn's complexities are hinted at in the Sulien duology and elaborated on in full heartbreaking spectacle in Prize.

Elenn is a queen who has been raised to be a queen. She has never thought of being anything else; indeed she admits this to her friend ap Ringabur, a lawspeaker of Tir Isarnagiri. However, that conversation is also notable for Elenn considering her options (as a warrior, a lawspeaker, or an oracle) and then deciding that yes, being a queen is actually what she does want to do. Her sister Emer is more akin to Sulien, though again very different in significant ways, in that all she's ever wanted is to be a warrior and dreads the thought of being a queen, though ultimately she is forced into it. Emer and Elenn approach queenship from vastly different perspectives. Emer is doomed to her crown, having married Lew ap Ross when she believed her beloved, Conal ap Amagien, had been killed; though she is a good queen for her people, she is at heart a warrior as well as being a woman in love (Conal isn't really dead, of course), and these traits combine to sometimes cause her to do things which confuse Sulien and enrage Elenn. On the other hand, Elenn is on the surface the quintessential fairy-tale queen: fantastically lovely, with songs and poems written to her beauty, composed at all times, capable of small talk and soothing the egos of important men, intelligent and savvy and generally good at running the day-to-day nuts and bolts of a castle. Indeed, the first we hear of her is a description of her beauty from Gwyn ap Angas, who opines that Elenn is "strictly the decorative type" of woman; in Prize Conal compares Emer to her sister, with Emer coming out on top for having "more wit than hair"; and Sulien confirms Elenn's beauty when they first meet--but in that same meeting, Elenn's first words within the text of The King's Peace are a polite, pointed speech in which she tears the Jarnish lord Alfwin a new one for refusing to meet with Sulien and Marchel, two of Urdo's war-leaders and most trusted personnel (Alfwin's words: "Women don't conclude alliances." To his credit, he becomes more used to the Tanagan way of doing things when his niece Alswith becomes a decorated warrior and king in her own right). Clearly there is more to Elenn than her nearly supernatural beauty. She is trained in fighting and chariot driving as a matter of being an Isarnagan noble, but the martial arts are not where her interests or strengths lie. When Urdo marries her he gets not only an alliance with a kingdom of Tir Isarnagiri but also a woman bearing every queenly aspect and accomplishment.

...except one, and it's the big one: fertility. Every queen is assumed fertile until proven otherwise, and Elenn, sadly, is proven otherwise. In her years married to Urdo she produces no heirs, and only conceives once, miscarrying due to the subtle machinations of Morthu. This is the great sadness of her life,  perhaps compounded by a revelation in Prize that she was born "at the Feast of the Mother" (around the beginning of February, when the goddess Brigid was celebrated with the festival Imbolc) and felt a certain closeness to that goddess. Ultimately being infertile might have caused even more pain if Elenn felt that the Mother had forsaken her. Unlike the other Guenevers she is modeled on, she doesn't turn to any other man, whether out of grief, love, or belief that maybe Urdo is the problem. After the events of Prize, one suspects that childlessness is the final nail in the coffin of Elenn's self-esteem, given that  her mother Maga effectively whores her out to the warriors of Tir Isarnagiri in exchange for them fighting for Connat's side against Oriel, and Morthu later uses manipulations similar to Maga's to turn Elenn against herself. Worst of all, one of the warriors  used by Maga is Ferdia, the man Elenn truly loves and closest friend of Oriel's champion Darag. She is aware that he only marries her because Maga blackmails him into it; his sense of honor allows him to be shamed into the marriage and then into fighting Darag (as the text suggests, the person he truly loves). This knowledge is devastating to Elenn. The very things she has to hold onto, the things she has been raised to value--her beauty, her skillset, her position and responsibilities as a princess, her goodness and pliability--are used against her, first by her mother Maga, then by Morthu. In a horrible scene reminiscent of the events of The Prize in the Game, Morthu appears to have intentions to marry his king's wife, referring to her as "dear one" and other endearments, and attempting to kiss her as Sulien and  Ulf Gunnarsson watch helplessly. This scene, taken with an earlier one in which Morthu uses evil magic against Sulien, implies that Elenn's mind is undergoing a form of molestation stemming from Morthu; since we have no view into her imprisonment with him, it is unknown whether her body has also been violated. Morthu, like Maga, is able to exploit Elenn's upbringing and her beliefs about her status, position, and purpose, as well as her general isolation; despite the strides she has made with Urdo in terms of trust, once subjected to the brand of manipulation Morthu wields, Elenn's walls go right back up.

As Sulien, Darien, and Urdo state on various occasions, Elenn is the ultimate queen. She is everything a queen should be and everything Urdo could want in a partner, and he truly doesn't care that she has been unable to bear children, beyond his care for her heartache. But as the poem from which The Prize in the Game takes its title states, "they wear my favor but my arms are empty"; this can be taken to signify that though she has many husbands, they are never hers to keep (the warriors of Tir Isarnagiri are married to Elenn, then go to their doom at the hands of Darag, who is undefeatable--Urdo is rarely at home, being busy keeping his kingdom in order). Further, despite her many wedding nights, she has no children to fill her days and heart. Her arms are empty. In spite of this, the idea of Elenn visiting another man's bed is never brought up, either by her or by Urdo, who mentions it as an impossibility to Sulien; instead Urdo and Elenn are firmly loyal to one another, making Elenn's grief over her childlessness all the more palpable. In most Arthur stories, from the medieval romances onward, Guenever and Lancelot are--overtly or covertly--the cause of the downfall of Camelot. The Sulien books dispense with this plotline entirely (though a lesbian romance between Sulien and Elenn would certainly be an interesting interpretation, had Walton chosen to keep the Guenever/Lancelot relationship), though a subtle twist through rumors is presented: that Sulien and Urdo had an affair prior to Urdo's marriage, and Sulien's son Darien, the stand-in for Galahd--who notably is not known as "Darien ap X" but as "Darien Suliensson"--was fathered by Urdo. Elenn becomes somewhat obsessed with this rumor, her fears stroked by Morthu, though it is well known that Sulien eschews all sexual relationships. In another nod to traditional Arthurian stories, Morthu also encourages the rumor that Sulien's son is the product of incest between her and her brother (as Mordred was the product of Arthur and either Morgan or Morgause's incest). In a very moving scene, Emer and Sulien speak with Elenn and point out that if Darien isn't Urdo's son, then Urdo and Sulien were never lovers, and Elenn at last opens herself to the possibility of truth without fact.

Dispensing with the familiar story of Arthur's cuckoldry also dispenses with the crumbling of the kingdom. At the end of The King's Name, Morthu is defeated, the King's Law upheld, peace restored, and though Urdo has passed on, his crown passes to Sulien's son Darien. As Sulien relates at the beginning of The King's Peace, the Peace they created remained; this is not the story of Arthur and Camelot we are familiar with, but it is a pleasing newness, the idea of shining Camelot enduring to become a truly united land. Ultimately Elenn finds peace as well, reconciling with both her sister Emer and Sulien near the close of The King's Name and seeking solace in her relationships with them and her religion (true to legend, she enters a monastery and eventually becomes its leader). Knowing that Elenn is a woman with major trust issues, it is with hope and tenderness that Sulien suggests Elenn found "trust and healing" with the monks. As a reader, I hope she did too.

Distressing damsels

With title credit to the inimitable Carrie Fisher, all the damsels in the Sulien books are somewhat distressing. Certainly Sulien herself, who is called a demon by followers of the White God and a walkurja (valkyrie) by the Jarns, is about as distressing a warrior as one finds in fantasy literature; her tendency to laugh and scream during battle combined with her fighting prowess and great leadership make her an amazing character of strength, while her bluntness, simple desires, and social ineptitude make her an appealingly human one. Marchel, another female praefecto, is fanatically religious, a fearsome fighter and great horsewoman, and ultimately a traitor who kills surrendered enemies--there is much that is distressing about her. Emer, queen of Dun Morr, is a celebrated charioteer and warrior of Tir Isarnagiri, who drives the greatest Isarnagan fighter, Black Darag, in his fight against the warriors of Connat, and raises her daughter to become the greatest armiger of her time. And on the side of fearsome non-fighters, because well does Walton understand that "strong female characters" doesn't always mean "strong female characters," there are women like Veniva, Elenn, Morwen, and Garah: Veniva (Sulien's mother) is called "the last of the Vincans" and is devoted to keeping the fires of civilization alive in Tir Tanagiri: she insists that her children learn to read and write, and puts much stock in the great Vincan traditions and laws; Elenn, of course, is the ultimate queen and a woman of many varied and useful skills; Morwen is also a great queen and likely a good mother in her way, if also a sorceress who consumes souls to fuel her power; and Garah, loyal Garah, is talented with horses and healing, becomes a skillful queen, and it is stated that she coordinates the mail system in Urdo's kingdom, with an undercurrent of possible espionage work (this might just be my wishful reading).

There are only two instances in which any of the women of the story can be said to be in distress: first, the opening of The King's Peace, when Sulien is set upon and molested by Jarnish raiders, and second, near the climax of The King's Name, when Elenn is under Morthu's hypnotic spell. In both cases it is by the efforts of the women themselves that they are freed (though Sulien receives some assistance from her brother Darien before he is killed by the raiders). Elenn, fulfilling all the outward steretypes of a fairy tale princess, would seem to be the damsel most likely to be in continual distress, but this is not the case. Despite what Conal and Emer think of Elenn at the outset of The Prize in the Game, both ultimately come to view her with understanding, if not exactly liking. Princesses in fairy stories are often damsels in distress, requiring rescuing from a slew of monsters, evil witches, and knights with ill intentions. They are almost without variance rescued by knights with good intentions, whom the princesses duly marry. In the Sulien books, we see a few of these tropes in the cases already mentioned, as well as when Elenn is "rescued" from Tir Isarnagiri and her horrible parents (seriously, Elenn, get rid of your parents, they are revolting) by marriage to Urdo, an honorable knight if there ever was one. Maga, Elenn and Emer's mother, certainly fits the bill of evil sorceress, as it is hinted that she intends to force Emer to do what she wants by use of magic, and uses Elenn as the ultimate pawn in her game of war with Oriel. However, Walton's books give more time and attention to why Maga and Elenn act the way they do, and the emotional as well as physical consequences of their actions, where most archetypical fairy tales show the trapped princess from far away, in the view of the prince/knight, and then her happy rescue and romantic wedding. Analysis within the text is rarely given to the princess's mental or emotional state. In the case of Elenn, although Sulien doesn't always understand her queen, she provides enough details about Elenn's behavior so that, in conjunction with what Emer and Conal feel about her and the details the reader receives firsthand through Elenn's passages in The Prize in the Game, we as the audience understand and feel for Elenn deeply (I hope. Honestly if you don't, you are probably a Borg).

In The Prize in the Game most heavily and somewhat in The King's Peace and The King's Name, much narrative time is spent in Elenn's mind, such that the foreword for Prize states that if you don't understand why Elenn does what she does by the time you've finished reading, Walton washes her hands of you (I paraphrase). Indeed that book specifically and the triptych in general seem a response to both the familiar fairy tales of old as well as more modern reworkings; the Sulien books are a skillful blend of age-old tropes and contemporary considerations. Elenn can be both the princesse lointaine, the faraway princess and the distant queen on the hill, as well as being a savvy diplomat, a frightened yet proud wife and daughter, and a beloved queen, and answerable ultimately to her own lights.

Here's the thing

I have been trying for almost four years to write something smart about The King's Peace, The King's Name, and The Prize in the Game by Jo Walton. These three books are well worth a full academic perusal, but my brain is so amazingly out of shape since I left college. My own fault, I suppose. I have always wanted to examine the role of the princess/queen figure in fantasy and fairy tales, and how that role is fulfilled and subverted by Elenn, as well as the other major female figures, in these books. And this year so far I've reread the triptych twice (I'm on the third go-round), each time with saintly intentions to read slowly and carefully, making notes, jotting page numbers, and generally being critical.


This just...doesn't work. I have consigned myself to being totally uncritical where the Sulien books are concerned. Even though by now I've read each of them probably ten times, I just can't not get caught up in the stories. Simply too good. So instead of my intended Gleaming Academic-Quality Superpost, you get a Jumble-of-Somewhat-Related-Thoughts Superpost. As ever, read or ignore at will.

First, a little background on the world of Tir Tanagiri and Tir Isarnagiri is needed for those not familiar with the Sulien books. Briefly, an alternate-mythology version of Arthur's Britain is presented and peopled with characters almost familiar from our own Arthurian myth cycles: Urdo is the glorious king, Sulien is his right hand (Lancelot, effectively), Gwyn of Angas is Gawain and Mordred becomes Gwyn's brother Morthu, and Elenn ap Allel, an Isarnagan (Irish) princess, is the queen Guenever. Two major legends, that of Arthur's Camelot and the Irish story of the cattle raid of Cooley, intersect at a few points and form the bulk of the three books. Overall it is an elegant and natural reformation of tales familiar to many.

This world has what I suppose to modern eyes looks like near-total gender equality; women fulfill the occupations of warriors, healers, keykeepers or stewards, farmers, priests, merchants, ambassadors, and every other walk of life necessary to the functioning of a kingdom. Most notably, perhaps, is that women can hold the kingship of their ancestral lands and are referred to as "kings" or "lords" without an eyeblink or discussion of whether the term is gendered. For instance, Sulien is eventually the lord of Derwen and is termed "king" by one of her fellow armigers; across the water the word king is thrown around even more casually, as both Maga of Connat (Elenn and Emer's mother) and Conary of Oriel are kings, and the major characters often discuss what it's like to be king and whether one would rather be a king, a warrior, a queen, or something else. Within the ranks of Urdo's armigers, women are as accepted as men for the fighting life and often reach high rank, Marchel and Sulien as praefectos (a title akin to general) being the most obvious examples. Rape isn't allowed even "in the usage of war" and is punishable by law in either war or peace according to Urdo's law; the Tanagan armigers are horrified to learn that the invading Jarns rape as a matter of course in their warfare. Furthermore, extra-marital and pre-marital sex are normative in Tanagan and Isarnagan culture (In The Prize in the Game, a threesome between Darag, his wife Atha, and his best friend Ferdia occurs with little to no fanfare from anyone), and if homosexuality is not found as often as heterosexuality, neither is it looked at askance. Sulien is somewhat of an outlier in that she is asexual, with the bulk of the Tanagan armigers coupling at will, apparently with few issues arising (the Pierce fanatic in me harks at this point to a conversation in Squire between Kel and Buri, wherein Buri states that, in the ranks of the Queen's Riders, male subordinates offer to "work things out in bed" with their female superiors). An interesting conversation does occur between Osvran, a (gay) man, and Sulien, in which Sulien points out that a fellow female armiger, Enid, after marrying had to request that she still ride with the ala, when it was her right to do so and not her husband's decision. However, beyond this we don't see much barring the major female characters from doing as they wish; no one doubts Sulien and Marchel's fitness to command (until Marchel's ignominious downfall, anyway), ap Rhun is accounted one of the best key-keepers in the land, and Emer is considered more significant in terms of alliance and war-making than her husband Lew, a king.

There is also a certain burgeoning flexibility as far as class in Tir Tanagiri goes. One of the most notable supporting characters, Garah, goes from being a groom in Sulien's family's stables to becoming a queen married to an armiger gifted with empty land--a king. Both Garah and her husband Glyn were "commoners" who rose to power. This isn't accepted by everyone--indeed it is part of what tips off the civil war in The King's Name--but it is part of Urdo's vision for what Tir Tanagiri should be and is regarded by both detractors and supporters as inevitable change. The admixing of disparate cultures and religions is also an inevitable change coming to the land; the old "pagan" religions of the Tanagans and Isarnagans meet with incoming pagan religions of the Jarns as well as the new religion of the White God (thinly veiled Christianity), and the ways in which each king deals with this make up significant plot points and considerable background for the story. As High King, Urdo stands between all the gods of Tir Tanagiri (we meet a few of them, including the great boar Turth and Coventina, Mother of Waters) and it is his duty to force neither the gods nor the people to any path they don't wish, despite the pressure of the White God's church.

Walton does virtually no feminist preaching in these books; it isn't necessary, since the very structure of the world is close to being a feminist ideal. It's a matter of reality that there are both gods and goddesses, female priests and monks and male ones, female warriors and male healers, female kings and male charioteers, female lawspeakers and male cooks. There are villainous women, such as Morwen and Maga, and villainous men, such as Morthu and Borthas, and all significant characters are given rein to grow and change. Characters make plot, and Walton's characters are no exception. The motivations and deep personalities of such complex characters as Ferdia, Elenn, and Morthu create the plot through their machinations and impulses. Even the glimpses we see of the future of Tir Tanagiri shows that despite the eventual rise of the White God's church over the island, the position of women remains steady; Sulien speaks of great female armigers and lords she knew in her old age. Urdo's peace built on and strengthened a foundation of equality which covered all people, creating a bright world which could almost be our own.

The Conception Superpost, Part 5: Final Thoughts

Four elements--earth, water, air, and fire--make up the natural world. Many myth systems suggest further a fifth element which binds the four together and transcends them: spirit, aether, or akasha: that which enlivens, the repository of all knowledge and wisdom. Similarly, the four albums of Conception's career taken together create something even greater than the sum of their very great parts. Four distinct albums, featuring four incredible musicians--that would have been enough, but a certain atmosphere and feeling are engendered by listening to each record consecutively, creating a shimmering strand of sound, an unbroken chain of growth from the first silky flicker of "Prevision" to the gorgeous breakdown of "Would It Be the Same."

The spirit of Conception is dynamic progress, ever-growth, a continual striving for the place where horizon meets sky. Never content to take the well-worn path, with each album the group refined their sound and blazed new trails, and if a new album sounded little like its predecessor, certain themes emerged and remained--a discarding of traditional ways, embracing self-reliance and even self-deification, a constant reach for something greater. The Last Sunset and its array of influences from flamenco to 80s speed metal; Parallel Minds and its complex metallurgy; In Your Multitude and its primal stomp; Flow and its poppy smoothness: each is integral to understanding Conception as a whole.

I will note, belatedly, that three of Conception's four albums have bonus tracks which were included on the Japanese releases. I elected not to discuss these tracks, for this reason: none of the CDs I own have the bonus tracks (despite two being Japanese discs) and my mind doesn't comprehend them as part and parcel of their respective albums; they aren't indelibly stamped into my brain the way the rest of the songs are. "Black on Black," "Gravity," and "Hand on Heart" are all fine songs, as good as anything else the band released, but they're...bonuses. Certainly I recommend listening to them if you can find them!

And--that's it from me...for now. I'm sure by now everyone knows I can always find something new to say about Conception.

The Conception Superpost, Part 4: Flow

Conception's fourth and final album, Flow, is irretrievably centered around concepts and themes of water. The fourth and most inexorable of the elements, water is associated with creativity, intuition, motion, femininity, and ultimate, basic life. Flow's tracks are, as the title suggests, always changing, yet they retain a cohesion of form, as water is water no matter what form--ice, steam, snow--it takes. The album is a creative one which melds a lighter, melodic sound with increasingly progressive music and lyrics more humanly emotional than anything the band had previously released. Notably the lyrics often indulge in the most basic emotions: grudges and anger, loneliness, lust. The headlong waterfall of Flow is propelled by the pulse of the band, the fluid bass of Ingar Amlien.

"Gethsemane" features a monologue in Christ's voice--standard thematic fare for the band, but in this instance the voice is a far more human one than ever before: Christ betrayed, tinged with mockery here and fearful desperation there. The rolling synth and smooth bass of the track conjure up the vagaries of storm gods, wind and water at odds, an encroaching front of inevitability. There's another deity at work in the blind orgasm of "Angel (Walk With Me)," the now-familiar voice of Lucifer, but as with the previous song, this is an eerily human demon, the embodiment of human frailty and pitfalls. Khan breaks out some growlier vocals for this song and the result is a devil you kind of do want to be seduced by, a tempter with a twisted, melting tongue. At first glance, "A Virtual Lovestory" seems like it would be better suited for Parallel Minds, perhaps, with its emphasis on technology, but the story beneath the veneer of cyberspeak is pure Venusian myth-telling--fitting, as Venus/Aphrodite is associated with the ocean as well as being a love goddess. The lyrics also recall the myth of Selene and Endymion, of loving someone from afar, someone you can never be with in the light of day (or the real world); this is also fitting, Selene being a moon deity and associated with the moon's pull on oceans and humanity. The album's title track is a microcosm of the record and was a smoother, gentler metal song ever sung? "Flow" too has underpinnings of moon myth, sacred femininity, watery birth and ancestral memory; this is the conch's hymn from "Soliloquy," the song which was sung when we climbed onto the shore from the ocean's womb.

Album cover

And then, there is "Cry," Conception's first makeout song--a full-on romantic interlude for a happy couple holding hands beneath a benevolent moon. After this out-of-character track, Khan boomerangs back to regular form with "Reach Out," a thrumming, wild exposition of Satanic self-worship which espouses the position that submerged beneath our conscious minds is a veritable iceberg of wisdom, enough truth, knowledge, and ability to become our own gods. "Tell Me When I'm Gone" is a strange song which stands out even in this relatively strange album; the colloquialism "hate-fuck" comes to mind. The woman the narrator sings to, with her reptile smile leaving lipstick on men's collars, can be read as a classic Siren, a temptress who drags men to their deaths in the cold breast of the ocean. The album takes another turn for the soft and romantic with Makeout Song #2, "Hold On"--a starkly simple track consisting of muted guitar and keyboard. Then comes the outstanding stomp of "Cardinal Sin," a soaring track of wonder, stubbornness, and resilience, and the cliffhanger finale "Would It Be the Same."

The liquid fingers of Tore Ostby and Ingar Amlien are on full display on Flow, with "Cardinal Sin" containing (for my money) the most fluid, technically impressive, and purely gorgeous guitar solo in the band's career. As for Amlien's bass--he is always stellar, but on this last album all stops are pulled out and in many cases the listener is left wondering if he has twice the normal amount of fingers. The bass lines in all tracks are audible; the sound mix on Flow is smooth and cohesive, with all elements given time and attention. Flow is easily the most experimental of Conception's albums after The Last Sunset, utilizing the changefulness of water yet not sacrificing the overall atmosphere and theme.

Must-listen songs: "Gethsemane," "Cardinal Sin" (live version).

The Conception Superpost, Part 3: In Your Multitude

Earth is...earth: grounded, primal, solid--earthy. In elemental terms it is associated with the human body and basic, material needs; some of its attributes are strength, heaviness, and fertility. In many myth systems earth is linked with the feminine, especially as it is associated with sensuality, shelter, and abundance. In Your Multitude is a sprawl of an album, as vast and dense as the globe and grounded in an overall heavier rhythm and theme than its predecessors, its robust heartbeat felt most powerfully through that essential primeval instrument, the drum.

"Under A Mourning Star" is an explosive first track sung in the voice of the Son of the Morning, here cast in terms which also call to mind an older, chthonic god: Hades, the "black horizon" and the king of shades. The drumbeat is almost industrial, a metallic klaxon which propels the song and demands attention. "Missionary Man" recalls a theme from a previous album, that of the false prophet; here the preacher takes the image of an all-sheltering savior and corrupts it, the promised land becoming a hell of sacrificed souls. Earth's association with death is first approached in "Retrospect," as the narrator sees himself taken to the cold country where nothing can live and mourns the loss of the "healing hand" which only those alive can wield. Furthermore, he sees the ultimate frustration of existence--that "the world will go on" without him, a desolate keening of powerlessness before something greater and more eternal. "Guilt" is a doomy, dense, and thoroughly depressing track of downtrodden soil and souls compressed...possibly the term "mundane" in its purest sense is fitting for this song, as the narrator warns that vivid dreams seldom last. The eponymous "Sanctuary" is a cave deep within the earth's womb, where light never reaches--so easy to hide, to fall back on familiar things. The song speaks of never attaining the treasure at "rainbow's end" and becoming color-blind, enshrouded in old skin and nurtured fears. And then comes the shattering complexity of "A Million Gods: a guitar solo isn't enough for this song; only a multi-instrument duel will do, and in a way that middle portion is reflective not only of the lyrical content but of the album's ambitions as well. The millions gods are not divine, indeed they, like most of mythology's deities, are downright earthly--petty, cruel, ambitious, domineering, and insecure. The song really puts the point home with its chorus, which proclaims that "you're the only god who's visible tonight" (emphasis mine).

Album cover

"Some Wounds" picks up the pace with a musically and lyrically surreal track about the battle scars we carry, weighing those ancient wounds against the material glory we earn for ourselves. "Carnal Comprehension" takes stalker anthems to a whole new level; in this case, the Devil (or maybe God) is your stalker, the black dog on your shoulder, and the entirety of the earth and sky is his playground as he compels the listener to give in to base fear, hatred, and lust. A juxtaposition appears in the next track, "Solar Serpent," between the heavenly body of the sun and the earthly body of the serpent; this carries into a metaphor of a person caught between high ideals and crude surroundings. The song could be interpreted as a metaphor for Quetzalcoatl, an Aztec deity whose name means "feathered serpent," and that deity's dual nature writ large onto humanity. The album's title track is its swan song, an elegiac glimpse into what would come next in Conception's career. The narrator of "In Your Multitude" mourns opportunities and loves lost--the world drags him down to mundanity, dreams unfulfilled, without the presence of the one he loves.

Arve Heimdal, Conception's drummer par excellence, seriously shines on this album. The intricate drum soloing in "A Million Gods," the furious, artfully off-kilter beat of "Under A Mourning Star," and the rolling earthquake of "Solar Serpent" cement his status as one of prog metal's premier drummers. Each track on the album contributes to the vast sonic experience of In Your Multitude as both remote and urgent, a densely transcendent masterpiece.

Must-listen tracks: "A Million Gods," "Carnal Comphrension."

The Conception Superpost, Part 2: Parallel Minds

The voice being intricately linked to breath, it makes sense that Parallel Minds is both Conception's album of air and the album which (arguably) best showcases Roy Khan's considerable vocal talents. Air is the element of the mind and denotes intellectual pursuits; air attributes include mercuriality or flightiness, intelligence and wisdom, communication, and multifaceted interests, and the element is fundamental to life. Air may be the pure ether of the highest atmosphere or the darker mists clouding the earth. In these senses, Parallel Minds opens up as a study in studies, a myriad deep dreams and lofty goals, and an introverted, thoughtful album.

"Water Confines" is a delightfully selfish and self-centered song; the narrator focuses on personal goals and high dreams, yet struggles with living up to his own sense of himself--he finds that perhaps he can't do it all himself, that maybe principles are not enough to live on. "Roll the Fire" (everyone's first Conception song, right?) is an intense, interior track, a review of years lived and a measuring of life's worth against encroaching shadow. The labyrinth of the mind is explored in "And I Close My Eyes"--a frantic pant of a song, musically dense and threaded with stream-of-conscious, free association lyrics. In comparison, the following track is almost bizarrely simple; "Silent Crying" is a dream of shadows and whispering secrets, and the fight to be free of one's own mind. The album's title track is a veritable electrical storm of guitar and vocals, lyrically covering everything from knowledge which is beyond belief and wisdom which lies in the bones to binary law and science's paramountcy to paranoiac ranting which throws the words of the majority back in their faces. Arguably "Parallel Minds" is the first appearance of Satan in Conception's lyrics (certainly not the last), and this is fitting, since one of his epithets is the Prince of Air. "Silver Shine," like "Silent Crying," is concerned with weighty memories and the effects of lies and truth on relationships, because what are words but shapes in the air?

Album cover

Then comes the one-two punch of "The Promiser" and "My Decision." It is difficult to separate these tracks; each spits in the face of the WASP establishment and each complements and completes the other. "The Promiser" speaks of corrupt men believing their own lies, while the narrator is too smart for the false tricks of religion--"My Decision" rams the point home with a blatant endorsement of atheism and elevation of self-reliance and brainpower. One song warns of placing too much trust in words (the words of the promiser, words from a TV screen, the voices of the masses) , while the other admonishes the listener to find his or her own voice. "Wolf's Lair" is a come-down, a reprieve before the big finish, a plateau of teasing, silver-tongued words of exactly the kind "The Promiser" warns about...only this time the words come from the Tempter himself. Parallel Minds concludes with the nine-minute saga of "Soliloquy," a three-part journey from gasping arousal through unfiltered divine knowledge to suffocation and paralysis derived from too much knowledge. Musica universalis is referenced in "Soliloquy - Sweet Lavender" in terms of "the conch's hymn," a connection of principles including those metaphysical and mathematical and a perfect reflection of an album consumed with deep thoughts and higher learning. It is notable that the conch's hymn is heard at the moment of sexual climax; intellectualism aside, the narrator comprehends the significance of carnal, material reality. This theme would be explored further on In Your Multitude and perfected on Flow.

Khan's vocals are often the most-talked-about aspect of Conception's music. Twenty-three years old when Parallel Minds was recorded, his recent training for the opera is clear on this album and the ones to come. As an instrument, Khan's voice is rarely equaled in the world of progressive and power metal music; and as an album, Parallel Minds is unparalleled, har har, in providing opportunities for that instrument to be used. Khan's presence is also felt in the lyrics, as he began cowriting most of Conception's music with Ostby, revealing himself to be an interesting, thoughtful lyricist. The interweaving of voice with stellar guitar, bass, and drum creates Parallel Minds as the first truly tight and cohesive album in Conception's catalog, with many hints of what was to come: oblique, smoky lyrics and astounding musical technique.

Must-listen tracks: "And I Close My Eyes", "Soliloquy".

The Conception Superpost, Part 1: Introduction and The Last Sunset

The progressive heavy metal band Conception was active from 1989 until 1998 when its members went their separate ways--singer Roy Khan to Kamelot, guitarist Tore Ostby to ARK, and bassist Ingar Amlien and drummer Arve Heimdal to Crest of Darkness, among other projects. Throughout the '90s Conception was revered by those in the know for their experimental, passionate music and refined technique, which began with 1991's The Last Sunset and culminated in 1997's Flow. These four albums can be interpreted in many ways; in the brief series which follows, I will try to interpret them as discrete yet interlocking elements analogous to the four elements out of which all nature is formed: The Last Sunset as the element fire, Parallel Minds as the element air, In Your Multitude as the element earth, and Flow as the element water. The final post will consider the four albums as a cohesive whole in the form of the fifth element, spirit.

Clearly I have too much time on my hands since leaving school. Anyhoo, away we go.

Fire as a classical element signifies assertiveness and energy--the stuff of stars, the burning of the sun and the deep hot places of the earth, the heart as the fountain of passion in the human body, battle as the historic human pastime. Fire may be creative or destructive, and many systems associate it with the fundamental masculine. Fire is the basic alchemical agent, changing anything it touches. As an album, The Last Sunset embodies fire in its passionate, raw, as-yet relatively formless and deeply experimental state as a group's first record, the coming-together and becomingness of four distinct personalities. Its ten-track listing espouses the religion of flames both lyrically and musically, and in many ways, this is significantly Ostby's record, the album on which his guitar, that essential masculine instrument, is most wild, unfettered, and changeful. Note also that almost all the music on the album was composed by Ostby and his brother Dag.

Reissued album cover

"Building a Force" and "War of Hate" kick off the album with guns blazing, both concerning themselves with the fight, as war gods are often linked to fire (Ogoun, Mixcoatl, Nergal, and others)--yet neither song glorifies battle. Rather both speak of war as the ruination of civilizations and the concept of "fighting for peace" as flawed; in these cases the fire burns out of control, destroying everything in its path. "Bowed Down with Sorrow" is about the pure ecstasy of grief, the cold fire which consumes all other cares and desires; a doomish track, it has the inevitability of a house on fire. The seeming-whimsical and amusing lyrics of "Fairy's Dance" belie this track's deeper meaning; the fire of sexual passion and lust leads to a complete alchemical change brought about by the fairy ("you are turned into a cow/'cause you did what she said"), making the track a warning about what happens when a person is obsessed and blinded by desire. Musically, "Fairy's Dance" is urgent, with a constant racing heartbeat of bass compelling narrator and listener forward, a headlong rush into the fairy's arms. "Another World" brings about more change, this time in the form of personal gnosis: the candle flame of intuition and spiritual strength. The album's title track is an epiphany, a spiritual shift cast in the metaphors of that omnipotent star Sol and painted in sunset shades, a warmer, gentler track reminiscent of a beacon fire on a hilltop. "Live to Survive" discusses the fire personality's drive to live and, more significantly, to live for the moment, in the most personal ways possible--against the endless battle of mundanity and oppression, a battle which ends with the holy war and cleansing fire of "Among the Gods." Against a backing of Spanish-inspired guitar and hand-clapping, The Last Sunset's final track climaxes in a glorious blaze.

Even the album's two instrumental tracks, "Prevision" and "Elegy," are fire music, with "Elegy" being a wonderful transitional piece of experimental guitar. Much of Ostby's guitar work on the album pulls from jazz, flamenco, and other non-traditionally-metal sources, creating a singularly passionate and progressive sound. Khan's voice at this juncture is exceptionally flexible and still somewhat raw; the fire of youth is evident in every operatic run. Taken both track-by-track and as a whole, The Last Sunset is a gorgeous first spark signifying the leaping bonfire in Conception's future.

Must-listen tracks: "Among the Gods," "Another World."