VELVET THUNDER

…there is an intensity and emotion to Oak’s sound, that combined with great song-writing and brilliant production, means that this release is surely a candidate for the best prog album of 2022.

Take a really close look at the font used for the title on the album cover. It appears to be a jumble of different fonts and the reason for this is that it is based on handwriting found on genuine suicide notes. That attention to detail struck me. Oak decided that this album would be about suicide, and as well as tackling this difficult subject sensitively in their music and lyrics, the thinking extended to the album cover’s font, and to the cover design too (if, as it seems to me, the face is a death mask). The band even spoke to subject-matter experts before diving into this endeavour. All in all, a very serious attempt to tackle a very difficult subject. So, you may be asking yourself the question I was a few weeks ago: who is Oak? They are a Norwegian prog rock band built around a standard four-piece formation of guitar, bass, drums and keyboards, with keys player Simen Valldal Johannessen contributing vocals too. This is now their third release. Johannessen’s keyboards seem central to the sound of Oak. As well as the expected synths, he contributes a significant amount of piano, and in marked contrast some sampling which contributes to a very contemporary feel to the group’s sound. This mix of piano, synths and sampling creates the same sort of rich soundscape that reminded me most of Anathema, especially in Johannesen’s piano work.

Inevitably, this subject-matter creates the risk of taking the listener on an unpleasant and depressing musical journey into despair. Oak are adept at avoiding that. There’s no wallowing in self-pity and it’s more a case of light and shade as well demonstrated in the kick-off track Highest Tower, Deepest Well. Here, after an ominous opening of minimalist piano and prog metal guitar chords, the verses are in a dark minor key, giving a sense of struggling forward, as if running through treacle, but in contrast there’s a glorious sunlit chorus which creates a sense of release and relief on each entry.  That excellent opener is followed by something even better, the superb Quiet Rebellion. On the surface it is a straightforward slow-paced ballad but listen to the originality and complexity of the musical arrangement: a bed of acoustic guitars supported by almost tribal drumming, soaring synths, piano backing that becomes more prominent as the song progresses, and towards the end the gorgeous notes on the slide guitar (one of many good contributions from Stephan Hvinden). It’s a rich and warm musical backdrop but in parallel Johannessen sings in dirge-like tones. Added to this strange tapestry are the lyrics which are poetic, tough to decipher, but emotionally impactful all the same. For example, Johannesen sings ‘The chapters I read don’t belong to me; intended for someone who owns the key; to doors that were locked, and I tried a few; I look through the keyholes where light shines through’, which I don’t quite understand but I know I don’t want to be looking through that keyhole!   

Sunday 8 AM is another outstanding prog composition. Mournful piano chords open the piece, soon joined by military drums. The gravelly vocals are slow and seductively warm, like a hot drink on a cold day. The sax starts playing in the distant background and yet it seems somewhat disconnected from the main flow of the song creating an unsettling effect. Symphonic synths are added to the mix and the sax finally comes to the fore. The pace then quickens, with guitar and sax soloing vigorously in unison to reach a climax. It’s another extraordinarily well constructed song that flows along effortlessly.

The three tracks I’ve mentioned are worth the price of admission on their own. There are a further three mid-length tracks (between five and seven minutes) which are excellent but don’t quite reach the same heights.  Dreamless Sleep is a curious song with its thumping bass-heavy synth theme, but it’s the earworm of a hook line will stick in your mind for sure.   Demagogue Communion is more upbeat thanks to a rhythmic guitar pattern, not dissimilar to Marillion’s Garden Party. But I was never a fan of Garden Party, so this one didn’t appeal to me either. The closing track, Guest Of Honour grows from a languid beginning reminiscent of the style of Radiohead on OK Computer. It’s a fine song but as the last track on the album I was expecting something more a little more dramatic.

While those six songs all demonstrate Oak’s ability to write miniature prog epics, for Paperwings they decide to drop the ‘miniature’ tag and stretch their wings out to fourteen minutes. It’s a song with some fabulous moments: the beautiful melody at the two-minute mark; the way this same melody returns five minutes later to crown a climax that has been building between keys and guitars; the stunning guitar work over a cinematic landscape around the nine-minute mark; and the angry closing section marked by violent guitar riffing, slightly hysterical piano playing, and unexpected death metal growling in the vocals. It’s inevitably a little looser in its structure than the shorter tracks and seems to be focused on telling a story rather than musical cohesiveness, but it’s a powerful piece all the same.

One or two reviews I’ve seen of this band point out similarities with the work of Steve Wilson and Porcupine Tree. In sound, they may not be too far apart, but personally Porcupine Tree leave me a little cold. Instead, there is an intensity and emotion to Oak’s sound, that combined with great song-writing and brilliant production, means that this release is surely a candidate for the best prog album of 2022.