Celeste: I Suoni In Una Sfera

CELESTE: I SUONI IN UNA SFERA (1974; 1992)

1) Hymn To The Spheres; 2) The Dance Of The Sounds; 3) The Gates To Consciousness; 4) In The Darkside; 5) Last Flight Of The Mind; 6) To Embark On A Love Affair; 7) The Rediscover Of The Traditions; 8) A Vision; 9) The Thought Flies High Again; 10) Eftus; 11) Favole Antiche; 12) Nadissea.

Once the floodgates are open, they usually stay open. Unfortunately for Celeste, it is not like they spent enough time together to be able to rival Zappa. It turns out, however, that they did manage one extra feat during their brief common tenure — namely, record a complete soundtrack for an Italian movie called I Suoni In Una Sfera, allegedly directed by Enry Fiorini (at least, so the Italian Wikipedia tells me). Nobody ever saw the movie, and there are reasons to suppose that it was never finished; the soundtrack, however, is quite physically real, with most of the individual tracks credited to Ciro Perrino, and judging both by the title and by the nature of music, it was intended to convey a cosmic-psychedelic atmosphere.

Which, by the way, it does — so, technically, Celeste are now the proud owners of three different albums in three different genres: pastoral symph-pop, lite jazz-fusion, and psychedelic-ambient. No mean feat for somebody as totally unknown as these guys, right? Except, of course, the music here is, as usual, so smooth and suave that it is unlikely you will ever remember anything other than a general feel of being wrapped in sweetness a-plenty. The record goes very heavy on organ-imitating synthesizers, with already the title track establishing a Cosmic Gospel feel (all that is lacking is a choir of little castrated angels to duplicate the melody); but there is plenty of pastoral flute, romantic piano, gentle folksy acoustic guitars, and echoey smooth-jazz saxes to diversify the mood as well. And in a way, this might just be the single best Celeste album of 'em all be­cause... you guessed it... there are no vocals anywhere in sight. Just the way the doctor ordered before silly ambitious people overrode the prescription.

Actually, sweetness aside, the boys did some serious work here, writing (or ripping off from clas­sical sources) plenty of different themes — including an Albinoni-stylized funeral march (ʽLast Flight Of The Mindʼ), a slightly Morricone-influenced bluesy piece with Jethro Tull-like flute (ʽThe Thought Flies High Againʼ), and a long medieval ballad, heavy on classical guitar but adding flute, synth fanfares, and what-not (ʽFavole Anticheʼ). If only the main themes of all this stuff were a little more memorable... but it would be unreasonable to expect from a movie sound­track that which turned out to be unachievable on a proper studio album. The best I can say is that every single track here sounds tasteful and pleasant — although the production and mixing leave a lot to be desired. (Apparently, moving to Abbey Road Studios was not an option.) Consequently, I give the record a modest thumbs up, and with this, we say a final farewell to Celeste.

Celeste: II

CELESTE: II (1977; 1991)

1) Il Giradino Armonico; 2) Bassa Marea; 3) Un Mazzo Di Ortiche; 4) Settottavi; 5) All'Ombra Di Un Fungo; 6) La Danza Del Mare; 7) Slancio Dell'Immaginazione; 8) Un'Anima Nell'Universo; 9) Nodissea; 10) Ala Del Pensiero; 11) Lontano Profondo; 12) Il Giardino Armonico (ripresa).

The unfortunate luck of poor Celeste seems to have been running out exponentially: where only two years had separated the recording of their first album from its commercial release (1974 to 1976), the second album had to wait on the shelf for fourteen years — recorded in 1977, it did not see the light of day until 1991, by which time the band had, of course, long ceased to exist. On a technical note, the original CD issue from 1991, consisting of but four tracks that actually consti­tuted the originally planned album, was quickly replaced by a much-expanded set that frames these recordings with a bunch of shorter tracks (1-2 and 7-12) that, if I get this correctly, are not even properly Celeste, but should rather be credited to Ciro Perrino solo, with a bunch of additi­onal backing players that may or may not overlap with the classic lineup of Celeste... not that it really matters, does it?

What really matters is to observe that the band, despite being so derivative and so «niche-oriented», had undergone a radical transformation in the years separating 1974 from 1977 — and not in the kind of direction that most progressive rock bands were taking (towards a more pop-friendly or arena-ready sound). The key word to describe Celeste was «pastoral», but only faint echoes of that sound persist in small corners of the four tracks that constitute the album; actually, the bonus tracks are far more «Celestian» (Celestial?) in that respect. All of a sudden, the band now puts its trust in jazzy bass grooves, smooth sax solos, cosmic synth melodies, and a near-complete lack of vocals (the latter change, in particular, is much welcome). It's as if somebody told them, «hey guys, you're cool and all, but too many people just fall asleep at your concerts», and they took it way too seriously.

The results are not altogether bad, and repeated listens make me realize that, just as the first album had a certain unique flavor with its injection of Italian serenity into progressive rock turbulence, so is their second record also hard to precisely categorize and pigeonhole. You could call it a jazz-fusion album, but it is not generic: there is still plenty of folk influence and a lot of «childish» elements, like the omnipresent vibraphones that make the music far cuddlier than your average Brand X could ever sound — check out the beginning of ʽSetteottaviʼ for proof; I doubt I have ever heard that sort of tinkly-innocent vibraphone melody on any fusion album. And the first part of ʽLa Danza Del Mareʼ is more like free-form smooth jazz than true fusion, anyway.

The down side is that, unfortunately, this kind of music requires tons of energy if it really wants to make an impression — and Celeste already made us suspect that this band is about anything but energy. So every time they seem to have their minds set on establishing a tight, fast, complex groove (the bass player is probably the most dedicated participant here), it ends up disintegrating into an atmospheric puddle, out of which wobbles a boring sax or flute or keyboard solo. Add to this the less than perfect production values (ʽAll'Ombra Di Un Fungoʼ, in particular, sounds like a bootleg quality track — I honestly hope that this was not the actual version they'd submitted to the record company, or I would have shelved the results as well), and you can easily understand why Celeste II does not share the «cult» reputation of its predecessor.

Each of the tracks has its cute, quirky moments and overall potential, but the way they do go on, there was hardly any need to extend all of them to mammoth lengths — most of the time is simply given over to unfocused jamming rather than proper development of the established themes; and these guys do not have much of a seasoned jazz pro pedigree to genuinely hope that this unfocused jamming may result in spontaneous magic. Particularly tedious is the quasi-free-form space jamming in the first part of ʽLa Danza Del Mareʼ, next to which even early Grateful Dead (far from a favorite of mine) will seem to possess exemplary inspiration. (The second part, tougher and funkier, is more listenable in general, but even that one comes and goes without any particular purpose that I could nail, fading out before it even begins to make sense).

As for the shorter bonus tracks that are closer in spirit to the original Celeste, I did not perceive much memorability there, either; at least they are reasonably short, either as soft jazzy waltzes with prominent flute parts or as folk-poppy ditties that are still more about atmosphere than hooks. Not that much to get excited about, either; all in all, the entire package, at best, qualifies as tasteful background muzak, and I can see very well why no record company was in any rush to see it on the market. It does seem funny, though, how this is all extremely accessible and thoroughly «anti-commercial» at the same time.

Celeste: Celeste

CELESTE: CELESTE (1976)

1) Principe Di Un Giorno; 2) Favole Antiche; 3) Eftus; 4) Giochi Nella Notte; 5) La Grande Isola; 6) La Danza Del Fato; 7) L'Imbroglio.

This band is so close to totally unknown, it does not even seem to have its own Wikipedia page as of the time of my writing this — despite the fact that the only album they'd officially released while staying alive has now turned into a bit of a cult classic in various prog rock-centered sub-communities. Considering that classic Italian prog, such as Premiata Forneria Marconi or Banco Del Mutuo Soccorso, is usually taken seriously on the international level, it is only fair that this short-lived band with its somewhat idiosyncratic sound get at least a brief mention, too.

According to various sources (that mostly repeat each other anyway), Celeste were born out of the ruins of the locally-legendary Sanremo band Il Sistema, with two of their members — drum­mer Ciro Perrino (who also plays the flute and Mellotron), and keyboard / sax player Leonardo Lagorio — joining up with bass player Giorgio Battaglia and guitarist Mariano Schiavolini and deciding to take progressive rock in a... progressive direction. Well, frankly speaking, there is not much «rock» on here at all: even compared to their abovementioned Italian peers like PFM and Banco (both of whom were already heavily and inevitably influenced by the Italian pop scene), Celeste make sure that their music suits their name: all of this is very soft, relaxed, celestial-beauty-oriented stuff with no space allocated at all for distorted electric guitars.

The band's lack of popularity is technically explainable by the fact that the album was seriously delayed: although recorded in 1974, it did not see release until 1976, by which time the golden age of progressive rock had already expired, and new bands experimenting with the genre could only, at best, hope for a small level of underground appreciation. On the other hand, I will not pretend that Celeste is, by any means, some sort of unique lost Holy Grail of Italian prog, either. It does not have enough internal dynamics for that: a happy, mellow, easy-going listening expe­rience that does not so much suck you in or overwhelm you as it simply gives you a pleasant aural massage. But a very pleasant one, well worth the price of admission.

Celeste's influences are barely ever concealed — a mix of Genesis (who, not coincidentally, were one of the most popular prog bands in Italy), Yes (you will very quickly discern echoes of the theme of ʽAnd You And Iʼ at the beginning of ʽFavole Anticheʼ), early King Crimson, and, naturally, the Italian pop scene; the latter manifests itself most openly in the vocal parts, which, to my ears, seem like the weakest part of the experience and, frankly, I would vastly prefer it if the record were completely instrumental. Fortunately, there is not a lot of singing on the whole (most of the vocals are courtesy of drummer Ciro Perrino, and the best that can be said about them is that he mostly manages to stay on key), and it is perfectly easy to concentrate on the instrumental mix... well, as long as the word «concentrate» is applicable to aural massage.

Because I do not count a whole lot of memorable or emotionally stunning musical themes here, and that is not what matters. What matters is purely the soundscape — a lush meadow of sound created through a very careful mix of acoustic guitars, flutes, saxes, pianos, Mellotrons, and analog synths. You cannot get around a proper review of this album without using the word «pastoral» at least once, and it really only takes getting acquainted with the very first track, ʽPrincipe Di Un Giornoʼ, to get the general gist of these guys — gently submerge you in a soft, smoothly moving atmosphere created by the simultaneous, well-coordinated flow of all the ins­truments involved. At times, an ever so slightly dissonant sax solo, revealing a Coltrane influence or something like that, will cut across the horizon, but without jarring you out of the generally tranquil, meditative state of mind.

Only the first large track on Side 2, ʽGiochi Nella Notteʼ, is slightly rougher than the rest, with at least one section where several discordant overdubbed sax parts crash and bump into each other (ʽ21st Century Schizoid Manʼ influence at work?), but even that goes away fairly quickly, making way for the usual classy-pretty sonic jello. Also, ʽLa Danza Del Fatoʼ opens with a long prelude of sleigh bells and electronic blasts (alien invaders targeting Santa Claus?), but even that bit of weird experimentation cannot last long, and quickly gives away to the same acoustic gui­tars, flutes, and annoying Sanremo vocals.

In other words, the record simply begs for you to shoot it down because of monotonousness, but I just can't do it — there is something about the sound that is (a) individually intriguing and (b) so totally harmless, friendly, and stylish at the same time that I cannot help recommending Celeste for any fans of soft folk-pop with progressive ambitions with a satisfactory thumbs up. Just do not set your expectations unreasonably high, and remember that this is not really a «rock» band in any possible sense of the word, and you'll do fine.