Žaltys
Polish guitarist Raphael Rogiński digs into Eastern European mythology on his gorgeous latest full-length, shimmering traces of archaic folk music, American primitive guitar, jazz and ambient forms into a dreamy meditation on memory, wonder and loss. Crucial midnight listening, whether you're into Laraaji, Loren Connors, Merope, Popol Vuh or Daniel Lanois.
If you heard last year's sublime 'Talàn', or Rogiński's transcendent re-interpretations of Henry Purcell, Bach and John Coltrane, then you'll have some idea of where 'Žaltys' is heading, but the prolific guitarist takes his craft to another level here. He was inspired by the rich Eastern European landscape and its ancient history - the album title references the grass snake that's a revered household spirit in Lithuania, while the track titles are taken from various Lithuanian plant names. Casting his mind back to time spent as a child holidaying in Poland's relatively untouched Suwałki region, he remembers being entranced by the music he heard from neighboring Lithuania, buying his first guitar, and retreating to the forest with his four-track recorder and capturing the local soundscapes. It's these experience that give 'Žaltys' its backbone; Rogiński's process has been refined significantly in the years since, but that sense of adolescent wonder is still palpable.
Rogiński's guitar tone is particularly mesmerizing; he worked alongside Warsaw-based musician and producer Piotr Zabrodzki to develop a sound that he describes as "guitar piano", and the effort is noticeable immediately. On opening track 'Paprastasis Amalas', the strings ring out with an elegant sparkle that reminds us of zither or harpsichord - Rogiński's style has undoubtedly been influenced by the Fahey school of American primitive playing, but his obsession with experimentation, using old amplifiers and a Leslie speaker, and uncommon strings for the guitar, help his music reach into an entirely new zone. He mostly emphasizes textures rather than riffs or specific phrases, turning short clusters of notes into weightless, gusty expressions that immediately transport us to the wild Eastern European countryside or beyond. So it makes perfect sense when Merope's Indrė Jurgelevičiūtė shows up on lead single 'Šilinis Viržis', singing softly and playing the kanklės - a zither-like Lithuanian chordophone.
The two musicians have been friends for years, and their collaboration feels so fated its almost effortless; Rogiński's delicate twangs are perfectly balanced with Jurgelevičiūtė's effervescent plucks, while Zabrodzki fills the gaps with rolling waves of piano. Jurgelevičiūtė's is the only voice we hear on the mostly instrumental album, but it's all we need, rooting us for a moment in the folk traditions that Rogiński references but doesn't fully cradle. Because there's more at work in the background: on the fragile 'Smiltyninis Šlamutis', Rogiński offsets his ethereal ambience with blues-y distortions that are thrust further into the spotlight on 'Pelkinis Gailis', while 'Čiobrelis' takes an unmistakably North African turn with Rogiński's guitar turning into a kora for a moment, and on 'Miškinė Varnalėša', his oddly-tuned, muted plucks sound almost like gamelan, sitting comfortably outside the boundaries of equal temperament.
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Polish guitarist Raphael Rogiński digs into Eastern European mythology on his gorgeous latest full-length, shimmering traces of archaic folk music, American primitive guitar, jazz and ambient forms into a dreamy meditation on memory, wonder and loss. Crucial midnight listening, whether you're into Laraaji, Loren Connors, Merope, Popol Vuh or Daniel Lanois.
If you heard last year's sublime 'Talàn', or Rogiński's transcendent re-interpretations of Henry Purcell, Bach and John Coltrane, then you'll have some idea of where 'Žaltys' is heading, but the prolific guitarist takes his craft to another level here. He was inspired by the rich Eastern European landscape and its ancient history - the album title references the grass snake that's a revered household spirit in Lithuania, while the track titles are taken from various Lithuanian plant names. Casting his mind back to time spent as a child holidaying in Poland's relatively untouched Suwałki region, he remembers being entranced by the music he heard from neighboring Lithuania, buying his first guitar, and retreating to the forest with his four-track recorder and capturing the local soundscapes. It's these experience that give 'Žaltys' its backbone; Rogiński's process has been refined significantly in the years since, but that sense of adolescent wonder is still palpable.
Rogiński's guitar tone is particularly mesmerizing; he worked alongside Warsaw-based musician and producer Piotr Zabrodzki to develop a sound that he describes as "guitar piano", and the effort is noticeable immediately. On opening track 'Paprastasis Amalas', the strings ring out with an elegant sparkle that reminds us of zither or harpsichord - Rogiński's style has undoubtedly been influenced by the Fahey school of American primitive playing, but his obsession with experimentation, using old amplifiers and a Leslie speaker, and uncommon strings for the guitar, help his music reach into an entirely new zone. He mostly emphasizes textures rather than riffs or specific phrases, turning short clusters of notes into weightless, gusty expressions that immediately transport us to the wild Eastern European countryside or beyond. So it makes perfect sense when Merope's Indrė Jurgelevičiūtė shows up on lead single 'Šilinis Viržis', singing softly and playing the kanklės - a zither-like Lithuanian chordophone.
The two musicians have been friends for years, and their collaboration feels so fated its almost effortless; Rogiński's delicate twangs are perfectly balanced with Jurgelevičiūtė's effervescent plucks, while Zabrodzki fills the gaps with rolling waves of piano. Jurgelevičiūtė's is the only voice we hear on the mostly instrumental album, but it's all we need, rooting us for a moment in the folk traditions that Rogiński references but doesn't fully cradle. Because there's more at work in the background: on the fragile 'Smiltyninis Šlamutis', Rogiński offsets his ethereal ambience with blues-y distortions that are thrust further into the spotlight on 'Pelkinis Gailis', while 'Čiobrelis' takes an unmistakably North African turn with Rogiński's guitar turning into a kora for a moment, and on 'Miškinė Varnalėša', his oddly-tuned, muted plucks sound almost like gamelan, sitting comfortably outside the boundaries of equal temperament.
Polish guitarist Raphael Rogiński digs into Eastern European mythology on his gorgeous latest full-length, shimmering traces of archaic folk music, American primitive guitar, jazz and ambient forms into a dreamy meditation on memory, wonder and loss. Crucial midnight listening, whether you're into Laraaji, Loren Connors, Merope, Popol Vuh or Daniel Lanois.
If you heard last year's sublime 'Talàn', or Rogiński's transcendent re-interpretations of Henry Purcell, Bach and John Coltrane, then you'll have some idea of where 'Žaltys' is heading, but the prolific guitarist takes his craft to another level here. He was inspired by the rich Eastern European landscape and its ancient history - the album title references the grass snake that's a revered household spirit in Lithuania, while the track titles are taken from various Lithuanian plant names. Casting his mind back to time spent as a child holidaying in Poland's relatively untouched Suwałki region, he remembers being entranced by the music he heard from neighboring Lithuania, buying his first guitar, and retreating to the forest with his four-track recorder and capturing the local soundscapes. It's these experience that give 'Žaltys' its backbone; Rogiński's process has been refined significantly in the years since, but that sense of adolescent wonder is still palpable.
Rogiński's guitar tone is particularly mesmerizing; he worked alongside Warsaw-based musician and producer Piotr Zabrodzki to develop a sound that he describes as "guitar piano", and the effort is noticeable immediately. On opening track 'Paprastasis Amalas', the strings ring out with an elegant sparkle that reminds us of zither or harpsichord - Rogiński's style has undoubtedly been influenced by the Fahey school of American primitive playing, but his obsession with experimentation, using old amplifiers and a Leslie speaker, and uncommon strings for the guitar, help his music reach into an entirely new zone. He mostly emphasizes textures rather than riffs or specific phrases, turning short clusters of notes into weightless, gusty expressions that immediately transport us to the wild Eastern European countryside or beyond. So it makes perfect sense when Merope's Indrė Jurgelevičiūtė shows up on lead single 'Šilinis Viržis', singing softly and playing the kanklės - a zither-like Lithuanian chordophone.
The two musicians have been friends for years, and their collaboration feels so fated its almost effortless; Rogiński's delicate twangs are perfectly balanced with Jurgelevičiūtė's effervescent plucks, while Zabrodzki fills the gaps with rolling waves of piano. Jurgelevičiūtė's is the only voice we hear on the mostly instrumental album, but it's all we need, rooting us for a moment in the folk traditions that Rogiński references but doesn't fully cradle. Because there's more at work in the background: on the fragile 'Smiltyninis Šlamutis', Rogiński offsets his ethereal ambience with blues-y distortions that are thrust further into the spotlight on 'Pelkinis Gailis', while 'Čiobrelis' takes an unmistakably North African turn with Rogiński's guitar turning into a kora for a moment, and on 'Miškinė Varnalėša', his oddly-tuned, muted plucks sound almost like gamelan, sitting comfortably outside the boundaries of equal temperament.
Polish guitarist Raphael Rogiński digs into Eastern European mythology on his gorgeous latest full-length, shimmering traces of archaic folk music, American primitive guitar, jazz and ambient forms into a dreamy meditation on memory, wonder and loss. Crucial midnight listening, whether you're into Laraaji, Loren Connors, Merope, Popol Vuh or Daniel Lanois.
If you heard last year's sublime 'Talàn', or Rogiński's transcendent re-interpretations of Henry Purcell, Bach and John Coltrane, then you'll have some idea of where 'Žaltys' is heading, but the prolific guitarist takes his craft to another level here. He was inspired by the rich Eastern European landscape and its ancient history - the album title references the grass snake that's a revered household spirit in Lithuania, while the track titles are taken from various Lithuanian plant names. Casting his mind back to time spent as a child holidaying in Poland's relatively untouched Suwałki region, he remembers being entranced by the music he heard from neighboring Lithuania, buying his first guitar, and retreating to the forest with his four-track recorder and capturing the local soundscapes. It's these experience that give 'Žaltys' its backbone; Rogiński's process has been refined significantly in the years since, but that sense of adolescent wonder is still palpable.
Rogiński's guitar tone is particularly mesmerizing; he worked alongside Warsaw-based musician and producer Piotr Zabrodzki to develop a sound that he describes as "guitar piano", and the effort is noticeable immediately. On opening track 'Paprastasis Amalas', the strings ring out with an elegant sparkle that reminds us of zither or harpsichord - Rogiński's style has undoubtedly been influenced by the Fahey school of American primitive playing, but his obsession with experimentation, using old amplifiers and a Leslie speaker, and uncommon strings for the guitar, help his music reach into an entirely new zone. He mostly emphasizes textures rather than riffs or specific phrases, turning short clusters of notes into weightless, gusty expressions that immediately transport us to the wild Eastern European countryside or beyond. So it makes perfect sense when Merope's Indrė Jurgelevičiūtė shows up on lead single 'Šilinis Viržis', singing softly and playing the kanklės - a zither-like Lithuanian chordophone.
The two musicians have been friends for years, and their collaboration feels so fated its almost effortless; Rogiński's delicate twangs are perfectly balanced with Jurgelevičiūtė's effervescent plucks, while Zabrodzki fills the gaps with rolling waves of piano. Jurgelevičiūtė's is the only voice we hear on the mostly instrumental album, but it's all we need, rooting us for a moment in the folk traditions that Rogiński references but doesn't fully cradle. Because there's more at work in the background: on the fragile 'Smiltyninis Šlamutis', Rogiński offsets his ethereal ambience with blues-y distortions that are thrust further into the spotlight on 'Pelkinis Gailis', while 'Čiobrelis' takes an unmistakably North African turn with Rogiński's guitar turning into a kora for a moment, and on 'Miškinė Varnalėša', his oddly-tuned, muted plucks sound almost like gamelan, sitting comfortably outside the boundaries of equal temperament.
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Polish guitarist Raphael Rogiński digs into Eastern European mythology on his gorgeous latest full-length, shimmering traces of archaic folk music, American primitive guitar, jazz and ambient forms into a dreamy meditation on memory, wonder and loss. Crucial midnight listening, whether you're into Laraaji, Loren Connors, Merope, Popol Vuh or Daniel Lanois.
If you heard last year's sublime 'Talàn', or Rogiński's transcendent re-interpretations of Henry Purcell, Bach and John Coltrane, then you'll have some idea of where 'Žaltys' is heading, but the prolific guitarist takes his craft to another level here. He was inspired by the rich Eastern European landscape and its ancient history - the album title references the grass snake that's a revered household spirit in Lithuania, while the track titles are taken from various Lithuanian plant names. Casting his mind back to time spent as a child holidaying in Poland's relatively untouched Suwałki region, he remembers being entranced by the music he heard from neighboring Lithuania, buying his first guitar, and retreating to the forest with his four-track recorder and capturing the local soundscapes. It's these experience that give 'Žaltys' its backbone; Rogiński's process has been refined significantly in the years since, but that sense of adolescent wonder is still palpable.
Rogiński's guitar tone is particularly mesmerizing; he worked alongside Warsaw-based musician and producer Piotr Zabrodzki to develop a sound that he describes as "guitar piano", and the effort is noticeable immediately. On opening track 'Paprastasis Amalas', the strings ring out with an elegant sparkle that reminds us of zither or harpsichord - Rogiński's style has undoubtedly been influenced by the Fahey school of American primitive playing, but his obsession with experimentation, using old amplifiers and a Leslie speaker, and uncommon strings for the guitar, help his music reach into an entirely new zone. He mostly emphasizes textures rather than riffs or specific phrases, turning short clusters of notes into weightless, gusty expressions that immediately transport us to the wild Eastern European countryside or beyond. So it makes perfect sense when Merope's Indrė Jurgelevičiūtė shows up on lead single 'Šilinis Viržis', singing softly and playing the kanklės - a zither-like Lithuanian chordophone.
The two musicians have been friends for years, and their collaboration feels so fated its almost effortless; Rogiński's delicate twangs are perfectly balanced with Jurgelevičiūtė's effervescent plucks, while Zabrodzki fills the gaps with rolling waves of piano. Jurgelevičiūtė's is the only voice we hear on the mostly instrumental album, but it's all we need, rooting us for a moment in the folk traditions that Rogiński references but doesn't fully cradle. Because there's more at work in the background: on the fragile 'Smiltyninis Šlamutis', Rogiński offsets his ethereal ambience with blues-y distortions that are thrust further into the spotlight on 'Pelkinis Gailis', while 'Čiobrelis' takes an unmistakably North African turn with Rogiński's guitar turning into a kora for a moment, and on 'Miškinė Varnalėša', his oddly-tuned, muted plucks sound almost like gamelan, sitting comfortably outside the boundaries of equal temperament.