{"id":118567,"date":"2023-07-31T13:00:38","date_gmt":"2023-07-31T18:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/toiletovhell.com\/?p=118567"},"modified":"2023-12-07T10:24:41","modified_gmt":"2023-12-07T16:24:41","slug":"reflections-of-the-bards-sublime-lumsks-fremmede-toner-part-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/toiletovhell.com\/reflections-of-the-bards-sublime-lumsks-fremmede-toner-part-1\/","title":{"rendered":"Reflections of the Bards Sublime: Lumsk<\/b>‘s Fremmede Toner<\/i> (Part 1)"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Ever since our ancestors saw themselves reflected in still waters, we’ve been using mirrors for myriad purposes: to see ourselves; to look where our eyes fail us; to communicate when our voices fall short. From the polished bronze of antiquity to modern-day chromium, they’ve evolved in form and function and become a part of everyday life. Like any technology, they’re capable of harm and help: they assist in navigation, but become the doom of narcissists. They send signals to search parties, but amplify the suffering of those feeling trapped in their bodies. A novel use for this ancient tool\u2014that of a translator\u2014is explored throughout Fremmede Toner<\/em> (“Foreign Tones”), the latest album from Norwegian prog\/folk\/metal outfit Lumsk<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

Fremmede Toner<\/em> is a concept album of sorts, though it diverges from the continuous storylines oft associated with the style. Rather than following a single narrative, the album’s structure itself plays into the concept: the first 6 tracks are comprised of selections from the late Andr\u00e9 Bjerke’s own Fremmede Toner<\/em> (published in 1947), in which he translated popular German and English poems for a Norwegian audience. These poems are then reflected back into their native tongues in the album’s latter half, albeit with their own unique soundscapes. Peer now into Lumsk’s looking glass, where foreign and familiar are not so far removed.\"\"<\/p>\n

For each of these 6 poems, I’ll provide brief context on the author, as well as the narrative\/themes of the text. I’ll then analyze the connections between the songs and their associated poems, and between the mirrored song counterparts. (Reflecting the track list, the Norwegian translations will precede the originals throughout.) Many thanks to our very own Potates in TovH Discord for their help in checking my understanding of the original German lyrics, and providing translations of their own: Hans<\/strong>, EvilHenchman<\/strong>, DarthWTF<\/strong>, and Zocktol<\/strong>. Danke!<\/em><\/p>\n

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Conrad Ferdinand Meyer<\/strong>
\n“Det D\u00f8de Barn<\/span>” \/\/ “Das Tote Kind<\/span>” (1882)
\n<\/span>(“The Dead Child”)<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/h3>\n

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Conrad Ferdinand Meyer was a Swiss author of historical novellas\/ballads and a late-blooming poet, whose first collection of poems, simply titled Gedichte <\/em>(Poems<\/em>) was published when he was 57, just 16 years before his death in 1898. He was a man known to have “lived and experienced more deeply in memory than in the immediate present” (Bruns), a quality which can be seen through his fixation with the Middle Ages and other distant eras. His affinity for nature is also well-documented: “Everywhere there is apparent a love of nature interpreted with all the modern subtlety of feeling” (Bruns).<\/p>\n

Both memory and natural imagery play central roles in his “Das Tote Kind<\/a>“, a poem recounting the friendship between a young girl and an anthropomorphized garden. As fall turns to winter, both girl and garden pass into death. For the perennial flowers, this is merely a transitory state, a time of hibernation\u2014upon waking in the spring, the garden wanders in search of its lost friend in the form of flowering vines and buzzing insects, asking when she’ll emerge from her house in summer clothing. For every pang of sadness, I’ve found that repeat readings unearth hidden qualities; it’s a tale of dread and innocence; haunting mystery and warm comfort; death and renewal.<\/p>\n

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Harder font than Nails will ever have, c. the 19th century.<\/p><\/div>\n

These beautiful and eerie qualities are apparent from the first moments of “Det D\u00f8de Barn:” a ghostly wail rises from silence, but is soon joined by a bubbling, playful synth and Mari Klingen’s delicate singing. All mentions of death outside the poem’s title are referred to as sleeping: “De slumret begge inn…Og sov bak samme teppes hvite fred” (“They both dozed off…and slept behind the white peace of the same blanket”); together with Klingen’s mellow timbre and uplifting mellotron chords from keyboardist Espen W. God\u00f8, it’s a mournful, yet peaceful moment\u2014more an escape from suffering than a loss of life.<\/p>\n

As the garden wakes in spring, the album’s first guitars surface: gentle, palm-muted riffs with a breezy melodicism. Throughout the song’s midsection, Meyer’s outlook on life can be heard in “a note of quiet calm…and through this calm the beat of a heart that felt joy and sorrow deeply” (Bruns). This heartbeat echoes through the distinctive thumping of the double-picked guitars, which grows in intensity as the garden continues the search for its missing friend.<\/p>\n

A growing frustration can be heard in the garden’s tone, as questions of the girl’s whereabouts become demands: “Fortell oss jhvor du er” (“Tell us where you are”). In its mind, the girl acts as the flaky friend who always needs an extra hour to get ready when there’s playing to be done. There’s tragedy in this misunderstanding of her state, but also an endearing innocence as the song blooms into a crescendo of belted vocals and tangled guitar and synth leads.<\/p>\n