Clouwbeck – Wolfrahm

Recently we’ve been treated to re-introductions to older Richard Skelton material via the Type Records vinyl issue of Marking Time and Tompkins Square’s re-release of A Broken Consort’s Box Of Birch, but this is a brand new album from the Lancastrian composer.

The last time we encountered a Skelton release under his Clouwbeck moniker it was the marvellous A Moraine album, released at the end of last year. Now, Wolfrahm reasserts Skelton’s position as one of the most distinct and impressive composers in modern classical circles by continuing to pursue a striking aesthetic of earthy and visceral, string-drenched beauty. In truth, it’s probably somewhat problematic to think about Skelton in terms of modern classical composition, because this music is far removed from the disciplined, carefully arranged output of scene leaders like Max Richter and Johann Johannsson. What Skelton brings to the table is a very primal, untamed sound that’s laid out plainly as raw, swirling expression on a piece like ‘Oxide’, which lodged at the centre of the album greatly resembles a mournful orchestra dolefully tuning up – the layered strings restlessly writhing all over each other. Frequently, it feels as if Skelton’s playing the saddest music you’ve ever heard, made all the more effective by the peculiar sense of distance it maintains from the listener: ‘Gossan’ opens the album as if its languid bow strokes are sounding out at the far end of some grand hall, and by the time you arrive at ‘Black Sands’, you’re listening to shadows. This elusive recording style contributes to the frayed emotional make-up of the album, and Wolfrahm certainly represents a more sombre, impressionistic angle on the Richard Skelton canon. A collection of haunting, elemental meditations that comes very highly recommended – grab one while you can. – Boomkat Review

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