Ptolemea – Kali


Some of you will know Priscila Da Costa as the current vocalist for Portuguese doom metal collective, Sinistro. How many of you are aware of her activities outside the band? She’s now based in Luxembourg and has her own musical unit called Ptolemea. It’s nothing like her more famous group, but it’ll grab your attention in no time.

A haunting arpeggio on guitar and keyboard sets the scene for a séance of multi-tracked voices in the intro to ‘Kura’. The atmospherics are already swelling around you after thirty seconds. Listen how Da Costa writhes through her words in a seamless alternation from whispered contralto to high-range falsetto. Only at 01:30 does the percussive element come alive to increase the tension. The word “post-rock” will hover in your head, though you know it’s something different. It all makes sense at 03:25 when the distortion pedal changes the dynamics and the bass-snare combination kicks in (albeit with a strange offbeat). There’s no doubt this is an enchanting start to the album.

Often, a sea of suffering voices collides in the background in the build up to Da Costa’s belting technique. This is rock music that bewitches you with the ethereal sophistication of its vocals rather than the power of its guitars. Observe how Da Costa’s soprano range contrasts with the might of her chest voice in ‘Breathe’ as she clings to the enunciation of the chorus with an anxious euphoria. Here, strummed guitars and piano sprinkles weave around the drums, but the dynamics avoid one consistent tempo. Imagine how captivating this would be on a live stage.

There’s nothing in your face about this music. It knows it can get inside your head through hallucinatory means. Perhaps Dead Can Dance adapting Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s abstract use of guitars would produce something in the same realm? Hark how the words in ‘Blue Moon’ flourish and extend their finite energy like dragonflies reaching their highest glowing point. You might not have the means to understand it on first listen, but you can appreciate the flashes of originality. A form of enchanting dream rock is the outcome, yet it’s also the one thing that holds it back from being a great record. Wouldn’t it be more interesting to see how Da Costa handles a distorted guitar when expressing her aching vocal lines? Minimalist tom drum patterns and simple arpeggio passages in a clean electric tone are the foundations for voice here.

The impending fuzz bass and despondent drums of ‘Guilhotina’ are exactly what we need at track five. Of course, Da Costa masters the anguish of the chorus with great expertise. How many voices are unified here before the violin takes hold of the transition to the next verse? ‘Andhera’ follows a similar path of grungy bass movements and circular drums with aching harmonies. Watch how guitar pedals pierce through the wall of layered sound like distant torchlights. A verse-bridge-chorus routine with mid-tempo drums is the furthest thing from its creator’s mind. This song has no end destination or repetition point, but that makes it even more fascinating.

There’s no need for drums when the strumming rhythms provide the impetus to dance under the glow of a full moon. A vigorous upbeat lash of the acoustic guitar in ‘Aqui, Ali, Acolá’ is just as spellbinding as percussion. Likewise, the high-reverb twang of the closing title-track finds its sustenance in a colourful keyboard drone. Da Costa needs only supporting drums to open her larynx like Björk.

It’s never clear where the action will go or how it’ll evolve, but it races down your back like an invigorating autumn breeze for most of this record.

JVB


Verdict