CATCHING FIRE WITH TERJE RYPDAL

After a slew of albums featuring the legendary Reine Fiske on guitar, this prolific Norse trio have elevated their star power by recruiting that other mythical compatriot Terje Rypdal to play on this massive 82-minute 2017 live concert recording of some of their earlier 'pachydermic' numbers, given maximum expanse to voyage wherever the inspiration takes them. Keyboardist Stale Storlokken lathers up quite the ivory foam, while bassist Nikolae Haengsle circumnavigates all the broiling organ runs with melodic ease, leaving the percussive octopus Torstein Lofthus to bash, slash and thrash his way through the impenetrable rhythmic jungle. As befits Terje's well deserved reputation for being a master of restraint and tone, the pieces provoke an immediate sense of geographical dislocation, a soporific Drakkar cruise into the shadows within the folds of the soul. At times icy cold, ambient and dreamy, the flip of a switch can then have the quartet dive into a fjord of heavy Crimsonian distortion, starless, savage and yet also disciplined. I just managed to describe the trials and tribulations of the epic 22 minute + "I Cover the Mountain Top "!

Their classic "Dodovoodoo" is another leviathan, a minute shorter than the opener, but a completely different kettle of haddock, as the pace here is fast, furious and mercilessly taking no prisoners, with Stale's organ particularly molten and phosphorescent. The rhythmic duo keep drilling as if looking for a musical pool of North Sea oil, careening as if out of control but not really sweating the slightest drop. Terje then takes over, with a fury and gusto that blows the concept of faltering age to smithereens. Manic, delirious, on the outer edges of schizophrenic, the soloing and overall interplay is off the charts. Halfway through, rhythmic hiccups kick in, a bit like on the controversial "We'll Let You Know", off Starless & Bible Black, dropping down to an incongruous hush, the perfect set-up for the glorious mellotron section to make its long-awaited appearance, throttling percussive overdrive in tow. The passage to rough organ flurries is feather lightly unobtrusive, the rubbery bass guitar featured in parallel, chugging wrathfully along with skilled nonchalance. I need to see a voodoo witch doctor to help me sleep.

As befits its ominous title, "Psychedelic Backfire" is no flower power, sunshine of my love trip down Height Ashbury, but a rather stark plunge into a somber chasm of Valhalla doom, gloom and discomfort. No, make that inflicting pain, while drinking mead out of skulls. Here, Terje channels dense guitar stimuli, long bluesy Hendrixian rants that exude all the suffering of the universe. Grating, scathing, scratching and clawing, the hyper-fuzzed organ burps with ribald malice, the bass bulging and the beat schizoid. Slow, but not gentle and certainly not sentimental.

Electric punk-jazz time on "John Tinnick", a hurried 5-minute frenzy verging on delirium, a volcanic spewing of musical creamed corn (as Zappa once said), a virulent need to fasten all seat belts and hold on for dear life. The only ambient moment is the few seconds after the tune is over.

The bass and drum crew really lay it on the line with "Fugel Fonix", Lofthus performing his finest Carl Palmer homage, a rippling bass motif to provide both the courage and the adrenalin, leaving Stale and Terje to shred like a compost factory in full eco-friendly regalia. At one point, the hectic bubbling rhythms collide with the serene shards of extended flicks of the wrists. Atmospheric ecstasy.

How about a dirty, oily, greasy ditty to shut this behemoth down? "Skink" is an epidermic badger of lusty sonic odors, an absurd mood that is excessive and monstrous, a fitting climax to what must have been a draining live exhibition of the jamming genius of four Viking cats on controlled dopamine.

4.5 Matchless Men