As the first waves of music from Rub Al Khali, the title track of Brikkuni’s new album, hit my eardrums, I got the same shiver down my spine as I did when I was in attendance at Brikkuni’s already infamous Għaram concert at the Manoel Theatre over a year ago. That concert introduced me and many others to a new Brikkuni, one we knew was in the works, but whose form we did not clearly know yet.
That concert was a runaway success for the band and, though they have once more courted many a controversy since then, the wait for new recorded material from the band reached fever pitch. And now, the album is here.
I write this while staring at a glaringly bright Mediterranean Sea under the wintry midday sun, from my aeroplane seat. The sight is not incongruous with that of a great barren desert, such as the actual Rub Al Khali. And yet, Brikkuni’s latest album is both extremely Mediterranean-sounding, as well as the polar opposite of dry, barren, and bare.
The album’s soundscape is rich, adorned with intense musical talent, though accessible and unpretentious.
What strikes me most about this third release is that the local vernacular, though still an obvious feature of the compositions, takes a back seat to the musical atmospherics. I feel that Maltese is no longer a central tenet of Brikkuni’s identity, and indeed, the identity of this album. Instead, it is merely a matter of happenstance that the album was written in the local tongue.
And a happy happenstance it is, as the lyrics are a joy. My favourite line from the entire album, in the second track, Ċpar, speaks of birds being hunted in the valleys surrounding Mġarr, much to the consternation of the writer, who believed the morning mist would shelter the avians from the fury of the airborne shotgun pellets launched at them from below.
Gone also is the snark in the lyrics, something Brikkuni are famed for. And yet, given this album’s musical qualities, this is no big loss. While older tracks such as Ċikku ċ-Ċinkwina and Fil-Gallinar Tas-Sultan became anthems precisely for their lyrical qualities, this album does not attempt to do that to any song.
Instead, I see a focus placed squarely on lyrics dealing with love, loss, regret and learning. Is the album as a whole more obviously melancholic than previous releases? Yes, certainly, but I believe this shift in focus has been a long time coming, and speaks of a band comfortable in its evolution.
The album’s soundscape is rich, adorned with intense musical talent, though accessible and unpretentious
Musically speaking, I believe this album is a turning point for Brikkuni, a watershed moment of sorts that acts as a follow-up to the material written specifically for, and showcased at, their Għaram concert, with the expectation that the band will carry on in the same direction.
This album is a departure from Brikkuni’s previous efforts, in terms of the recordings’ quality surely, but more so in terms of actual songwriting. I find that the evolution of Brikkuni’s sound is only logical, and perhaps hindsight allows me to say that maybe this sound is always what the band was striding for, even if unknowingly, and they’ve come to it now, having chiselled away at their material and songwriting approach for years.
This album is, I find, punctuated with moments that require patience of the listener. It is unhurried when a song is to come to its highest point of escalation, almost to the point of exasperation in some tracks, though one understands that this is a requirement of the musical direction Brikkuni have embarked upon.
If music were coffee, this album would not be an espresso, rather a slow brew with mellowed flavours that have bubbled away for hours before being poured. Perhaps, it is patient, unhurried quality that makes Rub Al Khali so Mediterranean sounding.
Saying that Brikkuni have simply ‘mellowed’ as many others have done, is, in my belief, incorrect, though mellower tunes are certainly the result of the band’s musical journey. I, however, equate this latest work to a clearer, more markedly set out musical direction from the group. For the most part, gone are any thundering drum beats of standout tracks from previous releases, replaced with longer riff cycles and atmospheric sounds attacking from every angle. Gone is any idea of a singalong folk-rock anthem, replaced with an ethereal, heartfelt and expertly-executed album, with plenty of standout songs, but which, in my opinion, stand out best as a single, cohesive, complete work, to be listened to from start to end.Vocally too, this album is a departure from previous efforts. Brikkuni frontman and lyricist Mario Vella may hog all the attention when representing the band at front and centre stage. But, at times, in this album, his voice actually plays second fiddle to others’. I find this to be a mature musical decision indeed, most especially in the standout duet track Għadna, where Yews, or Yasmin Kuymizakis, hauntingly leads the song to its finish. The vocal accompaniments to Vella’s singing do not detract from it; rather, the contrast between his voice and the backing vocals greatly enriches the compositions.
This, then, is not a thunderous, raucous folk-rock style album to be sung at the top of one’s voice. It is a far more delicate, melancholic and rich work. It’s not an album you put on while preparing to go out to a gig, but it is one you listen to on cold wintry days as you pour the first of many wine glasses. It is beautiful, and ethereal, and I believe the strongest, most complete work Brikkuni have ever produced, and I can’t wait to see what the next rung in the band’s ladder is.
Rub al Kahli will be launched with a live performance on May 5 and 6 at the MCH Community Theatre.