Album Review: Jo Quail - Notan
Reviewed by Dan Barnes
I first encountered Ms Quail’s music when I saw her at Manchester’s Gorilla venue, opening the show for Boris and Amenra. Initially bemused and wondering whether I’d turned up on the wrong night, the sheer force of the music dragged me in and cast its spell, making me a huge fan ever since.
That Ms Q – I feel it would be impolite to use a lady’s first name without being properly introduced – is accepted in the somewhat-haughty edifices of the Classic establishment, while being embraced by the – dare I say, equally – guarded boarders of the Extreme Metal scene is a testament to the diversity of her sound and the readiness to take the stage at places like Roadburn, Hellfest and Damnation festivals, and share collaborations with established composers and the blackest of bands in the genre.
That said, there’s a strange symbiosis between Classical composers and heavy metal: the likes of Wagner, Prokofiev and Beethoven can challenge many of today’s weightiest artist, even Holst’s Mars: Bringer of War can deliver a good musical kicking to the unwary. So, Ms Quail’s classical approach and her unique sound design, means that each of her albums is as much a treat for the ears as [insert the name of any band you like].
Notan is Ms Q’s seventh album and seems to follow closely in the heels of 2023’s dual EPs Invocation and Supplication. Taking its title from the Japanese idea of the interplay between opposing forces, Notan runs a tight thirty-seven minutes and contains six compositions, each exploring the concept of the relationship of the seemingly disparate.
Ms Quail might have her feet in the Classical world, but I challenge you to find anything heavier than the opening salvo of Butterfly Dance. Huge, weighty dissonance leads the charge, fat, low strings resonate from the darkest depths as Notan plays its post-metal card early. There’s something of the Cult of Luna here, the intensity of The Long Road North’s Cold Burn opener and the discomfort of Meshuggah polyrhythms, come together in looped sample and traditional instrumentation.
If Butterfly Dance is a meditation on the feminine, then Rex is its counter and is ardently masculine. A reimagining of the debut album’s Rex Infractus, this tune is given a majestic makeover with deep, ominous strings and dense, unsettling Gothicism. Clearly rooted in the more formal facet of Ms Quail’s musical spectrum, Rex is nine-minutes of light and shade, fluctuating between airy, dancing notes and huge, bowel-loosening draw of bow on string.
Interpretation is in the ear of the beholder, and I get the feeling of windswept moors and gothic landscapes; yet also postapocalyptic wastelands, all conjured through an intensity rarely heard this side of SunnO))).
The album’s other extensive piece is Embrace, a meditation on the bonds we share, exemplified by the double-tracking of cello and the use of keyboard as a foundation upon which to build the interconnectedness of the composition. In its demonstration of unity, the track blends modern classical sounds with unmistakable traditional motifs, showing the influence of the muses is as strong today as it was in days of yore. Layers of emotion build into a fully immersive experience and somehow teaching us something about ourselves as it does.
Dividing these huge compositions are smaller, though no lesser, pieces more in keeping with the Bridgewater Hall than the Rebellion Bar. A Leaf, and Then a Key is perhaps the most accessible to the culture-vultures in dinner jackets; morose and melancholic, there’s a sharpness and an almost palpable feel to the track. First Rain is Notan’s most simple of tunes, piano-led with intersecting lines, wringing tears from every phrase, as the keys invoke the titular downpour.
Final composition, Kingfisher, takes its name from literature and mythologies’ most reference bird, in which the cello, so often an anchoring, heavy instrument, is afforded wings and takes flight. Featuring an upbeat – even Caledonian centre – it evokes images of soaring over rolling hills. Yet never far away are the ominous and aggressive sound of booming percussion. Oft used by poets to symbolize the rise and fall of civilisations, the kingfisher maintains a dire warning whenever evoked.
Notan is, like all of Ms Quail’s records, an invitation to the listener to engage with its musical themes and to find meaning in its lush melodies and intricate movements. No two experiences will be wholly the same, as hidden phrases reveal themselves, slowly reaching the surface of the composition with continued exposure, giving each tune a new and otherwise unconsidered aspect.
