Paavoharju - LauluLaakson Kukista

Mon 8th Sep, 2008 in Music Reviews

While researching the background of Paavoharju for this article, I learned that band leader Lauri Ainala has at one point in his life rented and lived in a rock cave that was once used as a bomb shelter. If that sentence left a bad taste in your mouth, it is in all likelihood that Laulu Laakson Kukista is simply not the album for you. Because even if you had no knowledge whatsoever of the group outside of their music, it would still be quite easy to arrive at the conclusion that Paavoharju are a band who live apart from the rest of the world. Often labelled as a Christian ascetic collective, Paavoharju evoke a sense of spirituality that may or may not be entirely related to their faith.

The sense of sprawl present on this album is staggering. Few groups that aren’t Yo La Tengo can say that they have produced albums that straddle as many genres as this one does. Kevätrumpu contains one of the best pure pop choruses I’ve heard in a long time, Tyttö Tanssii feels like the darkest song you could ever play on a ukulele and Italialaisella Laivalla is the soundtrack to the end of the world. Beginning with a meek, unassuming finger-picked guitar melody, the emotional core of the song is soon revealed to be an absolutely flooring male vocal. He sounds like he’s just come from a harrowing, exhausting experience but still has the energy to sing to you. But he barely gets enough time to get the words out before he’s overwhelmed by a carnival-esque accordion that fades in and out of view, the pavilion hazy and surrounded by uncertainty. The song ends with the clatter of miscellanea, followed by a short period of silence. The album continues.

One of the better articles I read on Paavoharju compared them to the work of Philip Jeck, a musician who uses worn-out vinyl to unearth the textural possibilities of pop music. And while that is miles ahead of the best possible comparison I could ever think of, it still doesn’t feel at all right to place them alongside anyone else and point out the similarities. A lot of that stems from the aforementioned point about the group seeming like a world unto themselves. My feelings on this album might be entirely different if I was aware of the subject matter but my knowledge of Finnish is cursory at best, and probably just plain non-existent.

Some people might think this would dull my enthusiasm for the album. After all, my dislike of Sigur Rós is hardly something I’ve kept to myself. But I actually find music I don’t understand quite rewarding, without the added – œmeaning’ implied by the lyrical content it becomes a lot easier to simply immerse oneself in the sounds the vocalist is making. It could be possible that the lyrics are about something I find completely contemptible, but I don’t know. And it’s that uncertainty that I keep finding hidden within the album. There’s a sense of frailty to everything about Laulu; whether it’s the rainforest waltzing of Tuoksu Tarttuu Meihin or the call-to-arms that is Uskallan. It’s understandable too; despite living as a hermit in a town that houses less than twenty people per square kilometre, Ainala must certainly feel a sense of dread. There’s little hope that his sanctuary will last through the generations, or indeed through the upcoming years. It may very well be the crowning achievement of this album.

There is certainly an aspect of innocence to Paavoharju’s music, and the strict no-drugs agenda that they push in the few press releases they have released adds to this considerably. (Interestingly enough, Sigur Rós too pushed the same point after the release of their debut album). But talking about music of this nature is difficult; it’s not that it doesn’t inspire discussion; it’s just that you’re never exactly sure what you could possibly say that could in any way describe the album itself. I could discuss the use of sound collage, the incredible intricacies in the production that suggest months, if not years of love being poured into the music present here. (Their last release was three years ago, 2005’s Yhä Hämärää). But none of it would compare with simply hearing the album as a living, breathing organism.

That said though, this is what I think of when I think of Laulu Laakson Kukista: I think of myself driving towards a campsite, where I’m to meet my friends. We’ve each brought with us whatever instruments we had lying around, and some things that aren’t instruments at all. In lieu of a drum kit we all simply decided to bring along whatever pots and pans we had at home. As I drive further into the woods the radio reception starts to get obscured by the overlying canopy, but hidden underneath the static, flickering in and out between stations are snippets here and there of indelibly beautiful music that I will never understand, let alone find the originator of. But by now I am too tired to care, simply content to listen.

It’s the joy of listening that keeps bringing me back to Laulu. It’s the sort of album that you may very well never tire of. It’s one of the best albums I’ve heard this year. And I don’t even know what they’re saying.