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 Если человек (или несколько людей) может успевать многое, он может успеть ещё больше. Небольшую, но весьма весомую гирьку на чашу весов в пользу этого высказывания в очередной раз кладут участники проекта Folkearth. Не успели мы нарадоваться на 2 вполне себе полноценных кругляша, вышедших под означенной вывеской в 2008 году («Father of Victory» и «Songs of Yore»), как в том же году мир увидел дебютник ещё одного проекта от тех же авторов – Folkodia.
Как и прародитель, Folkodia – проект весьма и весьма международный. В нем заняты музыканты из девяти стран и огромного количества групп, из которых в первую очередь выделим все тот же Folkearth, Cruachan и Excelsis. Суть в принципе осталась та же – добротный folk metal (или, если угодно, viking metal), тяжелые гитары и плотный ритм обильно сдобрены самыми разнообразными народными инструментами. Лирика посвящена в основном викингам и их мифологии, с небольшим уклоном в тексты типа «я - воин, я паду во имя Одина и гордо ступлю в Валгаллу...» (это, конечно, не дословный перевод, но суть ясна). Однако довольно разглагольствований - перейдем непосредственно к музыке.
В плане которой «Odes from the Past» – это скорее топтание на месте, нежели шаг вперед. Конечно, место Folkearth занял весьма благодатное, и топтаться на нем можно долго, но стоит ли? Видимо участники Folkodia считают, что стоит. Одна из наиболее интересных фишек Folkearth (извините, невозможно удержаться от постоянных сравнений этих проектов) – разнообразие голосов и манер исполнения вокальных партий – заботливо и в лучшем виде перенесены сюда прямиком из родительского проекта. Гроул перемежается с чистым вокалом, женский хор сменяется уверенным мужским баритоном, одинокий голос приходит на смену многоголосому хору. Другая отличительная особенность – постоянное, но, следует заметить, исключительно уместное использование народных инструментов – так же тут как тут, в наилучшем виде. Вообще, «Odes from the Past» выглядят эдаким подведением итогов, типа «The Very Best of Folkearth» с небольшими отклонениями. Поэтому отдельно препарировать тушку каждой песни альбома особого смысла нет – все в принципе и так ясно, viking metal весьма позитивного пошиба.
Однако есть ещё одна тема, затронуть которую можно и нужно. Через весь альбом красной нитью проходит его явно невысокий бюджет. Не лучшее качество записи, порой навязчивая запрограммированность ударных – сам собой напрашивается вопрос «Зачем?». Как мы с вами помним, качеством записи того же уровня щеголял и последний полноформатник Folkearth «Father of Victory». А если и следующий релиз будет такой же, нужно ли это нам с вами? Да и самим музыкантам? С другой стороны, гадать сейчас что бы да как бы получилось, не родись на свет Folkodia, – дело явно неблагодарное. Ведь и дебютник Folkearth «A Nordic Poem» был весьма неубедителен – а посмотрите, во что все вылилось. Так что будем надеяться, что вместо одного первоклассного viking metal коллектива мы с вами получили два. |
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By the sword he earned his fame!
This is how a Viking dies:
Besides the bodies of fallen foes,
On shores that lie may miles away
From home and hearth, away from the North!
Fight to the end-hail the gods!
Thus a Viking dies and yet
His spirit shall forever dwell
In Valhalla's golden hall
Side by side with gods he feasts!
The Einherjer await for him,
His seat is long prepared
At all-father's dining table:
The Einherjer raise him a toast
Who fought and died like they did!
"I now live in the dream
Of fair Valkyries,
I now walk on fields
In Asgard evergreen;
My blood flows gold,
My eyes see afar
Like those of the eagle
Who now soars with me!
In Odin's court I dwell,
In the shining hall
That lies 'cross the bridge
Guarded by Heimdall
'Till the time is come
And he sounds his horn
Calling me to arms,
To do battle anon!"
Born of Thunder
Wherever I tread on this haunted, holy ground
I look to the skies above,
the clouds armed with storm...
Born of thunder is he who rides
Down from the tempest's burning soul,
To Midgard with a hammer in his hand
On his chariot made of living fire...
He's the protector of men:
His name is a magic word;
He's a god come from on high-
He's the one...
Whenever I see the glory that dawns each morn,
Frozen like steel, enchanted by Northern light...
Born of thunder is he who rides
Down from the tempest's burning soul,
To Midgard with a hammer in his hand
On his chariot made of living fire...
He's the protector of men:
His name is a magic word;
He's a god come from on high-
He's the one...
Robbed in such splendor,
Immortal eyes bedewed
With the gift of prophecy...
Where I tread on this haunted, holy ground
I took to the skies above, the clouds armed with storm...
Born of thunder is he who rides
Down from the tempest's burning soul,
To Midgard with a hammer in his hand
On his chariot made of living fire...
Into Battle
Raised viking sails,
The grinding of axes:
One takes up the sword
The other the spear and bow
Wives they left behind
And their children alike;
Their enemies awaiting
Standing on the shoreline:
'Ere the night
They shall die!
Back home again
Few shall return...
To victory, through honor first,
In valhalla they shall find rest!
Odin's warriors they shall remain
Forever more, 'till victory one day!
The Malevolent
Hail me as the foe
Of light and day alike-
Hail me as the scourge
Of Gods and men that strive
For order in this world-
All hail Loki, the melevolent!
"In darkness I plot and scheme,
With the fiends of the abyss...
One day I shall be back,
To show the Aesir the power of the One,
The power of Loki, the malevolent!"
Hail me as the enemy
Of Odin's shining reign-
Hail me as the Lord
Of the abomination of frost!
My name is Loki
Leader of the ravenous host!
My day shall come,
And it shall dawn red-
Dyed with the gore
Of my fallen foes!
Defenders on the Wall
Ride out to meet them,
Ride out with the dawn!
Raise the battle standard,
For all to behold
And take up the cry:
Stand by the king!
The Ottoman hordes,
Before the Theodosian Wall
Ravening for blood-
Mongol mongrels begone
When forth rides Constatine!
Giovanni musters his knights,
Their armor catches the light
As sliver their lances shine
Undimmed by Death and Night!
Faces blazing like the sun
No fear lurks in their hearts:
See the last defenders stand
Where hope is frail and wan
With swords in their hands...
The line has to hold!
Give them not an inch
Of our ancestral land...
The line has to hold!
Push them back to Hell
Back where they belong!
No foe can ever lay low
What a proud heart owns;
Though the wall is breeched
The city's taken and the holiest
Of holies defiled by brutes,
See them stand in victory...
High Up In the Sky
High up in the sky
I see twin raven fly...
Hugin and Munin guide me
To the Hall of everlasting light!
If I in a battle should die
I will sit by Odin's right side...
A fight is a path that leads
Heroes to the sky, past the bridge
Where Odin's ravens fly-
High up in the sky!
Valkyries take my hand, carry me,
High up in the sky, to Valhalla lay me!
High up in the sky,
Where the eagles fly,
My brave brothers wait:
A seat they have prepared for me
And a horn of mead-
I'll tell them my tale,
Show them my wounds,
Tell them how I died
And found myself at last
High up in the sky
fire...
Bound for Valhalla
Strike! Send me to Valhalla!
I'll show you how a warrior dies!
Dare look me in the eyes:
Can you see the wild joy therein?
Strike Send me to Valhalla!
I'll show you how a Viking dies!
It was not thy sword
But the Norns that decided my fate!
It takes a hero to put me down
Do you think you can even try?
The Gods are on my side,
The berserker rage is my guide!
Let you arrows fly to me,
Cast you spears straight to my heart-
I know no pain, death is my friend,
I'm protected by Odin's own shield!
Farewell my friends,
I'm leaving today-
Bound for Valhalla,
I must be on my way!
Farewell! my foes,
You were worthy indeed-
Bound for Valhalla,
I'll see you there one day!
The Swords of King Harald III
Remember this name
For it's laden with the fame
Of the warrior ruler
King Harald of Norway
The sovereign of lands
Swept by Nordic winds,
The son of King Olaf,
The bane of the Poles!
With five hundred at his side,
King Harald sotmers to the fight!
Their swords gleaming silver,
Striking like thunders of Thor!
Leader of the Varangs,
Of the imperial guard-
The scourge of Bulgaria
And the Eastern host!
The last of the Vikings,
A true son of the North;
His name shall be hailed
Throughout the eons long!
With five hundred at his side,
King Harald sotmers to the fight!
Their swords gleaming silver,
Striking like thunders of Thor!
Bloodlust is what drives him,
Loyal to battle's call;
Where the fray rages thick
No surrender, no shame!
He can hear songs of glory,
An otherworldly melody,
As he bleeds from his throat
'Pon Stamford Bridge...
In the Realm of Manannan
Ruler of the ocean and the seven seas,
Grant my ship passage throught thy realm;
For I am Tadg, son of Cian,
On the path of vengeance for all my kin...
The wind lashed our faces,
The brine was in our eyes-
Yet far we sailed into the night,
Right through the tempest's soul...
The rain fell hard and tore
My bright sails apart-
And still we manned the oars,
Bravely headed for, far North!
In the realm of Manannan,
Where summers are forever,
Through the raging storms,
Mists of the Otherworld:
I have reached the islands,
Where the Elders dwell-
I have found the place
Where reside the Blessed!
Lo! Three fortresses stand
On three hills thereupon,
One is pure white, the other is gold,
The third made of silver
Wherein dream the lords of yore...
In the realm of Manannan,
Where peace and beauty reign,
The land that Mael Duin saw emerging
From horizons far, after years at sea-
In the realm of Manannan,
Across the foaming sea,
O'er brillowing wave
i sought vengeance for my kin...
Sons of Europe
Horns of war are calling keen and clear-
Awaken! Rise ye sons of Europa!
Unite! Draw swords together and ride
Into glory, throughout the centuries!
We are Vikings and Northern brave,
Runes shine on our swords and our axes-
The dragon's head adorns our prows,
The wheel of the Sun is on our shields!
We are the undefeated Franks
Our banners are caught high in the breeze-
On our armor are etched in gold
The insigma of the kings of old!
Horns of war are calling keen and clear-
Awaken! Rise ye sons of Europa!
Unite! Draw swords together and ride
Into glory, throughout the centuries!
We are the fealess Germani,
Saxon steel is on our side!
Our battle cry still resounds
Across Europa far and wide!
We are the noble Slavs,
Unrivaled housemasters of the wild:
Our motherland is a vast empire
For which we will fight and die!
We are the glorious Romans
Our standards bear the eagle
That holds the thunderbolts
That shake this land asunder!
We are children of the light
We are Greeks, guardian of the East-
Led by Apollo our hoplites and priests
Guard the arcane secrets of the world!