Rikard Sjoblom is the multi-instrumentalist who will be most familiar to progressive rock fans for his work with Beardfish. With that band now sadly in the realms of the departed, Rikard operates as a solo artist as well as under the name Gungfly and it is under this moniker that he is set to release ‘on her journey to the sun’, a multi-tiered work that takes in a huge array of influences and returns them in a weird and wonderful hybrid form. A lengthy exploration of the richly storied work of the seventies, most importantly Rikard and his crew have recognised the importance of the album to their venture and the record flows seamlessly across it’s seventy-minute run time.
As ‘of the orb’ drifts into view on the back of tinkling piano, richly textured vocal harmonies and a stuttering beat, the most extraordinary transformation takes place. As the track opens, you’re listening to early Genesis, Peter Gabriel once again fronting that inventive, pastoral, quintessentially English band, only for the chorus to segue into territory more commonly associated with latter-day Muse – complex, musically literate and informed by everything from Queen to King Crimson. It’s a strangely compelling sense of musical déjà vu and it gets the album off to an impressive start that ranges over ten dizzying minutes. That whimsical feel continues into the album’s title track. With a range of influences informing the music, the most obvious connection is the so called ‘Canterbury Scene’ typified by the likes of Soft Machine and Caravan, whose wonderful album ‘in the land of grey and pink’ is most closely recalled here. It’s beautifully played and recorded and Petter Diamant deserves special praise for his inventive drum performance. Rikard’s vocal range is firmly tested on ‘he held an axe’, a glistening and emotive prog-pop song that would make a fine single in a world where progressive rock still warranted airplay, but it soon makes way for the muscular riffing of ‘My hero’, which sees Rikard and David Zackrisson trading licks over a restless beat that twists and turns in a manner that recalls the jazz-infused excursions of Phil Collins before his eyes fixed firmly on the musical simplicity of superstardom. At seven -minutes, it’s a track that takes its time to find a settled point where vocals can safely emerge and it stands as a counterpoint to the much more pop orientated ‘he held an axe’. Another shift in direction, ‘If you fall, Pt. 1’ sees piano and acoustic guitar underpinned by Rasmus Diamant’s jazzy bass runs, all of which draws the listener into some late-night session where musicians jam together and the music phases in and out of the consciousness the more the drinks are poured.
One of three exceptionally lengthy epics on the album, ‘Polymixia’ incongruously finds inspiration in a funky bass line and Fripp-esque guitar freak outs before heading off into the more stately musical progressions of ‘Nursery crime’ era Genesis (albeit with David Gilmour parachuted in on lead guitar), eschewing vocals (aside from some wordless vocalisations) altogether. In stark contrast, ‘over my eyes’ is a piano-led ballad that threatens to overwhelm with its simple, deeply affecting performance. With so many complex ideas flowing through the mix, it is a relief to have time to simply become lost in so traditional a song. ‘Old demons die hard’ offers up awkward guitar riffs and distorted vocals, Sverker Magnusson and Martin Borgh both enjoying themselves on the keyboards as the sound of a ringing telephone rudely courses across the surface of the track and Rikard channels his inner Roger Waters for a visceral vocal performance. ‘Keith (the son of sun)’ is a warm piece that opens with the flow of an organ before incorporating more jazzy time signatures and nimble guitar work. However, it is the ‘river of sadness’ that is the album’s grandest epic which, at twelve minutes in length, provides the band with one last opportunity to flex their musical muscle on a consistently surprising piece of music that ebbs and flows like a mini-symphony. The album concludes with the slight ‘all a dream’, a two-minute coda that helps ease the listener back to the colder reality of the every-day world.
On the first play through, it was hard to separate Gungfly from the myriad influences that inform the music. The album is so vast in scope that it initially feels like a time-capsule dug up and containing some long-lost artefact from the mid-70s. Yet that music was so timeless, and Gungfly’s palate is so broad that this is no mere exercise in nostalgia. However, it takes sitting to listen to the album as a whole to fully appreciate its charms and, once committed to spending your time in the record’s company for the full seventy-five-minute journey, you’ll not want to leave. There is considerable depth, hidden beneath the initially attention-drawing melodies, and the more you listen the more intricate the song-writing appears. It’s a stunning trip, full of emotion and backed up by mesmerising performances, and one that any progressive rock fan will be glad to undertake. 9
