22 | SEPTEMBER 10 - 16, 2021 | WORCESTERMAGAZINE.COM
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Ghosts of Jupiter look back to see ahead on their new album Victor D. Infante Worcester Magazine USA TODAY NETWORK
As a matter of policy, I try not to spend too much time comparing the bands I review to other, more famous musical acts. It’s usually a disingenuous enterprise to say So And So is the lovechild of Fiona Apple and Lou Reed, or something like that. At best it’s lazy and trite. Which brings us to “Keepers of the Newborn Green,” by Boston’s Ghosts of Jupiter, and the maddening fact that one does have to take a look back into musical history to get a grasp on this band: A little “Piper at the Gates of Dawn”-era Pink Floyd, a little Jethro Tull, but maybe less than you’d expect from a band that features a fl ute prominently. A little Beatles, maybe. Some Phish-style jam-band vibes, maybe some of Spyro Gyra’s better work. It’s not that Ghosts of Jupiter is aping any of these acts, no, but rather that the sounds of the past, of ‘60s psychedelia through contemporary jam-bands, haunt this album. The band – which comprises Worcester-based musician Nate Wilson on vocals, keyboards, fl ute and guitar; Adam Terrell also on guitar; Thomas Arey on percussion; and Thomas Lada on bass; with appearances by Yahuba Garcia-Torres playing percussion on two tracks and Emma Watson on handclaps – leans into its roots, digs deep into them. This isn’t an album of about reinventing or even recapturing the past, it’s an album that tries to present what music’s past was always capable of, whether contemporary audiences believe that or not. That’s immediately apparent on the opening track, “The Undertaking,” with Wilson’s sweet, soothing vocals gliding over a fully-packed ‘60s folk-rock melody, fl ute winding in contrast to the singing. Things become more pointed with the hard, classic country guitar line of “Villains,” giving way to a fl ute-driven folk jangle, as Wilson sings, “And in the witching hour you’ll waken to fi nd yourself down-
Ghosts of Jupiter’s most recent album is “Keepers of the Newborn Green.” PROVIDED PHOTO
stream/Of all the poisoned war songs, imbeciles, peddlers and false schemes/ The villain on the TV leaves you longing for the silence that you used to know.” This is a modern lyric, referencing a modern phenomenon, and the stylings frame the picture, rather than obscure it. “On Bended Tides” begins with a bracing hail of drums, and perhaps paradoxically, it feels like it’s the fi rst song primarily moving in a forward direction, musically speaking, even as the lyrics denote a sense of drift: “Horizons without stars/In false directions I have wandered far/To cross an earth thrown on its side/a listless drift on bending tides.” The persona may be adrift, but the guitar solo kills, so there’s that. The album decelerates again with the smoldering, jazz-infused instrumental, “The Wandrian.” The end of the latter song be-
comes a bit of a stormy sea, before calming again to give way to the more straightforward folk number, “Northern Road.” Throughout the album, there are oblique references to recent politics, which make the meaning of lines such as “On a northern road we passed a stadium/A chorus full of madness fi lled the air” rather self-evident, if you’ve been paying attention. That said, when “Sea of Madness” begins with a straight-up blast of prog-rock, blasting away even the pretense of stillness that the band’s gentle hand usually creates, it’s hard not to see that the album is aiming straight at the madding crowd: “Go on shout it out,” sings Wilson, “Though many voices still deny the obvious/Beyond any doubt/The Sea of Madness sends the tides that carry us/From the Light.” The smooth, keyboard-driven instru-
mental “Battlekat” serves as a sort of caesura, more of a resting place within the album’s fl ow than anything, but “Imperium Waves” puts the listener back into the album’s emotional maelstrom, with a quickly shifting melody and lines such as “Warnings of the follies/of wasted time/and the old wars that never can be won” cutting a tad closer than one would expect, given recent headlines. It sets a dire mood, which is then upended by the fabulous fl ute meets funk of the instrumental, “Gustav.” Still, the album ends on an ominous note, with “No Direction,” which presents a sort of intertwined sense of defi ance and hopelessness. It’s not a haunting ending, but it feels honest. It leaves the future a blank slate, which right now seems entirely appropriate.
