A1 Nel buio  
A2 Time Has Changed  
A3 Migrants  
A4 Shadow Land Part 1  
A5 Silent Fall  
A6 Céline  
B1 And We Follow The Night  
B2 Shadow Land Part 2  
B3 The Boat And The Cove  
B4 The Blue Hour  
B5 Interlude  
B6 My Piano Night  
B7 Stellify  

Credits

  • Additional Cello Recordings by – Carlota Ibañez de Aldecoa Silvestre
  • Cello – Arthur Hornig
  • Mastered By – Francesco Donadello
  • Music By, Arranged By, Producer, Mixed By – Federico Albanese
  • Piano, Electronics, Hammond, Synthesizer, Bass, Field Recording – Federico Albanese

Notes

Released on heavyweight 180gram vinyl. Comes in gatefold and with a thin printed innersleeve.

Barcode and Other Identifiers

  • Barcode: 885470007069

Federico Albanese - The Blue Hour LP

$26.00 Regular Price
$23.40Sale Price
  • The following review was written by Drastic Steps. You can read more of his reviews and stream his DJ mixes HERE:

     

    A piano is a book of verses that migratory birds consult. Or could it be a sky heavy with stars settling on a desolate glass factory? Is it also not a dictionary of waves? Believe me, when I say, it is all that and more, especially when the contemporary pianist/conjurer Federico Albanese embarks on his compositional journies that slide through a collage of exquisite mirages, or untold stories of great pathos. 

    Once I experienced 'The Houseboat and the Moon' (heartfelt thanks to QuietCalm Records who relentlessly pursued the powers that be and procured me clear vinyl version) my dream state made me immediately devour The Blue Hour. It is an album that, like say Frahm’s 'Spaces', or Richter’s 'Blue Notebooks', makes me a better human. The collection includes idiosyncratic short tidal outbursts of sound-clouds, to long-form meditations on the piano as an all-encompassing soul, demonstrating the unity of human consciousness. Perhaps piano is a valley of untitled flowers that unlock the doors of spring.   

    The album starts with a mysterious 80 seconds of cosmic hum-drone undulating into a morass of sounds that sound like the manipulation of solar winds and space. It stands apart from the rest of the album like a species yet to be discovered. This theme is revisited in the Interludes that arrives in the second half. I wondered if the piano is actually a horizon sewing the seams of an ocean? 

    The brilliant petering out of the introductory swelling of senses (Nel Buio) into the track “Time has changed” has a dramatic effect, where the soft and tiny piano sounds magnify into a highly satisfying 6 note repetition and mischievous background jangling. Through a distortion arrives the deeply resonating melody line with all its sagacity and ability to charm. The unraveling that ensues for 6 or so minutes leads you to the “Migrants,” where the composer establishes (for me) that he is the Master of Melodies. It is also hugely satisfying to see the Italian born Berlin-based artist commenting on the political turmoil of our times. The tunes are dolefully redolent of the unbearable sadness of, to use Agamben’s term, “bare bodies” trudging away from harm, war, and famine to the safety of gleaming shores, only to be huddled and cordoned off by fellow humans unable to show love and empathy. For addressing our political times, Federico Albanese deserves my particular respect.

    The title track (arriving midway through the B side) is a cornucopia of absolutely luscious layers of strings and keys, held together by a synth organ reverberating with a 4 bar pattern. This bouncing pattern gathers the fine dust of high notes and finally glimmers with the momentum generated by delicious strings. This track contemplates electronic work through neoclassical lenses and explores melody as a rhythm (or vice versa). 

    We are surreptitiously prepared for the brilliantly glassy, or "Glass-ic" My Piano Night. Time slows down. I hear my breathing become the background drones of this track. The heaving of lows arranges the crystal shaped highs with all the attention to detail, with all the time in the world. The piece refracts light as if through a transparent fossil stone holding an ancient insect. Here fragility is beauty. As if the piano is a midnight snowfall or the concentric patterns of vanishing ripples as it starts to rain on a lake. 

     This work of art reminds me of a line written by Leonard Cohen “There is a crack, a crack, in everything, that’s how the light comes in.” Federico Albanese’s The Blue Hour will show you precisely how, and you will also be aptly prepared for his 2018 “By the Deep Sea.” I can’t thank QuietCalm Records enough for curating this. For those who will get it, know that we will be always bound as friends who were fortunate enough to have  entered “The Blue Hour.”

     

    Item is unsealed/unplayed