Consolamentum [CD]

Richard A Ingram's 'Consolamentum' is a bold body of work and a fearless statement of intent. As guitarist in Manchester-based rock outfit Oceansize, little in Richard's day job suggests either the genesis or the source of this album. This music comes from somewhere else entirely, some undefined centre; organic and ever expanding, fiercely powerful compositions, tonal explorations and melodies, with Richard himself as its source, rather than any vague sum of 'influences'. Following a self-released CD-R EP, 'Consolamentum' is Richard's debut solo album. From its opening moments the ambition of Ingram's work is immediately apparent; where did this come from? Words really cannot do this music justice, if only because the assuredness of the music speaks for itself. Using electric and nylon string guitars, piano, a variety of tape recorders and assorted electrical equipment, 'Consolamentum' casts an oppressive shadow over a distant and very dark horizon, a vision of bleak futurism. While Richard admits to taking inspiration for the track titles from the history of the Cathars, he is adamant that 'this is not a religious concept album'. There is an unstated narrative in the album's six track titles, but it is the sequence and flow of the music which creates its own narrative. 'Consolamentum' is not 'a score for a film not yet written', nor is it ambient 'drift' designed to soundtrack some nebulous void between waking and sleeping - current and lazy 'ambient music' tropes are inapplicable to this (and any) music so demanding of attention. 'Consolamentum' could be classed as some form of 'acoustic doom', perhaps some form of drone based music, but it is none of these things; it exists entirely in a realm of its own. Despite its title, the opening track 'Kll Thm ll…' presents a cautiously optimistic entry point, and is something of an overture for what follows: melody emerges from a backdrop of machine hum, where curious tonal phases suggest something unfamiliar yet exultant. Then comes the statement of 'de Montfort', its sustained, opening (treated) piano chord planted with determined finality. Creeping piano segments and washes of static tape hiss create a tension that builds and builds, until it finally resolves back to its opening piano chord, bringing everything full circle. The beauty is in the simplicity of the parts - Ingram's expressive playing and economical approach to the pieces, at times lo-fi, at times presented like field recordings, is the key to these stunning and peculiar arrangements. Take for example, the lurching, emptiness of title track 'Consolamentum', its drunken, hazy detuned guitar phrases, low and sustained, submerged under an ever present silence…the result is deeply unsettling. Melancholic throughout, Ingram's music does not let up. 'Beziers' exacerbates the tension further, and, as the longest track, acts as a kind of centrepiece, embodying all of the above while never losing sight of where the track is heading. 'The Melioramentum' and then '…Gd Wll Rcgnz Hs wn' feel like mournful recapitulations of the four tracks so far, but there is little consolation offered, as the album comes to a close with the sound of all the machines slowly being switched off, until there is just hiss, and then it ends. 'Consolamentum' is the work of an assured artist; it is as at times as stark as the grim Manchester skyline of the cover picture, and probably won't entertain any listener seeking a bedtime ambient soundtrack. However there is still an undeniably euphoric core to 'Consolamentum', but one which feels more closely related to that point at which pain is surpassed and becomes pleasure - like something pushed beyond its point of maximum tolerance, way beyond the threshold, transforming negatives into positivity.