Sur Austru – Datura Străhiarelor Review

Folk metal appears to be going through a pariah phase these days. Of course, genre popularity ebbs and flows with the tide of public opinion, but this once-booming scene of the mid-aughts has fallen on hard times. Perhaps our melting pot of a world is too fraught with simmering disaster. Why seek the comforting lilt of an electrified hurdy-gurdy? Have you been paying attention at all to international affairs, damn it? Perhaps the exponential expansion of independent heavy metal has splintered the average listener’s consumption habits into 1000 tiny micro-interests. I don’t have time for FUN today, OK? It’s Bandcamp Friday and I just shelled out 6.99 for a krautnoise concept album about stagflation. In times like this I’m reminded of the prescience of Paula Cole in 1997 when she so mournfully foretold – “Where is my Thyrfing? Where is Ensiferuuuuum? Where is my Vintersorg? Where have all the Finntrolls gone?” They don’t call her Colestradamus for no reason. Prophets aside, folk metal is not dead, and Sur Austru are here to convince you that not only is it alive, it is still fiendishly kicking.

The answer? Read on!

Sitting at the crossroads where black metal, progressive metal(insofar as it is unconventionally structured, not so much that it’s virtuosic) and traditional Romanian folk music intersect, Datura Străhiarelor (The Gift of Scarecrows) is, per Avantgarde Music, a concept album “focusing on the Apocalypse triggered by magical beings from Romanian mythology. Their spells break the gate between the fantastic world and the real one, through which ancient beasts surge, thus annihilating humankind”. Serious, right? Sur Austru’s commitment to telling a purely Romanian story extends to the artwork and lyrics, each crafted by a Romanian artist and poet, respectively. This is a fantastical story of their people and by their people, and is that not the essence of the “folk” tag?

Many of you clicked this review because of your familiarity with Romania’s Negură Bunget, but Sur Austru’s connection to Negură Bunget (and even tangentially Dordeduh) does not warrant mention except for a comparative discussion of how each group reckons with the metaphysical. Negură Bunget’s later output and especially Dordeduh’s Har exist in a universe where mankind is but a conduit for the terrible energy of the unearthly beyond. In Sur Austru’s world man fights tooth and nail against the gods and ghosts in willful fury, yet still the tendrils of the supernatural creep through the cracks, into the heart. This conflict is the underpinning of all good folklore and despite my inability to comprehend Romanian and FULLY absorb the story Sur Austru is telling, I’m pleased that musically the intent is still evident. This is an earthy album. The guitar tone is thick, caked in a layer of dirt. The vocals are dry and throaty, as if Tibor Kati is shouting down prey in a hunt. Swirling above throughout, though, like the ghostly green of the northern lights, are a host of musical spirits: a pan flute, a monastic percussive instrument called a toacă, spare synth touches and stabs.

When Datura Străhiarelor (hereafter referred to as DS) rises up in its full, elemental power it casts a menacing shadow. The twin forces of “Cele Rele” and “Cele Bule” wield the same weaponry to great effect – guitars pound forth, stomping, cutting through the underbrush while choirs and leads sway in the canopy. This time, as opposed to the first proper track “Aratarea”, the music carves the pathway and the guttural vocals tread behind in the wake. Here is where the album really finds its footing, where it most confidently puts the “metal” in front of the “folk”. See the ripping middle section of “Cele Bule” at about 4:00 for a dueling keyboard/guitar solo section, drums locked into a tight groove underneath with the rhythm guitar. The song flexes mightily until around 6 minutes in when a gentle flute guides the listener through a glade of synth and out into a clearing. The album’s lead single, “Farmacarea”, then glides into the foreground, looming menacingly, a clean guitar heralding danger. This track is the synthesis of everything Sur Austru have been building toward thus far and is a real album standout.

For all that DS does well there are some bothersome bits. A large portion of the vocals are a midrange, half-sing/half-bellow, sharing the same tone and timbre with the narration segments. This is…fine from a compositional perspective, but I found it to be distracting from the material behind it. The voice is right up front in the mix, practically sitting in your lap, and tends to pull the ear into its orbit like a loud conversation in a neighboring booth at the diner. My guess is that their storytelling function is of prime importance and this was intentional, however without access to lyrical translations my interpretation of the story is limited to the movement of the music. Additionally while this is an album of heavy themes and heavy guitars, once the rousing last track “Ispraveria” closes I find myself looking back in search of what should be the gooey center of it all, the almighty riff, and I come up empty. One could steelman the mostly riffless approach, assuredly, but I will not. Just as “metal “is the prime element in all of its separate genres, the riff is the prime element in metal. This fact does not render the album unenjoyable to this listener, but I can see how others might enter the experience hale and hearty and leave anemic.

All told, Sur Austru cannot be faulted for their commitment to the bit. This is a complete package from cover to color and form. I look forward to seeking out the translations, when available, and taking it in again with a panoramic view. At its best the album entrances with a mystic power, and anyone able and willing to dive into a strange otherworld of Romanian nightmares should take the plunge.

Posted by Isaac Hams

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