Fuzz Sagrado Premieres “There’s No Escape”; Luz e Sombra Out May 19
Posted in audiObelisk, Reviews on April 19th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
[Click play above to stream ‘There’s No Escape’ from Fuzz Sagrado’s Luz e Sombra, out May 19 through World in Sound and available to preorder here from the label and here from the band.]
At very least, a reconciliation. Luz e Sombra is the second full-length from Fuzz Sagrado, the as-yet solo-project of multi-instrumentalist/vocalist Christian Peters. Having moved from Berlin, Germany, to more rural Brazil at the dawn of the decade, Peters‘ former outfit Samsara Blues Experiment made their farewell with End of Forever (review here) in 2021, and that July brought the first, self-titled EP (review here) from the new outfit, taking lessons Peters learned after more than a decade in Samsara Blues Experiment and through his own solo work under the moniker Surya Kris Peters — less directly relevant in sound, he also had a solo-outfit called Soulitude circa 2008, which would’ve made it concurrent to the drawdown of prior band Terraplane — and bringing them together for a new, partially synth-driven exploration of style and melody. Fuzz Sagrado would follow its self-titled with another EP, Vida Pura, in 2021 and in 2022 released A New Dimension (review here) via World in Sound in an ongoing collaboration, and Luz e Sombra‘s nine songs and 43 minutes continue this new exploration of solo work.
But where Surya Kris Peters was more of a vehicle for key and electronic experimentation, a put-down-the-guitar kind of project, Fuzz Sagrado to-date has been a willful step back toward rock music, and Luz e Sombra — ‘light and dark’ in Portuguese, and a title emblematic of the record’s duly chiaroscuro dynamic — is cast in that spirit as well. Those expecting the longform heavy psychedelic jamming for which Samsara Blues Experiment were somewhat reluctantly known will mostly not find them in Fuzz Sagrado. It is very pointedly a different band, but it is a band, even if there’s just one person behind it.
The first sounds one hears on Luz e Sombra opener “There’s No Escape” (premiering above) are keyboard and insects; the natural world meeting purposeful creation, and that tells you a goodly portion of what you need to know about what follows. Peters sweeps in an echoing guitar solo spacious over programmed beats — they’re more drum-sounding soon enough, but at least initially it’s more electronica — and a subdued verse solidifies around a progressive and atmospherically foreboding chorus: the second time through, “We are/Human/Obsessed with useless things/Deluded.”
Critique, philosophy, confession and storytelling are nothing new lyrically for Peters, who in Luz e Sombra offers particular vocal command in his distinctive approach — dropping hints of working out harmonies on side B’s “Love in Progress” after the more familiar layering of “Leaving Samsara” — and while side A songs like “There’s No Escape,” the subsequent “Wake Them Up” and the lush-enough-to-justify-the-Mellotron title-track take a conversational perspective in directly addressing the listener as “you,” much of what features throughout comes through as personal on Peters‘ part.
Leading off the second half of the record and the centerpiece of the tracklisting, “Leaving Samsara” tells the story in lines like about living in “a strange new world,” “Was looking for some peace/Or finally some freedom/Same as you,” and recounts highs and lows of that band, bringing it around to the conclusion, “I’m still here/Alone/Staring at the face of the world/In all its beauty and disgust…” before shifting into a moodier kind of fuzz and unfolding from it a resonant and spacious bridge back to the chorus. Ahead of the instrumental finish “Broken Earth,” “Learning to Live, and Live Again” feels of its time and place, a moment in transition personal and global, looming chaos met with clearheaded psychedelic rock, keyboard, bass and drum-sounds as the foundation for the layers of guitar and vocals, perpetually seeking.
Each of the three longer songs — that’s “There’s No Escape” (6:02), “Luz e Sombra” (7:55) and “Leaving Samsara” (7:08); nothing else is longer than the 4:12 “Wake Them Up” — feeds the reconciliation narrative posited at the outset in some way. There aren’t jams necessarily, as the nature of solo recording, programming drums, etc., inherently makes band-in-room improv impossible since parts have to be layered on each other one at a time, but in instrumental stretches, one can hear Peters working toward acceptance of the more psychedelic aspect of his aural persona. He is not begrudging, and if he was, Luz e Sombra would fall flat in its expression.
“There’s No Escape” and the title cut are both on side A, and side B, which again, starts with “Leaving Samsara,” flows smoothly with its two instrumental pieces, “Memories of a Future Past” and the aforementioned “Broken Earth” that ends the record, momentum built through compositional fluidity more than the intensity of execution throughout. “Memories of a Future Past” would sound nostalgic even if Peters had called it “Eating a Peanut Butter Sandwich,” but some shaker sounds reinforce the burgeoning percussive complexity in the second half of “Wake Them Up” and still to come in “Broken Earth” with its hand-drums, while maintaining a mellow drift to a final gong hit that gives over to the proggrunge of “Love in Progress.”
Kin to side A closer “One Endless Summer” in its brevity, “Love in Progress” is more active until it cuts to a drone at three minutes to transition into the acoustic/electric blend of “Learning to Live, and Live Again,” the breadth of which makes one wonder if Luz e Sombra, for all its various organ, keyboard and synth sounds, for all its accomplished vocals and for the catchy hooks of “Wake Them Up” and “One Endless Summer,” hasn’t been a sneaky love letter to the guitar all along, though it’s the totality of the experience — never staid even when close to still — that defines it. Light or dark, loud or quiet, acoustic or electric or electronic, Fuzz Sagrado makes a point to lay claim to all of these aesthetic elements with mindfulness and purpose, and if some moments are rougher edged and some are lush and smooth, well, that’s life, isn’t it?
And to be sure, some of the frustrations and disillusion that’s been in Peters‘ lyrics all along is certainly present here — see “Leaving Samsara” for sure, as well as “There’s No Escape,” “Learning to Live, and Live Again,” etc. — but part of what’s being reconciled here is the grand-picture ‘everything’ of living. You get the light and the dark, the positive and negative, sometimes side-by-side, sometimes mashed together into a single part or concept, and part of Luz e Sombra‘s depth comes from that as well as from however many layers of guitar and keyboard are on “Memories of a Future Past.”
It is worth reiterating that Fuzz Sagrado is not trying to remake Samsara Blues Experiment as a one-man-band on a new continent, but part of what Peters crucially acknowledges in this material is that for better or worse, what he achieved in that outfit’s decade-plus run is a part of his experience that carries over into at least some aspects of these songs, even when not actually the subject at hand (that is, not just on “Leaving Samsara” or the other longer inclusions). That the stated reconciliation would be no less multifaceted than the resultant music across Luz e Sombra itself underscores Peters‘ maturity of craft and performance, but more over, it highlights the sincerity with which each of these songs is wrought. At this point it’s hard to say where it might all end up, but isn’t that life too?
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