PREMIERE | Sir Orfeo, 'Millefleur'
In her majesty’s knighted service of classical contemporary aesthetic developments — Sir Orfeo; photographed by Ebru Yildiz.
Often we are shown by the exegetical exhibitions of modern art is that the past dictates the future. From these learned and pedantic laws of cause and effect, the arithmetic of action and consequences and other theorems of truths there are always the inquisitive thoughts as to the why and how of all things. From the acts of praxis and collegiate desire of reverse engineering everything, the evolving aesthetical mind grapples with the epistemological development of the current day offerings that many just accept at face value with little more thought. Providing a privy view into how the canonical musings of 16th and 17th century breakthroughs inform the arts of the present is the madcap brilliance of Sir Orfeo, presenting a debut listen to the masterpiece Millefleur EP. A title that alludes to blooming floral tapestry textiles from the middle ages; the West Mass, Turners Falls musician Max Wareham follows up 2020’s Wild Raspberries with new creative fabrics that feel both fresh as the sun’s dawning rays to the nascent days of literary and musical lore that we now obsessively study en masse.
Millefleur begins with a prelude benediction that brings the listening audience together in blessed and blissful congress on the opener "Prayer". The time twisting call of communal gathering guides the listener to the chapel of Sir Orfeo, bringing those with ears to listen, hearts that hear and eyes that see to behold the proverbs of "So Long" that burrows itself deep into the consciousness with scriptures of wonder and hooks like — short is the day and long is the way — among other scriptures. With hymns of praise that rejoice and delight in the sweeter sides of life, "Mark and Lizzie" strums serenely like a Song of Songs passage that revels in a moment of barely containable romanticism. The lo-fi hissing ambience exhibits an ode to joy that marvels in the great and most kindred company that shares in smiles and a laughter that breaks the time continuum of all that has come before and all the events thereafter.
One of the lead singles "Sometimes I See a Storm Come In" is one of those once in a lifetime songs. At its rich and entrancing minimalist guitar strummed core is a sleeping behemoth that slowly and gently in carefully calculated movements unfurls its magnificent plumage and vast outstretched limb branches to reveal an entity to rival the most tumultuous convection cycles and systems. Reminiscent of the meticulous composition approaches utilized by the Canadian and British folk canons of the 60s and 70s, Wareham is less concerned with trite renaissance faire regurgitation and reenactments of Elizabethan pomp and circumstance, but rather in highlighting through a post-modern synthesis that illustrates the contemporary relevance of sonnet tongue licked songs. "Storm" surprises in the art of subtlety where the introspective quality betrays expectation for an all out exercise in the oscillating aural expanses of consciousness. And yet it is not just this epic song alone on Millefleur that carries an impactful payload upon the consciousness in the most unusual and astounding (an unexpected) ways. The closing spiritual that would otherwise serve as a religious hymn, “Jericho”, reverberates like a solemn mass recitation of penance to the harp caressed musings of a chamber dandy or dilettante from the upper room of a towering castle spire. Sir Orfeo reimagines the meaningful forms of composition, musical progressions, moods and more like adapting the metrics and humors from the works of Ben Jonson and their spirited sons and daughters — converting those vintage cavalier poetics into new arrangements and inspired light to illuminate modern day audiences and environs.
Shadow bio boxed nature musings by Sir Orfeo; photographed by Ebru Yildiz.
Max Wareham, aka Sir Orfeo, presents the following exclusive thoughts on the magnificent Millefleur EP among other insights:
I collect rocks. I find them in streams, on the side of the road, in the woods and in the sea. All varieties, I’m not picky — whatever catches my eye. And that’s not all — I gather sea shells with fervor, scour the forest floor for unique sticks and carry distinctive leaves by the stem. When I return home I gather the best of these on a shelf, where they sit next to vintage binoculars, tiny pinecones, one or two postcards, an old violin bow, a golden clock face and several fossils of trilobites, which were living and breathing during the Devonian Period, 400 million years ago. I found these little creatures on a mountain by my grandfather’s old cabin in the woods. Trilobites were sea creatures — on a mountain? Indeed, millions of years ago that very region had been covered by an ocean; in fact, seven different oceans, which came and went, letting the land dry between great floods as the Earth’s volatile geology swayed over hundreds of millions of years.
In any case, there sit my prized trilobites with their companion wonders, and once a shelf is arranged to my satisfaction, I begin on another; and in this way I decorate my space like I decorate my songs. That’s how they all started, some gleam of wonder in a passing moment gathered. Each layer carefully added, perhaps not bound to each other by their time period or stylistic associations, but rather by the fact that they complement each other, sitting on the same shelf.
Breaking away from the ren faire with Sir Orfeo; photographed by Ebru Yildiz.
The songs themselves feel mossy, written in the wet spring of the new pandemic, finished during the cold nights of winter. Death and rebirth are present here, a cool spaciousness and sense of lightness. The lyrics within are not narrative, leaning instead toward disparate images woven together to create a certain feeling or impression. One way to think of them is as song-poems. But then again, why think of them at all — better to just enjoy the sounds.
In all these things I gather, I see some part of myself. So too in their arrangement — a form of myself made tangible. I don’t know why I do this (why do people carve their initials into trees?) but whatever the reason may be, I have done so with great care and attention to the arrangement of things I find beautiful. I hope that you will find some beauty in it too.
The ecstatic states of Sir Orfeo; photographed by Ebru Yildiz.
Recommended instructions for listening:
Loud and open, like cinema
OR
Soft and close, like secret
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Sir Orfeo's Millefleur will be available June 25. Watch the visual for "So Long" animated by Chicago artist Shane Beam:
Cover art for Sir Orfeo’s mind expanding Millefleur EP.