AURI

It has become apparent over the last 20 years that Tomas Holopainen is not in the business of simply making music. Particularly in recent times, NIGHTWISH albums have become experiences: colossal works of artistic and philosophical intricacy, with grand themes and a maximalist approach to illuminating them. His work outside of the band has been no less ambitious, but the arena-packing populism of NIGHTWISH is pointedly and purposefully absent from the music Holopainen makes as a member of AURI. As its title explains, "III — Candles & Beginnings" is the project's third adventure, and the musical intuition between the three principal players — Holopainen, his vocalist wife Johanna Kurkela, and multi-instrumentalist Troy Donockley — is now finely honed, and quite distinct from anything that mainstream metal fans would associate with the Finnish titans. Largely metal-free, but still tangentially linked in numerous ways, this is the most lavish glimpse yet into AURI's lushly ambient and folk-fueled world. After huge success with their first two albums in their native Finland, "III – Candles & Beginnings" aims to connect with a wider world. The only obvious obstacle is that this is the strangest AURI album yet.

It is not so much that AURI have changed anything, but that the heart of their sound has plunged deeper into the unknown. "The Invisible Gossamer Bridge" is perhaps the most predictable thing: an opening waft of bright-eyed, folk rock, underpinned by trilling flutes and rumbling bass tones, it conforms to the idea that these are views into Holopainen's dreams, but with his unerring musicality turning the surreal into the sublime. Thereafter, the expected path of tastefully dreamy alt-rock takes a turn into more inexplicable territory. "The Apparition Speaks" is an amorphous, quasi-Krautrock hallucination, Kurkela's voice trapped inside the gears of some menacing machine, grinding riffs spitting sparks over her wordless cries. "I Will Have Language" is dark and ominous, adrift in a nightmarish world of droning synths and buzzing engines, haunted by ghostly choirs and the hiss of radio static. Sweeter melodies reappear on the likes of "Libraries Of Love" and the featherweight fling of "Blakey Ridge", wherein AURI hone their futuristic folk rock down to a gentle, CLANNAD-esque whisper. Similarly, the hazy meander of "Museum Of Childhood" sits in that sweet spot between symphonic metal's sentimental surface, and the bewitching drift of dream pop.

Everything reaches a peak of gorgeousness on the closing "A Boy Travelling With His Mother". A soft-focus, David Lynch-like deluge of ambient synth tones, magical trad folk embellishments, and whispered or poetic interjections from Kurkela, it has the glacial elegance of the best ambient music, and the mystique and intrigue that is much harder to establish with metal riffs and unalloyed bombast. Pianos and strings become tastefully entangled, underlying drones ebb and flow, and every surge and crescendo seems more poignant than the last. In truth, this is a closing track that overshadows the rest of the album to a great degree, but the extended preamble to its wonders is well worth the effort and quite the experience in its own right. Dream on, you crazy bastards.