Änglagård's "Viljans Öga:" Progress and Continuity

I was primed for a new release from a band like Änglagård. Despite my efforts to keep my prog box shut with the Jellyfish project, its top was blown off by the release of Rush’s Clockwork Angels and Astra’s The Black Chord earlier this year. Once I caught wind of Viljans Öga, I became determined to purchase a legit copy, hopefully from as close to the band as possible. Unsurprisingly, however, getting a hold of a new release by this incredible but relatively obscure Swedish band involved a little more diligence than a simple trip to the local record store. I lurked and lurked on their site, and when the CD release was announced, I placed my order immediately ….and waited.

It took over three weeks for Viljans Öga to travel halfway around the world to my mailbox in Texas. In the meantime, my eager anticipation was tempered by the nagging fear that, after reforming nearly two decades since their last album, and without founding member Tord Lindman, Änglagård might have somehow watered down the distinctive approach to that put their albums so many “prog classics” lists.

It was quite common for progressive bands in the 90s and early 00s to innovate simply by becoming heavier and more metallic, but one of Änglagård’s many strengths was their ability to keep the classic sounds of 70s progressive rock vital and fresh without nostalgically aping the styles of yesteryear. I hoped that Viljans Öga would be the next chapter in Änglagård’s career, and not a whole new story.

Finally, a package showed up in my mailbox with all variety of customs stamps in unintelligible languages, and I quickly discovered that my apprehensions were unfounded. Änglagård retains their characteristically explosive, complex, and somewhat gothic brand of progressive rock. Viljans Öga is a comprised of four long, linear instrumentals that, at first listen, don’t seem to follow normal structural logic. Superficially, they appear to be unified by a melodic stream-of-consciousness that is driven by an instinctive understanding of the nuance needed to travel through a wide array of styles and dynamic extremes with ease and grace.



Repeated listens, however, reveal the subtle melodic structures that undergird their songs with a sense of cohesion, which, considering the breadth and depth of what they are doing, ensures that their work never spirals out of conceptual control.  Often, it is the role of the vocalist to help hold things together, and although Lindman did contribute some vocals on their debut, Änglagård is better known for their instrumental aspects. In his stead, the impressive flute playing of Anna Holmgren takes center stage. This, along with classic Rickenbacker bass, mellotron, and Hammond organ sounds, makes Viljans Öga seem like an aggressive but respectful reinvention of every instrumental break that Genesis ever produced.



(I'm not super-pleased with the sound quality of this clip, but it does show the current band playing a track from Viljans Öga.  I've included the studio version below for sake of reference) 



Änglagård was, and is, important to the progressive rock community because they successfully tread that fine line between progress and continuity. On the one hand, Viljans Öga doesn’t sound like a rehash of the work that made them progressive rock innovators, but it is a logical step forward by the same band.  It was certainly well worth the wait. In a larger sense, however, Änglagård clearly have a predilection towards the sounds of classic prog that aligns them with tastes of even the fussiest prog fan, but their multifaceted and virtuosic compositions are distinctively novel. 

"Hybris:" Making Amends with Änglagård

In the 70s, progressive rock was almost popular, but by the 80s it collapsed under its own weight.  In the rubble, the vigilant fans of Marillion and other neo-prog bands kept the style alive, but by the early 90s, prog had become aggressively marginalized by the mainstream media. To be labeled a prog band in the United States was dreadfully unhip, and as a result, bands wishing to “make it” kept their odd time signatures and instrumental passages to themselves or faced the threat of obscurity. Despite this cultural climate, there were still progressive bands out there (particularly overseas) that connected with a relatively small, dedicated audience through word-of-mouth and fanzines, and this scene had its own classic albums that kept progressive rock alive. Swedish band Änglagård bore torch for this era, and the band’s 1991 release Hybris is, for the serious prog fan, a classic.

For the early 90s progressive rock scene, there was virtually no hope for radio airplay, so writing a “crossover hit” like Roundabout, Turn it On Again, or even Kayliegh, was futile.  As a result, the prog from this era was written for a relatively insular and discerning audience, and, like Hybris, it was often unapologetic and demanding. The album is mostly instrumental, and the few lyrics it does contain are exclusively in Swedish. Its somewhat gothic undertones ground a dynamic and angularly explosive reinterpretation of early Genesis and 70s King Crimson.



When Hybris was released, prog’s popularity had dimmed to a flicker, but by the decade’s end, it was reignited via the internet. New conduits of information brought older, less visible bands from prog’s heyday to light, and revealed that the reports of prog’s death were greatly exaggerated. This is where I found out about Änglagård, which was the good news. The bad news was that despite the significance of Hybris, it was out of print and had been for some time.

Here’s where I hang my head in shame. This was also during the time of Napster. Now, I considered myself was one of those “principled” file sharers. My small download library was little more than a research venue for my upcoming CD purchases, which skyrocketed due to my adoration of the album as a format. I never downloaded an entire album by any band – with one exception, that being Hybris. After all, it was impossible to get. When I found used copies, the price was exorbitant, and Änglagård wouldn’t get their cut from me purchasing a used album, anyhow.

Or at least, that was my justification.

Additionally, I was living in the country at the time and using dial-up internet that I was ganking from a friend's start-up company. The signal was hardly reliable, and downloading an acceptable version of Änglagård’s long-form songs was frustratingly difficult. It became my white whale. I would often set file up before bedtime and tie up the phone line all night long as I slept. It took me months to reconstruct the four tracks that make up Hybris. Finally, I had a version with no bumps or drops, and when I printed off extravagant cover art on high-gloss photo paper, I felt like I had worked harder to get that album than any other in my collection.



In retrospect, my file sharing practices did not last long. I certainly don’t engage in such morally reprehensible activities these days. Seeing many progressive bands, many of whom are incredibly passionate about their work, quit entirely due to the frustration of releasing music and having it effectively stolen is convincing enough. So, I’d like to make amends. I purchased Änglagård’s upcoming release Viljans Öga (their first since 1994!) directly from their site. Converting from Kroners to dollars was expensive, but in truth, I think I owe it to them.