Man on the Shore is a wonderfully intriguing, eclectic and emotionally vibrant album from Ozul – the solo prog-driven project of the Norwegian/Costa Rican documentary filmmaker, Paulo Chavarria. He provides the vocals and plays all the musical instruments – creating a real smorgasbord of progressive rock, electronic-led soundscapes, psychedelic rock, post rock and metal – with a cinematic and ethereal sweep. The music can switch between yearning delicacy to dynamic power, with Paulo’s accented vocal style creating a vulnerability and deeply personal aspect to the narrative of the album.
The first Ozul album, 2023’s Provenance, was an excellent and well-received album which highlighted Paulo’s musical talents and compositional skills, as well as his ability to switch from heavy, driving riff-laden power to atmospheric, introspective fragility, often within a single song. Man on the Shore is cut from the musical cloth, but is a concept album with a unifying theme, concerning a real-life news story of the body of an unknown man, found dead, lying on a fjord. Nobody knew who he was, and no one had reported him missing.
Paulo decided to write a fictional story of what might have happened to him – drawing upon the documentary be directed in 2022 called ‘The Bothersome Father.’ It dealt with the subject of child/parent separation and the complicated political, judicial and emotional issues raised. It related to his own father’s experiences with the breakdown of his first marriage, and how it affected Paulo as a child – so this is certainly has a deeply personal dimension for him.
The story revolves around a man having to fight to keep contact with his child after a divorce, and his efforts, challenges, and tribulations through the process, and ultimately the desperation that leads him to take his own life. The lyrics, not surprisingly. have a powerful, dark intensity to them, but it is the way that the music ebbs and flows to accompany the story that makes the album a compelling listen.
Paulo’s musical influences are varied, and they are often displayed on his Ozul albums. This makes it difficult to pigeon-hole the ever-changing style. For me it was the echo of Steven Wilson/Porcupine Tree and The Pineapple Thief that struck me first, but there are heavier elements such as those of Opeth, Katatonia and Devin Townsend, as well as Leprous. However, the classical and cinematic influences sometimes feel like a Hans Zimmer meets Pink Floyd soundscape, as well. Basically, this is an album you need to listen to, in order to formulate your own interpretation, but in my view, it will definitely be worth your while.
The album starts with the dramatic, pulsating drive of Promise, as the man find himself in the midst of a divorce and he looks at his little child and promises to fight to be a father. There are some nice changes in musical tempo, a yearning guitar solo amongst the swirling keyboards and some slight touches of electronica, both musically and vocally. How Could I? sees the man remembering that first encounter with his newborn child, and reflects on how now the mother, and the legal system, asks him to ‘let go’. The track deals with how impossible this task seems to him, and how foolish it is to ask a father for forego his own child. It has a more melancholic, minimalist feel at the start, with resonating piano notes (not unlike the start of Pink Floyd’s ‘High Hopes’), before rhymically building up in intensity. However, a softer guitar-led interlude and some string effects create an unsettling undertow, prior to a bombastic prog metal-edged passage before those opening sad piano notes return.
There is a real sense of yearning frustration with Modus Operandi, as he sees the dishonest machinations of the divorce process trying to separate him from his child – especially those of his wife. The deliberately laborious and plaintive tempo then switches to a more powerful bursts of guitar and retro keyboard chords, swirling chaotically through to the end. In Kafta World, starting with the sound of a phone message, the man now feels on autopilot, trapped in an absurd, repeating circle of endless meetings with the court, counsellors and bureaucrats, with no one seemingly able to help him. There is a dreamy, unreal atmosphere here, lifted by some energetic drum patterns, but the tiredness of the man is still felt within the music.
Pariah Caste does provide a refreshing change in tone at this point. Some serene guitar patterns and chords provides a lighter flow and tone, as the father sings to his little son. Paulo says it is about the father’s worries about what is going to happen to his son as he will become a man, in a world where everything masculine seems to be now negative and denigrated in his view. It is about how hurt this father feels on behalf of his child, having to grow up in such a world. The intimacy and love shown is touching, but with the introduction of spoken words imparting future advice, a darker veil is drawn over the music with some unrelenting prog-metal touches not dissimilar to Dream Theater at the end. If there were signs of hope here, it looks like they are starting to fade.
Venus Will Not is a plea to the mother not to make things worse and let the child to keep his father. But here, Venus is no longer the goddess of peace of classic mythology, but now Venus is the goddess of war. The music is dark and hypnotically sinister, with classical elements enhancing the cinematic soundscape (maybe with a touch of Holst’s ‘The Planets’ in the shadows). Meanwhile Coping Mechanism, deals with the strategies the man tirelessly attempts to implement to keep his sanity. A reflection on how much of himself was annihilated under his last relationship, and the rediscovering of his vitality and sexuality, for a time at least. Paulo uses an electronica-themed, robotic, dance-like beat, suggesting a less human character has taken over our protagonist. A nice change of style with almost a rap-like intensity.
Grievance Entrepreneur is a return to heavier rock style and deep guitar riffs, as the man reflects on the roles of the multitude of experts dealing with his case and living off the grievances and ‘truths’ being revealed, and in his mind, siding with the woman against the man (so often seen as the danger). I’m not usually a fan of the metal death growl, but the snippet here expresses the man’s internal state of mind well – prior to the impersonal spoken word passage in court trotted out to justify these ‘experts’ and the course that the divorce settlement takes. Lost, as the title of the song suggests, just shows how damaged and isolated the man has become. The guitar-led music sways, with acoustic guitar and snatches of lead soloing produce a feeling of melancholic wistfulness. The feeling of helplessness is further highlighted by Admission. Here, it seems his child has become so brainwashed by the process he feels he doesn’t want to meet his father – a blow that seems absolute and final – and the man recognises that the battle is now lost. Lyrically it is a heartbreaking moment, and the rich musical template complements the vocals well. A touch of Rush-like guitar earlier on, but I’m struck by the nods to the likes of his fellow Norwegian compatriots Airbag and Gazpacho here, and throughout much of the album.
After the desolation at the end of the last song, Man On The Shore (Nomen Nescio) has a more up-tempo electronic feel, but the vocals betray what is to come. The man approaches the cliff and reflects on what has happened and the promise he made at the beginning of the story. A promise that he tried to keep, but in the end, failed. He never able to let go of his child inside of him, but he has gone. So the only thing left to let go of now, is himself, as he plunges towards the waves. Some dramatic guitar soloing and sweeping synthesised strings provide a mournful grandeur, but there is a poignancy within this song, and the album as a whole – which ends with a spoken section of news item – reporting the discovery of the body, and also, like many in the past, the unknown deceased would be buried with the Latin phrase ‘Nomen Nescio’ (N.N.) or ‘I do not know the name’ at the funeral.
Paulo, under the project name, Ozul, has produced a dark, moving and narrative for our times. Whatever, the real reasons why this man fell to his death, the story is a powerful one – with a deep, resonant and cathartic musical soundscape. The instrumental playing is of the highest order and the vocals are suitably haunting and integrated. It’s certainly not an easy listen from an emotional viewpoint, with little ray of light coming through any gaps in the dark veil, but it is certainly a rewarding one. I am certainly hoping the promise shown already by the albums Provenance and Man On the Shore is continued in the years to come. Yet again it shows the musical talent and quality, modern progressive rock emanating from Norway in the last decade or so. Check Ozul out on Bandcamp, if you are intrigued by this review.
Released June 21st, 2024 (Digital)
Paulo Chavarria: All instruments, vocals, mix and master
Order from bandcamp here:
Man on the shore | Ozul (bandcamp.com)
Check out Ozul’s website here: