corrodedsounds » NINE HORSES - SNOW BORNE SORROW

'Snow Borne Sorrow', an album released in 2005 under the name Nine Horses, is a collaborative project between David Sylvian, his brother Steve Jansen (both formerly of Japan) and Bernd Friedmann, to which (the project, not Friedmann) were invited such distinguished guests as Ryuichi Sakamoto, Stina Nordenstam, Arve Henriksen and Keith Lowe to name a few. Their presence adds very interesting textures and counterpoints to the sublime sound of the album. The album combines elements of subtle pop, electronica, ambient and jazz influences, creating a surprisingly coherent whole. The mood here is cool, pensive and saturated with melancholy – but not the kind that is solemn, pompous, piercing or melodramatic, but rather reflective, touching on an eternal contemplation of the world, fate and human relationships. The instrumentation successfully balances between the organic (Sakamoto's piano, Henriksen's trumpet, guitar accents, double bass) and the electronic, resulting in a ‘softened austerity’. The sounds are careful and neat, while maintaining a distance, as if speaking from afar. In terms of lyrics, Sylvian touches not only on personal reckonings — there are political and moral themes and socio-existential observations (e.g. ‘The Banality of Evil’ speaks directly about the mechanisms of cruelty), but just as often they are suggestive, vivid phrases that leave room for interpretation. Snow Borne Sorrow, an album released in 2005 under the name Sylvian, does not try to dazzle the listener with drama and emotional intensity at all costs. His soft baritone mainly moves in the registers of a calm narrator. This approach means that emotions are hidden rather than explosive. Thanks to this, the structure of the album can be compared to a series of evening monologues – sometimes intimate, sometimes cool, very often ambiguous. The album mainly sticks to medium and slower tempos. The arrangements are not overloaded, which obviously gives them space. The attention to sonic detail is characteristic – subtle vocal harmonies, melancholic trumpets, almost punctual piano parts, acoustic double bass and electronic backgrounds. The compositions balance classic song forms and experimental sound collages, which makes the album accessible on the one hand, but requires concentration on the other. The quality and consistency of the production is undoubtedly one of the strengths of the release.

The opening track, ‘Wonderful World’, introduces the listener to the mood of the album from the very first seconds. It is one of those songs that are beautiful, but their beauty is based on sadness tinged with anxiety. The arrangement combines Steve Jansen's beats with Friedmann's soft electronics, while Sylvian's vocals are subdued, almost confessional. The lyrics depict broken bonds and disappointments (their multiple, deeper meanings are revealed with each subsequent listen). Vocal duets or backgrounds (Stina Nordenstam) give the phrases an echo and ambiguity. A very good introduction to the atmosphere of the album, accessible and complex at the same time. It is an introduction that says that both beauty and coldness will reign here until the end.

‘The Darkest Birds’ brings more rhythm and guitar accents. The song is a bit more song-like, although that may not be entirely accurate. ‘Song-like’ is often associated with a certain banality, and Sylvian does not venture into such territory at any point. The lyrics use images full of symbols of mystery, transience and loneliness. Despite this ‘song-like’ determination, the track remains naturally melancholic. The arrangement features spaces filled with an unsettling trumpet and, for balance, delicate strings, which builds tension perfectly. Probably the most ‘catchy’ track on the album.

‘The Banality Of Evil’ is a song about simple, even banal mechanisms of violence and a kind of normalisation of evil. The blunt lyrics expose the rhetoric of power, the pursuit of status and the denial of responsibility, sanctioning often perverse justifications. Musically, the song combines a cool rhythm with sharper guitar and drum beats, creating a staccato effect that emphasises the accusatory nature of the lyrics. It is one of the most direct moments on the album.

‘The Banality Of Evil’ is a song about simple, even banal mechanisms of violence and a peculiar normalisation of evil. The blunt lyrics expose the rhetoric of power, the pursuit of status and the denial of responsibility, sanctioning often perverse justifications. Musically, the song juxtaposes a cool rhythm with sharper guitar and drum beats, creating a staccato effect that emphasises the accusatory nature of the lyrics. It is one of the most direct moments on the album.One of the most subtle, on the other hand, is the track ‘Atom And Cell’, which sounds like a meditation on the internal division and fragility of identity (“atom” versus ‘cell’ as metaphors for structure and integration). A delicate, meandering arrangement with wonderfully layered harmonies and ethereal vocals supporting Sylvian's voice. From a reviewer's perspective, this track deserves special attention for its refined simplicity. It has a very strong emotional charge, though it does not throw it outwards.

'A History Of Holes', which uses images of gaps and voids, also has a more sketchy, intimate sound. Guitar and subtle electronic backgrounds create a space filled with reflections on loss, as well as the fragmentary and selective nature of memories. Sylvian's vocals move increasingly to the foreground. A beautiful, introspective composition that captivates with its silence and understatement.

The title track, ‘Snow Borne Sorrow’, is the thematic essence of the album — a mixture of personal grief and commentary on the world. Musically, it is an elaborate composition in which Sakamoto and Henriksen add expressive yet subtle parts that are set against each other in a slight counterpoint. The piano provides an emotional, intimate perspective, while the trumpet creates a surreal, distant atmosphere. The lyrics refer to loss, withdrawal, isolation and the process of processing pain. ‘Snow Borne Sorrow’ is the centre of gravity of the album – melancholic, deep and multi-layered.

‘The Day The Earth Stole Heaven’ is a relatively short, again almost song-like format in the context of the album – contrasting with the longer, more elaborate compositions. Its musical character is shaped by the sounds of acoustic guitar and sparse percussion and synthesizers. This simplicity, in which the lyrics are highlighted and the background does not compete with the vocals, makes the narrative more intimate, enclosing the composition in a compact form. ‘The Day the Earth Stole Heaven’ is an example of balanced, subtle art-pop, in which minimalistic arrangement and vocal expression allow the listener to focus on the lyrics about loss, disappointment and the end of a relationship.

‘Serotonin’ is one of the most tense moments on the album, both rhythmically and emotionally. The arrangement contains elements of electronica (loops, synthesizers) and a classic rhythm section in a slightly broken structure. The lyrics refer to luxury, emptiness and alienation. The harmonic layer is dominated by subtly dissonant chords, which give the song an aura of unease. The rhythm is not very driving – it is more pulsating, felt as a background rather than a driving force. The backing vocals, subtle reverberations and space create an atmosphere of liminality. ‘Serotonin’ is a song about an internal state, about suspension between consciousness and its loss, about anxiety and alienation. The arrangement and production support this theme, inviting the listener to immerse themselves in the psychological landscape.

The closing track, ‘The Librarian’, is one of the longest songs on the album (lasting 9 minutes). Like the others on the album, its arrangement is a hybrid of electronics (programming, samples) and acoustic instruments (brass section), creating a hypnotic ambient-cinematic structure. The arrangement features changing tempos, moments of stretched space, as well as more rhythmic fragments – which altogether gives the impression of a sonic journey through a varied landscape. The structure can be described as very open, almost like a series of sonic modules in which the lyrics and music work together as a story. ‘The Librarian’ is the climax of the album, both formally and thematically. It combines introspection with a broader perspective, touching on themes of danger, escape, education and awakening. Musically, it opens up a space in which the listener can immerse themselves.

In summary, 'Snow Borne Sorrow' is a mature, coherent and demanding album. It is not an album for listeners looking for catchy themes. Although the production is of a very high standard – attention to detail, balance between electronics and acoustic instruments, sensational collaborations – there are no sudden twists, revelations, surprises, feasts of colours and similar ‘bells and whistles’. Instead, everything comes together perfectly in a sophisticated, elegant, reflective and ambiguous sound. So who is this album for? Well, for those who appreciate subtlety, complexity and a specific sense of mood. For listeners who value art-pop filled with ambient and jazz spaces and lyrics that do not explain, but provoke independent thinking. Sylvian often uses metaphors and fragmentary images, which makes the lyrics work like open sketches – they suggest rather than declare. This gives the listener room for their own interpretation, and with each subsequent listen, the songs gain new layers and meanings.As I mentioned at the beginning, Nine Horses is a band project and should be perceived as such, but it is impossible to pretend that David Sylvian is not its leader. He is one of those artists who, in all his incarnations and projects, has never disappointed me with a single note. This is also the case this time. A beautiful album, perfect for autumn evenings.

Robert Marciniak

19.10.2025