Beiralúa

Galegos (Galicians) seem to delight in being utterly different from their Spanish neighbours. Why bother with all that guitar and clapping nonsense when you can use a hurdy-gurdy? In this respect their Celtic-tinged music, celebrating a (mainly mythical) connection between Cornwall, Brittany and the north-west corner of the Iberian peninsula, is an exercise in self-imposed marginalisation. SonDeSeu style themselves as a ‘contemporary folk orchestra.’ The 18-song sequence of Beiralúa has something of the easy-listening side of Ennio Morricone, the incantatory-but-only-politely-so character of Enya, and the Scottish mistiness of Afro-Celt and their ilk. Massed strings pour out jarring minor chords with gusto, and gaitas (bagpipes) add a screechy edge, but choral vocals keep things ever so cultured – this is a council-backed project, after all.

This is a strange disc; Beiralúa is martial in its insistence, religiose in its guiding spirit, yet almost Frozen (or Matchstick Men if you prefer a British allusion) in its blandness.