It’s not easy to come across original proposals like that of Jules Archive. The Italian duo founded in 2016 by Marco Marzuoli and Marco Mazzei makes music whose aim is to immerse listeners “in a dreamlike atmosphere, transcending reality and dwelling in imaginary spatiotemporal dimensions,” as they put it in their bio. With their newest album, Platonic Tales, out today, they achieve that and more. Have a listen!
In a day and age where the attention span is becoming shorter and the music industry bets on two-minute-long songs that can blow up on TikTok, crafting an album where songs can last up until ten minutes is a bold, courageous statement. It says that the artist cares more about their craft, their artistry, what they have to say, rather than adjust to industry standards for the sake of it, seeking instant gratification and virality. This is what Platonic Tales is about.
The six-track album starts with Infected People Are Living People, a title that takes us to the zombie genre. But the song is far from those stressful, action-filled movies; on the contrary, it is quite repetitive and made of loops, with very slight and subtle changes in the melodies. It continues with A Superior Truth, a highly emotional, melodic piece, heavy on the strings (violisn, pianos) that does indeed feel like a revelation of a higher truth. March Evening is also heavy on the strings but feels less grand. Instead, the feeling is more obscure. On minute three (the song is around ten minutes in total) it starts to get really dark, and you’re immediately transported to a solar eclipse or a moment of twilight.
The second half of the album starts with An Ontological Novel, which gives us a clue about the duo’s interest in philosophy. It starts with the sounds of animals (birds, bugs, and others) as if we were in the middle of the Amazon jungle. Some bells wake us up from the enchantment or rather take us even further into that direction, feeling trapped in a lovely fever dream. Romantic Illusion is probably the most tech-driven, with some mechanical sounds popping here and there over a rather somber base. With Exodus, Jules Archive close the album. The final song grows very slowly (at first it’s almost silent), but then it’s explosive. It sounds like you’re trapped in a storm in the middle of the ocean, with heavy sounds that clash with an echoing voice (the only time we hear a human voice in the album). And then, slowly, it all just fades away.