This is the final part of Nicolai Dunger's autobiographical musical trilogy, following on from the first two releases in 2005 and 2006, both of which are confusingly titled A Taste of Ra. In more ways than one, this last installment is probably his most adventurous musical exploration yet.
Even in an area of music known for being quite avant-garde and experimental, Morning of my Life takes some risks, the most notable being that this is one single track, in six movements, and lasting for the full 41:59 duration. Announcing itself boldly with alarmingly uncomfortable woodwind screeches (which also make an appearance towards the end), one could be forgiven for imagining that Dunger's early life was no bed of roses, yet his languid and highly expressive singing voice is more attuned to expressing longing and regret, for a world that has been lost to the past and never to be regained. The emotional tension that exists between Dunger's hurt and heartfelt delivery and the cacophonous clashing of the instrumentation (trumpet, flute, clarinet, accordion, violin, guitar, and drums) is what provides the spark and the impetus to elevate this from the merely melodramatically self-indulgent into a work of catharsis and stained beauty. Moving as it does from the acoustic fragility of the first movement through to psychedelic excess, with Dunger's voice reflecting the changes by starting gently and melodically, and thence gradually to screaming anguish, I not only shared in the emotional intensity but also directly responded to the appeal to empathise with his frustration and inadequacy when it comes to affecting time—the past is the past and has so famously been said, it is another country, forever out of reach. The shatteringly inevitable truth is that no matter how much we yearn for those moments that shaped us, they are unattainably beyond our experience.
As beautiful and as moving as I found this to be, I still found it to be something of an endurance test simply because of its length and also the fact that there are only four verses repeated throughout the piece—consequently this is not the sort of thing that I would just pop in to the CD tray just for something to listen to or use as simple background music. I would have to be in a specific mood to want to indulge in Morning of My Life, as it requires a level of emotional interaction that demands a certain commitment and concentration that could quite potentially be draining; plus its sheer length would mitigate against it being a frequent visitor to the CD player. In some respects though, this just goes to show how deeply felt this album is and how effectively communicated the emotions are.
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