Mathijs Leeuwis: Galibier
Galibier Records

The pedal steel possesses such a magnificent, expressive sound, it's a wonder more albums featuring it as the lead instrument haven't been issued. Mathijs Leeuwis's Galibier fills a void, then, and sounds all the better for doing so. Though it is an instrumental pedal steel album, it's not a solo recording in the pure sense, as Leeuwis surrounded himself with guitarist Marzio Scholten, drummer Mischa Portem, and pianist (producer also) Mathijn den Duijf for the date, which was recorded live to tape in the fully analogue Netherlands studio Kytopia.

One guesses Leeuwis is as avid a cyclist as he is pedal steel player, given an album title that references the Col du Galibier, a mountain pass high in the French Alps whose 2645-metre ascent challenges even the most fit cyclist (he apparently bikes about 15,000 km per year). Galibier thus constitutes a highly personalized expression of affection for both the activity and the organic timbres of the pedal steel.

As articulated on the inner sleeve, Galibier is about “climbing mountains, [being] hypnotized by the vastness of the landscapes, and remembering some of the most intriguing stories in cycling history.” More precisely, the first five tracks symbolize the ascent and descent of the Col du Galibier, whereas the second five have to do with said stories, including one about Jean-Pierre (Jempi) Monseré, the Belgian racer who died in 1971 in a collision with a car while riding the Grote Jaarmarktprijs in Retie. Still, as critical a creative springboard as the cycling theme might have been for Leeuwis, for the listener the thirty-six-minute album material holds up equally well as stand-alone instrumentals. Moods and styles vary, with some pieces restrained, stripped-down, and melancholy and others energy-charged and aggressive.

While pedal steel is obviously the main instrument, the others also figure prominently, which makes the album play like a band recording, not one by a soloist plus anonymous backup. “Col du Télégraphe” and “Requiem,” for example, derive their considerable impact from the interplay between Scholten and Leeuwis rather than the leader only; further to that, the former's at times tremolo-laden guitar exudes a slightly raw quality that makes it a natural companion to Leeuwis's instrument. With their voices blending so effectively, den Duijf's piano adds a strongly contrasting element to the material, and though he's also credited with synth bass on the album, Galibier is otherwise a fully analog affair and all the richer for it.

Still, as important as the contributions of Leeuwis's colleagues are to the album, Galibier ultimately distinguishes itself most of all for its pedal steel presentation. When he takes an extended solo, as he does during “Descente du Lautaret” and “Mont Ventoux,” or plays without accompaniment, as he does in the dreamlike reverie “Solo,” entrancement quickly sets in. Anyone with a love for the instrument's reverberant, vocal-like expressiveness will find much to appreciate here.

November 2018