There’s something quietly audacious about releasing a song called “The Crow” and then opening it like you’re trying to resurrect the emotional gravity of a lost Roy Orbison ballad. Arn-Identified Flying Objects and Alien Friends doesn’t just flirt with that lineage; it commits to it fully, leaning into melodrama, loneliness, and old-school romantic despair with a sincerity that feels increasingly rare in modern releases.
From the first moments, “The Crow” establishes its mood through restraint rather than spectacle. A bolero-like rhythmic pulse moves steadily underneath the track, creating a sense of inevitability, like the song is slowly walking toward a conclusion it already knows. This pacing becomes essential to the track’s emotional impact. Nothing rushes. Every phrase lingers just long enough to sting. It’s a deliberate throwback approach that trusts the listener’s patience, and it pays off.
Instrumentation plays a major role in elevating the track’s cinematic weight. Strings and English horn emerge at key emotional peaks, adding dramatic contour without tipping into excess. These moments feel carefully placed, rising like emotional punctuation marks rather than constant flourishes. The drumming, provided by Andreas Quincy Dahlbäck, is especially effective; subtle, controlled, and deeply musical. It anchors the track’s slow burn without ever drawing attention away from the song’s emotional center.
Knowing that Arn-Identified Flying Objects and Alien Friends is a solo project from the former REDMOON guitarist adds context to the song’s confidence. “The Crow” doesn’t sound tentative or experimental; it sounds assured, like the work of an artist comfortable inhabiting emotional gravity without apology.
Ultimately, “The Crow” is a song that thrives on mood, patience, and emotional honesty. It doesn’t chase modern trends or playlist logic. Instead, it offers a richly detailed, slow-moving meditation on loneliness that rewards close listening. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most powerful songs aren’t the loudest; they’re the ones willing to sit quietly with the darkness and let it speak.The production plays it smart. Instead of going full rock-opera, it keeps everything simmering. The percussion pulses like a stressed-out heartbeat, the guitars carve out atmosphere, and everything leaves just enough empty space to feel intentionally dramatic. There’s never a huge explosion, no giant stadium chorus, just this slow tightening of mood until you’re basically marinating in vibes.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
