There aren’t many bands that have successfully fused Celtic medieval music and rock without sounding like a garage band gussied up for a second stage appearance at Scarborough Faire. Hard rockers Rainbow and Yngwie Malmsteen swirled the two with varying effectiveness, but tight pants, pointy shoes, a mandolin, and forced references to Arthurian characters are rarely what I look for on a rock n’ roll stage. Thankfully, not too many bands have decided the mix the two spheres.

One that did with extremely satisfying results was California-based duo Faith & The Muse. Consisting of former Strange Boutique singer Monica Richards and Christian Death alumnus William Faith, F&TM have been making music for over two years that draws heavily on Celtic, medieval, and Renaissance imagery and sounds, yet doesn’t sound like a humanities project gone awry. I was introduced to them by some Gothic harlot I dated a decade ago, and while that would seem to be the general type that’s embraced Monica and William, they deserve a better audience than these preening ghoul- tools that wouldn’t know real darkness if it fisted ‘em in a parking lot.

Having been to several of the Celtic lands, I can honestly say that F&TM is one of the few bands that actually cross my mind when I’m over there. There’s a beauty and mystery to their music, which sits somewhere between hard rock, English folk, and old-fashioned studio experimentation. Monica, a beautiful redhead with a voice that makes me think of a really hot and horny witch, sings the majority of the tunes, with David jumping in every now and then with his less impressive Gothic buffoonery. Like the visuals employed on their album covers, the lyrics are deep, mysterious, and fantasy-oriented, if occasionally dense and perhaps a touch too serious for their own good.

Annwyn, Beneath The Waves is F&TM’s second album, and an entirely worthy follow-up to the excellent Elyria. Inspired largely by Monica’s research into Welsh mythology, the fourteen songs on Annwyn range from hustling and aggressive janglers (The Silver Circle) to majestic piano ballads (The Sea Angler, which pulls in a Goethe text about a fisherman who’s pulled or lured to his death by a mermaid or PETA member), with detours along the way into Quasi-Metalville (Annwyn, Beneath The Waves is a thunderous piece about, I think, sinking into some kind of higher consciousness) and Carmina-Burana-outfitted-for-a-football-game (Cantus makes me want to sack a monastery or, at the very least, watch some documentary about the Vikings).

Many of the tracks are interludes (The Birds Of Rhiannon, The Dream Of Macsen), and a couple of them show the band’s fondness for leftfield experimentation that’s rarely done well these days. A case in point would be William’s spoken bit of ominous pagan ranting called Cernunnos, wherein he lays out a list of grievances with the new gods, new ways, and doctrines of fear built on lies that modern man has adopted at the expense of ancient religions (Cernunnos was the name of a Celtic woodland deity, one that played a part in the development of the Devil concept). On a purely musical tip, the rhythmically pumping and mysterious instrumental jig called Arianrhod just may be what Enigma would produce if commissioned to write something for a Pocahontas film. The Apparition is just plain spooky.

Even attempting to wed traditional Welsh songs and modern rock is a risky endeavor, but F&TM pulled it off so well with Annwyn, Beneath The Waves that I see little reason for anyone else to tread this path. While not perfect (the quick rockers The Hand Of Man and Rise And Forget feel a trifle out of step with the medieval melodrama of Hob Y Derri Dando or Branwen Slayne, or the gorgeous Fade And Remain), it’s an ultimately fulfilling dive into a Celtic otherworld. Such frequent use of archaic words and the drowning motif would look and sound preposterous in the hands of amateurs, but Monica and William are talented professionals who clearly cared about the subject matter (I say “cared” because they seem to be moving away from these themes) and the way in which it reached the ears of listeners. Instead of just being medieval for medieval’s sake, they use the imagery and symbolism to touch on deeper issues that are just as relevant in 2008 as they were in 1008. A little sensuality, a genuine fascination with the past, a sense of mystery, a touch of darkness, a fairly strong bite- these are the things that make Annwyn a real album instead of just another excuse to play the dulcimer and namedrop Lancelot.