Decline and Fall, a new Dark Wave project from Portugal formed by Armando Teixeira, Hugo Santos and Ricardo S. Amorim, is thrilled to announce the release of the music video for ‘Gloom,’ the haunting title track from their debut EP.
The ‘Gloom’ EP features four evocative tracks, each creating a dense and disturbing atmosphere with glimpses into the darkest corners of the human psyche. Armando Teixeira, a pioneer of EBM and Industrial in Portugal, brings his vast and award-winning experience to the project. Known for his influential work with Ik Mux, Bizarra Locomotiva, and Balla, among others, Teixeira’s return to his roots in post-punk, new wave, and industrial is marked by a matured artistic vision and evolved technical expertise.
Joining him is Ricardo S. Amorim, author of Culto Eléctrico and Wolves Who Were Men – The History of Moonspell, and Hugo Santos from Process of Guilt, whose exploration of heaviness and rhythmic intensity adds a unique dimension to the project.
‘Paint It All in Blue’ is the second taster from Norwegian band Mayflower Madame’s highly anticipated third album Insight, out on 1st November via Night Cult Records/ Up In Her Room/Icy Cold Records.
Following first single ‘A Foretold Ecstasy’, which refined their signature blend of post-punk, shoegaze and psychedelia into a sharper soundscape, the new offering instantly puts a spell on you with its throbbing bass lines, motorik drums and hypnotic guitars, until it opens up midway, leaving you drifting in a sea of dreamy melancholia.
The emotional intensity is heightened by frontman Trond Fagernes’ deeply reverberating lyrics about addiction and escapism when love is experienced as a drug. Combining the rhythmic grooves of krautrock and post-punk with the dazzling atmospherics of shoegaze and neo-psychedelia, ‘Paint It All in Blue’ is a profoundly dynamic song unfolding layer by layer.
Watch the video here:
AA
Over the past years, Mayflower Madame have gained a reputation far beyond their hometown of Oslo, Norway. Following the release of their debut album Observed in a Dream in 2016, which received rave reviews and earned them tours across Europe and North America, their 2020 sophomore album Prepared for a Nightmare firmly established their position as one of the continent’s leading purveyors of cinematic psych-gaze swathed in 1980s dark romanticism.
In 2022, the band returned to touring the UK and Europe, while last year it focused on writing and recording new music and releasing a Deluxe Version of Prepared for a Nightmare containing 5 new bonus tracks.
Their upcoming album has been mixed and mastered by renowned Italian engineer Maurizio Baggio (The Soft Moon, Boy Harsher, The Vacant Lots). It will be released digitally via their label Night Cult Records (Norway), on vinyl via Up In Her Room (UK) and on CD via Icy Cold Records (France).
Mayflower Madame is Trond Fagernes (vocals, guitar, bass) and Ola J. Kyrkjeeide (drums). On studio recordings, they are joined by Kenneth Eknes (synths). "Paint It All in Blue" also features Rune Øverby (guitar).
I’d feel guilty for taking so long to get around to reviewing this one, but since the band took twelve years to get around to putting out a new album, I figure I deserve some leeway. Besides, this isn’t an album that you can just grab ‘n’ go with an opinion; with near-infinite twists and turns, it requires time to digest and reflect. Hell, ‘Soul Catchers’ kicks it off and packs into six minutes a whole album’s worth of riffs, tempo-changes, curves, and detours. At times angular and noisy, at others, showcasing a more technical style.
Loping drums and noodling guitars dominate the opening of ‘Mother’ before scratchy discords crashes. The Shellac comparisons have been done to death, but are entirely appropriate, although there’s something that’s perhaps a shade more jazzy in the playing style here. This is highlighted by the instrumental interludes, which really do change the dynamic of the album as a whole, with some really nice piano work on display. But crucially, during the actual songs, it’s the drums that are front and centre, and batter hard at delivering stuttering, stop/start rhythms. It’s a timely reminder – well, after the arrival of To All Trains – of the impact Steve Albini had on alternative rock and recording methodologies. Before Albini – and still, generally – in rock music, the drums are background, keeping time, while the guitars dominated. His approach saw the drums take on a new level of importance, and expressive drumming, recorded right, alters the whole dynamic of a track. And there’s a lot of dynamic and some serious drumming on From Fire I Save The Flame. Every snare smash blasts the top off your head, and you feel like your in the room while the band are cranking this out live just feet from your face.
Again, another lesson from Albini: bands are often at their best live, when the energy and adrenaline are pumping and the heat and the blood are up, and to capture that on record is gold. From Fire I Save The Flame feels live: the performances are raw, unpolished, intense. That Steve is gone doesn’t really seem entirely credible right now, and the world – not just the world of music – will be so sadly lacking in his absence. But it’s clear that his legacy will endure, and endure. This album might not even exist without him, and certainly wouldn’t sound the way it does were it not for him, and the same is true of many releases now and in the future. This isn’t to detract from anything the band themselves have done here – and Three Second Kiss have reconvened to deliver something special – but, well, the point stands.
‘Garum’ lurches into noisier territory once more, reminding us why you’ll often find TSK mentioned alongside the Jesus Lizard – who have recently announced a new album after significantly longer than twelve years. It’s as pretty as a barroom brawl, spilling and staggering in all directions: the bass repeatedly punches you in the gut while the drums leave you dazed and with a split lip.
There’s sinewy, straining guitar galore on ‘Fuss’, before the final track, ‘Heart Full of Bodies’ grinds down to a slow-swinging crawl, before the growling bass and some thrashing drums whip up a climactic frenzy to draw the curtain quite dramatically on an album that’s heavy with dinge and dirt, unashamedly unsmooth, untamed, unprimed for radio.
From Fire I Save The Flame isn’t just a brilliant return, it’s a brilliant album in its own right, period. And landing as it does in between the Shellac album and the upcoming LP from the Jesus Lizard, 2024 is shaping up to be an outstanding year for quality noise music from bands many had considered dormant. It’s about time we had some good news, and this is some very good news indeed.
French atmospheric doom collective IXION has just revealed their latest video for the song ‘The Advent,’ directed by Hugo Le Beller and featuring performances by Raphaël Mars and Irène Bonnot.
The track is off the band’s newest EP ‘Restriction,’ and marks another exciting prelude to their highly anticipated fifth studio album, Evolution, set to be released in late October via Finisterian Dead End/Season of Mist.
“We are so excited to share with you this video for ‘The Advent’!” says the band. “The song is about androids working to replicate emotions, and the first of them to finally experience feelings. We tried to create a short story around this theme, playing with characters and surroundings…”
‘The Advent’ offers a visually stunning and thought-provoking glimpse into a world where androids strive to understand and emulate human emotions. The narrative weaves a short story that aligns perfectly with the overarching concept of their upcoming album, Evolution.
Don’t miss the captivating new video for ‘The Advent’ here:
Following the critically acclaimed L’Adieu aux Etoiles, Evolution is divided into three parts, each delving into different aspects of the human-android relationship. The album is an enthralling blend of progressive metal, melancholic, and atmospheric doom, showcasing IXION’s unique sound.
The first part of the album, ‘Extinction,’ was released on April 16 and explores humanity’s struggle with mortality amidst rapidly advancing android technology. The second part, ‘Restriction,’ released on June 14, takes listeners on a sci-fi, electronic, and ambient doom-metal journey, depicting androids’ quest for emancipation and a closer connection to human emotions.
Originally formed in 2004 as a solo project by main composer and multi-instrumentalist Julien Prat, IXION has established a distinctive presence in the doom metal scene. Their innovative fusion of ambient/electronic music with atmospheric doom metal draws inspiration from science fiction, creating a unique and immersive auditory experience.
With erratic and anomalous punctuation defining their testy antagonistic electronic stylings, the latest offering from self-styled ‘Industrial Bass’ pioneer, SINthetik Messiah is nothing if not intriguing.
This time around, there’s something of a ‘concept’ element to the work, outlined as follows: ‘In a galaxy torn by strife, a hero rises but falls to tyranny, sparking rebellion. Amid chaos, a journalist’s death fuels uprising, while another leader seeks peace. War looms between factions, as a loyalist questions his cause amidst shadowy manipulation, setting the stage for a power struggle.’
As such, there’s a keen narrative element to the album, which we learn via the pitch ‘expertly fuses industrial and drum and bass genres, creating a unique blend known as ‘Industrial bass.’ It serves as a sonic reflection of contemporary challenges, infused with a sci-fi allure.’
The end product is techno and gothy, heads down, heavy. ‘Assassins That Run On Faith’ brings driving techno and stomping beats and calls to mind later Pitch Shifter, and the same is true of ‘Don’t Lose Who You Are’.
A lot of the narrative element is lost on me, and maybe lost in translation.
Lies, SEcrets & Death is big on energy, and throbs and pulses away, hard, and deep. The beats blast hard and thrammer away relentlessly, and it’s tense and taut and delivers on its promise. But ultimately it’s a dance record, and I can’t get into that groove.
This release is as intriguing – and strange – as its enigmatic and beautifully-crafted handmade packaging.
Music for Strangers continues the reissue programme for releases from underground experimental duo Photographed By Lightning, and arrives on the heels of NO, Not Now, never which represented their first new material in twenty years. For this one, we dive back twenty years, to 2004, the most prolific year of their career, until, suddenly, it halted.
While Blood Music (also 2004) consisted of a large number of comparatively brief pieces, Music for Strangers is a very different proposition, featuring as it does four longform tracks, with a couple around the ten-minute mark and a couple around the twenty. Each simply bears a numerical title.
The original release – produced in a CD edition of 100 – was disseminated not for sale on line or anywhere, but by covert means, with copies being left at random in public places. This was quite a thing in avant-garde circles for a time in the years after the turn of the millennium, particularly when MySpace was at its peak, and something that I myself participated in, leaving various pamphlets in pubs and the like, and slipping A5 leaflets various books in WHS and Waterstones. Why? Because.
Dave Mitchel and Syd Howells – aka Photographed by Lightning – are very much part of that avant-garde milieu. Something has been lost over time, and now there’s a certain nostalgia for it, meaning that the arrival of this reissue carries a certain resonance beyond the thing in itself.
There are bits of vocals interspersed here and there – abstract enunciations and discombobulous jabberings – and they emerge for fleeting moments amidst sprawling expanses of strange, otherworldly instrumental passages.
‘One’ (denoted as ‘I’ on the CD version) combines swampy abstraction and space-rock bleeepery to disorientating and atmospheric effect, which descends into dense murk in the final minutes before silence descends for a full minute. The silence is even more disconcerting than the sound which preceded it. The truth is, silence unsettles us, scares us even. It’s the reason some people can’t stand to be alone, and the reason many simply can’t shut the fuck up for a moment: they can’t handle silence, and find silence more terrifying than darkness. I suppose that while both are forms of sensory deprivation, in the modern world, while darkness still feels like a natural phenomenon – if your blinds or curtains blank out light pollution and you switch off your electricals – silence is almost beyond comprehension. There is always traffic, a distant siren, a phone vibration, the wind, rain, the babble of one’s own internal monologue. When was the last time you can honestly say you experienced true silence? That isn’t to say that with the hum of the hard-drive and my laboured hayfevery breathing, in connecting with this album I did, but the abrupt end of sound emanating from the speakers, in a time when a minute feels like an eternity, really struck me, left me feeling… what?
But at thirteen minutes, this is merely a prelude to the second track, a plunge into the subterranean swamps which drags the listener deeper into suffocating darkness for an immersive but uncomfortable nineteen minutes. There’s dadaist quirky playfulness in evidence here, the sonic equivalent of shooting water pistols and throwing overripe windfall berries at random passers-by, which redresses the balance against the backdrop of tetchy, grumbling noise created first and foremost to antagonise – which is course it does. It tests the patience and challenges the senses, with bubbles and ripples echoing as if from within a cave – for extended periods, as the sounds gradually mutate. For a spell, it sounds like water-filled lungs laboriously respiring, which makes for more difficult listening than it may appear on paper, drifting into something resembling the relentless rock of nodding donkeys at an oil drill site, and creeping into ‘Three’, it’s like sneaking down into the sewers to escape one threat only to be confronted with another.
Music for Strangers is certainly their darkest, most suffocating work, stretching dark throbs and abstract sound to the absolute limits and nudging beyond.
The bonus disc which is part of the physical release, containing Music from Nowhere, offers further insight into their prolific and prodigious experimentalism at the time, providing jut short of an hours’ worth of additional material. That it’s essentially more of the same only heightens the effect.
Given the varied and experimental nature of their output, there isn’t really a definitive release which encapsulates the work of Photographed By Lightning, and Music for Strangers isn’t really an entry-level release – but this does very much encapsulate their experimental spirit, their singularity – their awkwardness – and knack for creating difficult soundscapes.
Almost four years on, and still the shadow of the pandemic hangs over us. The way in which this manifests varies widely, and it feels as if it could yet take considerably more time yet to unravel the traumatic aftereffects. During the time people were forced to stay inside, many found themselves looking inside, too – inside themselves – and finding darkness and demons, and a whole lot more besides. Many were forced to face these alone, without the usual support mechanisms – support mechanism which may no longer be accessible, or even exist. The new normal in which we find ourselves is nothing like the one which seemed possible at the time, and that vague hope people clung to of emerging in a better world has been utterly devastated since, not only by global wars and accelerating climate change, but in the everyday, which simply feels like a battle for survival so much of the time, with the cost of gouging crisis, a mental health crisis, a collapsing NHS, decimated public services… the list goes on. Things have changed radically, but not for the better.
Pascagoula’s second album, For Self Defence, is a thorny thing which grew over the pandemic years and has taken some time to reach fruition. It’s not unusual in itself for an album to take four years from conception to release, but as we learn of this particular album, the circumstances and timing unquestionably influenced the end result:
‘The title of the band’s second album For Self Defence was decided upon in 2020 – It seemed fitting considering what was happening in the world then, and remains bitterly relevant now. Pascagoula remained in their secret tin-foil prefab shelter in Brighton (near Europe) and reflected the tightening chaos and hardship of the world outside. The nine songs on their second album are sharper and more barbed, more violent and vitriolic, and more cruelly calculated than before. Songs about past traumas, regrets, anxieties, damaging relationships, mental illness, the bad choices we make in life, and their consequences. It’s no easier in here than it is out there.’
Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, For Self Defence is hard-hitting, harrowing. The title tracks opens the album and its slow and heavy, but not in a raging deluge of distortion way, but more glacial math rock in the vein of Kowloon Walled City, and the tone of For Self Defence is very much in the vein of the slow, thick-timbred, gritty, granular metal with a really earthy, organic feel of Neurosis and a number of other Neurot bands.
Then again, ‘Insecurity Breach’ is a straight-up shouty noise song with lumbering bass and grungy guitars, evoking the sound of the underground in the early 90s – not grunge, but all of the mangled noisy shit you’d find in tiny venues and released on microlabels that only managed a handful of releases, and the album seems to get darker and denser and dirtier as it progresses. ‘Valve Kilmer’ is a title worthy of those niche 90s acts, too, or the numerous post-millennium noise acts emerging from Leeds.
And while such a title hints at there being humour to be found here, the off-the-cuff flippant wordplay is at odds with the overall mood. In keeping with the way in which For Self Defence shares much commonality with that early 90s scene, so it is that what the album conveys is inner turmoil, conflict, and yes, angst, articulating emotions which words alone cannot convey via the medium of churning guitars and a howl of anguish. ‘Consultants of Swing’ (boom boom) mines a seam that carves its way from the Jesus Lizard to Blacklisters, tossing in some noddlesome proggy post-rock elements into the gnarly noisy math metal mix. The result is dense, tense, and claustrophobic. This isn’t music that’s intended to make you feel at ease, and it doesn’t. You feel that knot in your chest tighten and the tension in your shoulders grow to a persistent ache, as if carrying a heavy load.
Since seemingly forever, there have been those who have decried the death or guitar music, who have declared it redundant, insisted that rock’s dead, grunge is dead, that metal is passé. Nothing could be further from the truth. These instruments, and these genres, are where people turn when looking to vent these most difficult emotions, when seeking release, catharsis. For Self Defence is pure catharsis, rabid in its intensity, foaming in its fury, exhausting in its weight: ‘Mournography’ brings the slugging monotony of early Swans, and Godflesh, and by the time we arrive at ‘Eternity Leave’, we’re ready for it. Relentless, raw, For Self Defence is quite simply a monster.
When it comes to what has become the divisive issue of wokeness, I’m absolutely with Kathy Burke all the way: “They’re calling you ‘woke’ if you call out bad things, basically. If you’re not racist, you’re woke. If you’re not homophobic, oh, you’re woke. Be woke, kids. Be woke. Be wide awake and fucking call it out.” She tells it straight. Ironically, many of those who position themselves as anti-woke will claim that they’re the ones telling it like it is, instead of pandering to pussies.
As many sources will inform, the term “woke” originally comes from African-American culture, meaning being alert to racial prejudice.
So, just as Trump says that ‘antifa’ are the enemy – and to unpack that, antifa is anti-fascism, so to be opposed to antifa is to align oneself as pro-fa, or a fascist, to use ‘woke’ – a position critical of racism, sexism, homophobia – as a pejorative, is to essentially state that you’re a racist, sexist homophobe. As such, there are reasons I feel somewhat uncomfortable with the pitch for James Christie’s memoir.
He is 100% “anti woke, anti snowflake and 100% anti f***ing politically correct” as he puts it (“Hell, if you can’t poke fun at yourself and then poke fun at the shit people that blight society, there’s no point in having fun at all”). It’s a biography. It’s a diary. It’s a music history lesson. It’s all three things wrapped up and more. Added with savage, sarcastic humour, this is the story of a former punk as told from a non-Caucasian alternative point of view, his time involved in London’s punk rock scene and abroad throughout the entire 1990’s and up to the early Noughties. How there was, despite the fun and laughs, a more sinister side which is never mentioned, along with the hypocrisy and the occasional violence that tagged along with it. No holds barred. Warts an’ all. It will shock. It will be disgusting. It will make you laugh and then it will leave you emotionally detached. WARNING – some material will be likely to offend.
Again, ironically, the biggest snowflakes tend to be the right-wing defenders of free speech who will defend free speech to the hilt until they don’t like the speech they’re hearing because it’s critical of their position, at which point they’ll take their ball and go home, like Lee Anderson abstaining from voting on the Rwanda bill because he heard some Labour MPs ‘sniggering’. For a tough-talker who reckons asylum seekers should fuck off back to France, he’s clearly not so tough when it comes to standing by his own principles.
I don’t truly believe that Christie is that anti-woke or anti-PC, given how his book regales us with countless instances of casual – and not so casual – racism, having been born in South London in 1969, raised by a mum and dad who’d both met there in the early 60’s, and ‘says, when some twat asks him “Where do you really come from?” or even “Where do your parents come from?” his answer is still London.’ James’ book is an account of the strife, trials, and tribulations of being a black, British-born adherent to a predominantly white scene, and it’s harrowing at times, to read of the abuse he’s endured over the years. It’s also – and this is where his strength of character shines through – remarkable to observe his strength in saying ‘fuck you’ to all the twats and placing his love of the music above all that.
What we’re really looking at is a book that tells it like it is – not so much calling a spade a space, but calling a cunt a cunt. And there are plenty of them around. In chronicling a long and challenging battle against racism – being a part of a scene that’s supposed to be a broad church, inclusive, but evidently isn’t all that inclusive – this book is arguably the definition of woke. But Christie isn’t into that position.
I think it’s hard for anyone who hasn’t had to endure racism to fully appreciate just how prevalent it is, and how much it can impact the daily lives of those on the receiving end. I’m fortunate being a middle-class white guy living in an affluent part of an affluent and extremely white city, and for this reason, reading Dark Chronicles:Punk Rock Years did shock me, and frequently.
The Dark Chronicles has its moments, and I really did want to like and get behind this book. But I simply can’t get on board with its wrongheaded and frankly bizarre anti-woke agenda, and the trouble is that it comes to dominate the narrative to the point that many of the anecdotes are shifted to one side to make room for anti-woke ranting. It’s not so much an opportunity missed as a massive misfire.
The new single from UK metalheads Orange Goblin’s hugely anticipated new album Science, Not Fiction is out today. The track, titled ‘The Fire at the Centre of the Earth is Mine’, follows ‘(Not) Rocket Science’ and ‘Cemetary Rats’ as the third single to be taken from the album and is accompanied by a new lyric video by Matt Vickerstaff. Watch it here:
Speaking about the new track, singer and lyricist Ben Ward said, “We are very proud to present our new single ‘The Fire at the Centre of the Earth is Mine’. We consider this a very ‘typical’ Orange Goblin song… uptempo, melodic and instantly catchy, with all the ingredients of classic Heavy Metal! it’s the perfect way to kickstart the new Orange Goblin album! Lyrically, it’s about how we can’t change our past, but as the rest of the world is seemingly falling apart, we all have a chance to change our future. We are very excited about adding this banger to the live set at future shows!”
Orange Goblin’s new album Science, Not Fiction is their first since 2018’s The Wolf Bites Back and marks the band’s arrival on legendary metal label Peaceville. The album is inspired by a diverse range of influences, including spirituality, science, religion, and the band’s love for the sci-fi genre – “The title ‘Science, Not Fiction’ to me summarises how the world and everything we know is based on 3 fundamental things: Science, Spirituality and Religion” says Ben Ward. “It’s no secret that the band and I have always had a strong interest in vintage science fiction (particularly the dystopian kind!) and cosmic horror, whether that is movies, literature or just plain old imagery”.
For the last 30 years, Orange Goblin, London-based hard rock lifers, have tirelessly flown the flag for all out heavy metal and maximum rock ‘n’ roll. Driven by passion, persistence and heartfelt love for metal’s dark magic, Orange Goblin have always been a vital force and a risk-free bet. But while some may be content to trade on past glories, Orange Goblin view heavy metal as a lifelong pursuit. In 2024, they open a new chapter in their heroic saga, marking it with the release of their tenth studio album: Science, Not Fiction.
Photo by Tina Korhonen, astrophotography courtesy of Giancarlo Erra
Sometimes, personal events drive creative work in a way which runs away from the artist. It ceases being first and foremost about ‘art’, and the need to expunge, to offload, to outpour takes precedent. It’s not a conscious thing, something planned: the fact is that creativity leads the way, and art is not something one necessarily can direct or determine – at least, not true art. Art happens in response to things, and oftentimes, the most powerful art is born from exploring the deepest, most intensely personal scenarios. Such explorations may not reveal a great universal truth, but then again, they may present something that’s unexpectedly relatable. And this is where we find ourselves with The Engineer.
Mat Smith has no ambitions of leading the country, and nor does his musical output seek to obfuscate his journey or his reality. The Engineer documents this reality, and I shall quote, quite comfortably, the press release which provides vital context here:
‘In 2012, writer and Mortality Tables founder Mat Smith (Electronic Sound, Clash, Further. wrote a short story, ‘The Engineer’. A work of fiction, the story was loosely based on his father, Jim Smith, a skilled mechanical engineer who had spent most of his adult life working in a factory in Stratford-upon-Avon. The Engineer represented Mat’s thoughts, feelings and fears about his father’s retirement.
‘The story was later narrated by author, producer, playwright and poet Barney Ashton-Bullock. 29 artists, working in the fields of sound art, electronic, experimental and contemporary jazz music, were then approached to provide a sound response to a thirty-second extract of Barney’s narration. The order in which they agreed to be involved determined which section of narration they would be asked to respond to.
‘The collated 29 responses were curated and recorded over the next two-and-a-half years and assembled into a single, 14-minute collage by James Edward Armstrong. Its sprawling, disjointed presentation of short, rapidly-replaced ideas is intended to evoke the devastating confusion of Alzheimer’s, which Mat’s father was diagnosed with in 2018.’
This is about as intense and personal as it gets, and I’d like to think that this well-crafted work makes for a fitting homage. The sleeve image depicts a teenage Jim Smith on Margate’s Promenade in the 1950s, and the narrative tells the story based on his life against a shifting sonic backdrop.
On the surface, it’s a quite charming work. But it’s also sad, a tale of the way the ageing process is one of decline. And as the story progresses, a different kind of decline becomes the focus. It’s also a narrative of the way work has a way of stealing life away, especially for the manual worker. It also speaks of the difficulty of relationships, emotional disconnection, and ultimately faces the issue of mortality in the most real and matter-of-fact way. Time passes, and it passes far too fast. When you reach a certain age, every birthday gives pause for thought, and every picture gives rise to a pang of sadness. Even the passage of a year or two… how do you compute? How do you deal?
It seems that many simply don’t: I often hear or read people remark how people dying – and they die, they don’t pass, although hardly anyone ever says or writes it – people dying in their 60s or even early 70s is ‘no age’ or how they were ‘taken too soon’. I struggle with this. People have a finite time, and I speak from painful personal experience when I write that I feel that it’s quality of time which counts most. To witness a slow degeneration tends to be far more painful for those around the person experiencing it. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease, and all profits from this release are going to the Alzheimer’s Society. This is to be applauded, of course, but not simply for its charitability, but because of its art.
The Engineer may only be fourteen minutes in duration but represents twelve years in the making, and the input of more than thirty people in various capacities. In short, it’s an immense project, and the amount of time and energy poured into such a complex, detailed work is immeasurable.
The narrator starts out feeling vaguely AI, but in no time, we come to feel a connection with poet Barney Ashton-Bullock’s delivery. It’s crisp and clear, and in some respects has BBC documentary commentary. Its power derives from its simplicity: the narrative itself is straightforward and linear. Its sonic backdrop is not, and it’s disorientating, and at times uncomfortable, incongruous, at odds with the point of the narrative with which it’s paired. The sounds behind the narrative range from grinding, churning industrial din to woozy blooping electronica and shuffling disco and is altogether less linear, mutating over the course of the piece. It will leave you feeling disorientated, it will leave you feeling harrowed, possibly even stunned, and drained. But this is as it should be. The Engineer is ambitious, and a quite remarkable work.
Aural Aggravation 