Dret Skivor – 6th November 2026
Christopher Nosnibor
How do I know it’s Bandcamp Friday? Because my inbox is exploding again, with new emails every thirty seconds, alerting me to a new release? Well, yes, there is that. And then there’s the fact that there’s a new release on my favourite Swedish microlabel Dret Skivor. It’s true that it’s also the only Swedish microlabel I have any engagement with, but I’m sure that if there were others, it would still be my favourite, in the same way I sometimes greet my daughter – who is my only child – as ‘my favourite daughter’. What can I say? I consider myself environmentally aware, and recycle as much as possible, and while I’m doing cardboard, glass, plastics, etc., why not jokes?
It does certainly help that having received this in advance, I’ve had some time to digest before proffering my critical analysis. It’s no criticism when I comment that this is no major departure for the label, not least of all in that it features two longform instrumental works, each of which would roughly correspond with a side of 12” vinyl in terms of duration, but also in that said tracks are experimental in nature.
Here, we’re treated to some kind of collage work. The first track, ‘lupin’ begins with what sounds like running water, calm field recordings. One almost feels as if we’re accompanying the recorder on a ramble in nature. But it soon gets dark, with clatterings and rumblings and shrill shrieks, the origins of which are impossible to determine: are these the cries of birds, or fearful human screams? Is that the sound of torrential rain pelting down on a tin roof, or something more sinister? Our greatest fears tend to be of the unknown, and the unseen. Our imaginations so often conjure sensations more terrifying than realities – and this is like fumbling in the dark, wondering what creatures and demons are lurking in proximity. If it is just rain, how can there be this much? Around the mid-point, tweets and howls and clatters and thunderous rumbles build to another climax.
Second track ‘lupin lupin’ has all the hallmarks of a remix, with the same elements combined in different permutations of rain, gusting wind, shrieking birds. But this one comes with some genuine jump-scares, as sound suddenly rush forth as if attacking, before being caught, freeze-frame, and cut away to minimise the distress of the full horror of the scene. Or maybe it’s just a goose. More rain. More chattering. More thunderous rumbling. And more rain. And more still. Or is that the crackling of fire and explosions?
The gloom is relentless, the fear exhausting: the adrenaline circulating from being kept on edge for a protracted period can only be maintained for so long, and the fadeout brings a slumping crash – and perhaps a small sigh of relief.
AA
