Archive for the ‘Reviews’ Category

2nd May 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

British-Israeli krautfolk collective staraya derevnya are the epitome of obscure and underground, and it’s precisely for releases like Garden window escape that Aural Aggravation exists. Obscure and underground are not criticisms or judgements here: the world of music is broad and exciting because it affords room for all forms of expression. I’m not going to touch on politics or anything else that may impinge on this as an exploration of a creative work, and suffice it to say that I in no way consider any government to be representative of all of the people, especially not the artists, the creatives. staraya derevnya are the kind of artists who exist not only beyond politics, but simply beyond, and Garden window escape is one of those albums which isn’t only bold in its experimental, but

Precisely what ‘Tight-lipped thief’, the album’s first track expresses, is unclear to me. While containing traditional folk elements, the experimental edge is strong, and it twitters and tweaks, like a squeaky toy for a dog or a baby, over an array of clattering percussion, and the cumulative outcome is a wild, murky, jazzy cacophony, whereby the muttered vocals are largely submerged beneath a discordant tumult.

This isn’t only discordant, but it’s also pretty dark: while ‘What I keep in my closet’ brings a sandpapery scrape and a monotonous vocal yelp, and the effect is cumulative, like sandpaper applied to the skin slowly but steadily, becoming increasingly sore over time, before the woozy, warping, dissonant drone of the twelve-minute ‘Half-deceased uncle’ offers up new levels of discomfiture. It’s a gloopy Krauty swell and surge, combining elements of Suicide and Throbbing Gristle with the electronic pulsations of Chris and Cosey’s Trance, along with some low and heavy drone and tooting horns which evoke the spirit of Joujouka, but with a sci-fi swirl a creeping uneasiness and a tension which pulls away as the chords, the limbs, and ultimately the senses. Noises peel and lurch over a loping rhythm which plugs and plods away relentlessly for quite some minutes. There’s an acoustic guitar strumming away amidst the pings and pows and muffled vocal mutterings which melt together in this lo-fi sonic froth which occasionally calls to mind the breathy discordant tension of Xiu Xiu.

‘Cork flight operation’ grumbles and rumbles on, and on, and constructed around a sparse guitar, it’s faintly evocative of later Earth, but instead of rolling beats, there’s an insistent crunching thud like slow-marching feet and there’s rippling synths and slow drones backing the almost melody of the vocals.

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Amidst squealing circuitry and melting synths, ‘Onwards, through the garden window’ emerges, sparse and gloomy. The hushed vocal, thick with a syrupy distortion, is menacing, the instrumentation borders on jazz but with an industrial / dark ambient edge, which is unsettling, uncomfortable, and this is how Garden window escape slowly grows its unsettling sonic tendrils. There is nothing easy or accessible about it, but it is strangely compelling.

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Subsound Records – 18th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Twenty-eight years and fourteen albums into their career, Zu continue to confound, and to defy comfortable categorisation. Jazzisdead, their first release in six years, is their third live album. It’s most certainly not, however, a set comprising live renditions of greatest hits and fan favourites, and instead being a collaboration between Zu bassist Massimo Pupillo and saxophonist Luca T. Mai, with drummer Yoshida Tatsuya, founder of the Japanese band Ruins – and as such, the moniker follows in the vein of Zu93 (Zu with David Tibet of Current 93). The result, then, is a crazed hybrid of punk, sludge metal and jazz driven by some frenetic full-kit drumming.

‘Gravestone’ kicks it off with a thunderous riff and it’s a track that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Melvins album, while the frenzied ‘Speedball’ comes on like The Dead Kennedys but with some wild falsetto vocals and a blustering blast of sax. How is this even possible?

There are some more sedate passages, but they seemingly exist as tricks to convince you that they’re capable of delivering something more conventional: the introduction to ‘Asmodeo’ is gentle, atmospheric, and it’s almost soothing – but halfway through, it’s explodes in a riot of honks and parps, drums flying in all directions, and each composition slalems hither and thither: at times they’re tightly together, at others , the three instruments play across one another at wildly divergent angles, as if playing three completely different tunes – and yet somehow there’s a groove happening.

‘La Grande Madre Delle Bestie’ features some eye-popping machine-gun snare work before slithering to a swampy crawl, and the thing about Jazzisdead is that it’s simply impossible to second-guess what’s going to happen next. Repeat listens don’t render the work more familiar, but instead reveal entirely different albums. Elsewhere, ‘Hyderomastgroningen’ is a lumbering beast that brings a grungy swagger that brings hints of the Jesus Lizard. However, it’s perhaps Melt Banana who stand as the closes comparison to this in their crazed and irreverent approach to music-making, and this is nowhere more apparent than on ‘Memories Of Zworrisdeh’, the album’s longest track with a running time of five minutes, and which packs in an album’s worth of ideas into that time. ‘Muro Torto’ is another track of two halves, with long, groaning drones giving way to an almost ska-like bouncing thumpalong. Predictable, this is not.

There are several pieces which are but fragments, intersecting passages a minute or two in duration, and these only add to the experience of an album so packed with changes in tempo and key that it’s most discombobulating. It’s dizzying, jaw-dropping, impossible to keep up with, and the interplay between the players is remarkable. Ultimately, Jazzisdead makes for a hell of a listen – although you might need to lie down for a bit afterwards.

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Christopher Nosnibor

As a venue for a live music event, The Cemetery Chapel in York is an inspired one. It’s not only a remarkable building and a perfect space for music – its high ceiling and being a perfect rectangle mean the acoustics are superb – but it is a functioning chapel in the middle of a massive graveyard. Again hosted by The Velvet Sheep, it’s a very different affair from theGothic Moth’ event held in this same space last September, but still feels entirely fitting to be here.

I arrive a few minutes before doors, and spend the time indulging in one of my favourite graveyard games, of ‘find the oldest headstone’ but soon find myself distracted by the ages of many of those who died in the mid-1800s: there were many children, some only months old, and many adults between the age of thirty-five and fifty, which made the ones who made it into their eighties and nineties something of a surprise. And this would not be the only surprise of the night after purchasing a glass of Shiraz and finding a seat close to the front.

Futures We Lost presented a pleasant surprise by way of a start to the evening. The solo project of Doug Gordon, the set offers up expansive, haunting synths, occasionally brooding and dark, propelled by reverby, hypnotic programmed drums. For large passages, it’s beat-free, and dense, sonorous drones, distorted, ominous samples, discordant chimes, and occasional blasts of abrasive noise echo around the high-ceilinged chapel. Cracking hums and fizzing static swell into thick layers which hang like mist in the candlelit space.

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Futures We Lost

Following immediately, Hanging Freud – a band I’ve raved about in the recorded format for quite some time now – bring the temperature down a few degrees: icy synths, thick with gearing textures grind against dolorous drums. Paula sings with her eyes cast upwards to the ceiling, or the heavens, her vocal between Siouxsie and an almost choral croon, rich and often reminiscent of Zola Jesus. Musically, they offer strong hints of Movement era New Order. The songs are concise and compelling and pack in a palpable density of atmosphere into their brief spaces. It’s growing dark outside now, and against the candlelight the duo are barely visible apart from Paula’s platinum hair and pale forearms, but the mood is even darker inside as the songs bring an ever-increasing emotional weight. The songs are all driven by bold beats, with crisp and heavy snares cutting through the thick swathes of synth. They don’t talk, they just play, never breaking the wall or the spell, ending with a simple ‘Thank you’ before slipping away and cueing the arrival of the interlude.

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Hanging Freud

Raising the curtain on Act II, The Silver Reserve – another solo project – bring a significant stylistic shift with a set of introspective post-rock / slowcore, with soft-focus solo acoustic guitar and vocals with additional loops and lots of reverb. A couple of the songs felt a bit disjointed, and sat at odds with the gentle flow of the emotive, reflective ballads, which draw heavily and with sincerity and honesty, on personal experience. The perhaps less-than-obvious comparison which came to mind as I was listening was later Her Name is Calla, although their work was in turn drawing on Radiohead. In between the tuning and returning and chat, the songs are pleasant, but the set as a whole, though well-received, wasn’t entirely gripping, and while contrast is key to keeping an evening moving, this set seemed to stall the flow a little.

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The Silver Reserve

Dead Space Chamber Music are something else altogether, and you would never know by sound alone that there are only three of them. The set begins by stealth, a sparse introduction with percussion like soft waves on sand, folk vocals seem to emanate from the back of the room before ringing glasses create a haunting wail. Then things begin to get really interesting, and their innovative approach to the creation of sound is something to behold. Drummer Ekaterina Samarkina is particularly impressive in her work and provides a real sonic focal point, first applying a bow to the edges of the cymbals, while singer Ellen Southern occupies herself for large parts by creating remarkable sounds in unconventional ways: the rustle of a foil sheet being unfolded slowly is just a start, and abstraction gives way to thunderous drums and slow, deliberate guitar. This is dramatic, and this is exciting, unexpectedly so. They incorporate a wide array of instruments, from bells and whistles to horse’s skull – although in truth there are no whistles, but pretty much anything else you could name is in the mix their sound and performance is bold and theatrical.

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Dead Space Chamber Music

I tend to wear earplugs when in the presence of live music, but didn’t for this: it wasn’t loud, until it was: from seemingly out of nowhere, the volume had crept up to a pulverising roar, evolving towards a Swans-like climax consisting of a brutal percussive barrage and squalling guitar and vocal ululations. The blistering wall of sound attained the force of a tsunami for a sustained crescendo, during which time stood still, and while some members of the audience swayed and nodded in their seats, I found myself practically paralysed by the sheer sonic intensity. The focus of the three musicians was absolute, and while Southern went through a number of changes to her visual presentation, Samarkina and guitarist Tom Bush, who really cut loose with some monumentally treble-heavy distortion during the second half of the set, lurk in the long shadows of the flickering candles as they grow ever shorter and the venue grows ever darker. The effect is nothing short of stunning, making for an almost overwhelming finale to a night of the most remarkable music.

Dret Skivor – 4th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

This latest release on Swedish microlabel devoted to the most underground of underground music, Dret Skivor, may be form an act we’ve not heard of before, but something about it has all the hallmarks of the eternally prolific Dave Procter all over it. The man behind Legion of Swine (noisy) and Fibonacci Drone Organ (droney) and myriad other projects and collaborations – some occasional, some one-off – has a distinctive North of England drollness and a penchant for pissing about making noise of all shades, after all.

Released on CD in a hand-painted edition of just two, the notes on the Bandcamp page for the release are typically minimal: ‘Is it dungeon synth? Is it just spooky music? Is there torture afoot?’ I would say I will be the judge of that, but dungeon synth is a genre I’m yet to fully get to grips with, although it does for all the world seem as if it’s a genre distinction that’s come to be applied to spooky music, and seems to have grown in both popularity and usage comparatively recently, despite its roots going back rather further.

The cover art doesn’t give much – anything away, and in fact, I might have hoped for something more… graphic. But perhaps less is more here. However, the titles of the two tracks –‘the shithouses’ shithouse’ and ‘the festering flesh of the neoliberal’ are classic Procter and could as easily be titles for poems by Dale Prudent, another of his alter-egos.

The first begins with a swelling thrum of what sounds like a chorus of voices, possibly some monastic indentation, layered and looped and multitracked to create a torturous cacophony. For the first twenty, thirty, forty seconds, you wait for a change to come, for something to happen. After a minute that expectation is diminishing, and by the three-minute mark it’s impossible to be certain if there really are keyboard stabs swirling in the mix in the midst of it all, or if your ears and mind are deceiving you and you’re losing the plot. For some reason, I’m reminded of the Paris catacombs – not because it’s actually creepy, but because, just as seeing rows and rows of bones stacked up for quite literally miles becomes both overwhelming and desensitising after a time, so hearing the same sound bubbling away for ten minutes is pretty much guaranteed to fuck with your head. Near the eight-minute mark, there are most definitely additional layers of buzzing drone and there are some tonal slips and slows, like listening to a tape that’s become stretched or is slipping on its spool, but by this time your brain’s already half-melted, and I find myself contemplating the fact that while visiting the catacombs on a sixth-form art trip, one of my fellow students accepted the challenge to lick a skull for eight Francs – which was about a quid at the time. I was less appalled by the fact it was a human skull than the fact the bones looked dusty and mossy, and had probably been touched by even more unwashed hands than the handle of the gents lavs at a busy gig venue.

And so we arrive at the twenty-two-minute ‘the festering flesh of the neoliberal’. It begins with a distant clattering percussion – like someone bashing a car bonnet with a broken fence post heard from a quarter of a mile away, but with a gauze of reverb, as if echoing from the other side of a valley – or, put another way, like listening to early Test Dept through your neighbour’s wall – while a pulsing, pulsating electronic beat, like a palpating heartbeat, thuds erratically beneath it. And that’s pretty much it. But there are leaps and lurches in volume, and the cumulative effect of this monotonous loop is brain-bending. There are gradual shifts, and seemingly from nowhere rises a will of croaks and groans which grow in intensity, and it may well be an auditory confusion, but regardless, the experience is unsettling. Twenty-two minutes is a long time to listen to a continuous rumbling babble that sounds like droning ululations and a barrage of didgeridoos all sustaining a note, simultaneously, for all time.

Is it dungeon synth? Probably not. Is it spooky? Not really. It is torturous? Without doubt. This is a tough listen, with dark babbling repetitions rendered more challenging by the cruelly long track durations. The torture afoot is right here.

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11th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s still early days for London alternative / progressive metal quartet DAVAAR, formed in the summer of 2024 and with just five shows behind them, but they’ve wasted no time in venturing beyond London in their quest to build a fan-base, or in committing a chunk of their repertoire to tape (so to speak) for the release of this, their debut EP.

Although State of Feeling features four tracks, the title track is an instrumental introduction which is barely a minute long. This is a practice within metal circles that’s become so common as to be predictable and formulaic. It seemed to rise to prominence with the explosion of metalcore’s popularity in the 2010s, and often seemed to be an attempt to cover all bases for the purpose of a wider audience, as if to say ‘listen, we can play, we can do atmospheric and moody and gentle as well as WAAAAUUUGHHHHHH!’. But in doing so, it would often undermine the power of the attacking rage parts.

In fairness, it’s a little different in context of this EP, in that as much as DAVAAR trade in big riffs, their sound is cinematic, melodic, expansive, with clean vocals all the way. And so it is that this opening cut is softly atmospheric, bordering on ambient. A distant beat echoes through the drifting sonic mist. ‘Impulse’ arrives, not on a tidal wave of slugging riffery, but a ripple of picked, reverby guitar, and it’s only after some carefully-crafted build-up does the distortion kick in and the first of the big riffs hits. Even then, everything stays balanced, and the melody remains the focal point, and it’s easy to observe the parallels in their sound with those of their influences and acts they suggest sharing common ground with, including Sleep Token, Tesseract, Leprous, and Deftones.

There’s a lot of attention to detail in the song structures and the overall composition, with high levels of technical adeptness on display. There’s also a lot of polish here, with the end result being that State of Feeling feels fully formed, and DAVAAR’s potential to attain a substantial following is clear.

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Eiga – 11th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Bound To Never Rest follows 2022’s The Fall of Europe and for this, their second release as RAMM (formerly know as Il Radioamatore), core member Valerio Camporini F. and Roberta D’Angelohe are joined by Filippo De Laura who brings percussion and cello, and Caroline Enghoff, who provides voice and lyrics on ‘Hanging Rock’

Here, they promise to takes us ‘to a very contemporary feeling scape – of being constantly on the verge of seeing your world collapse – but it does so through very a unfamiliar sonic landscape, so different that we struggle to put a label on it… The core of this work is to represent this ‘permanent state of flux’, a paradoxical condition we’re all experiencing now, when being unsettled is the constant in our lives.’

They go on to explain that ‘To achieve this purpose RAMM started with a scribbled set of compositional rules, with the idea of building a living organism, in constant evolution, some rules were abandoned along the way, some were retained.What comes through at the end is the sensation of being swept away by meandering, random, river. Trying to hold on to something, only to have to adjust to a new setting. It’s a compass with its needle forever trying to find its north.’

This, it seems, is like life itself. Even periods of apparent monotony, where it seems that life has been consumed by the treadmill of working, eating, and sleeping, and running just to stay still, the likelihood is that it’s your ability to see beyond the blinkers that’s been stolen rather than it being the case that there’s nothing else happening. In fact, the world about us is an eternal maelstrom. However, the last few years have witnessed the turbulence increase to a roar that’s beyond deafening, and it’s little wonder that there’s a mental health crisis assailing western society, and people are immersing themselves in more or less anything mindless in order to avoid news.

The title ‘Disturbed Tea Time’ somehow captures the way we often crave normality and routine in our lives as a means of having a sense of grounding, a sense of control over our lives. But when those familiar routines are disturbed, it can often feel catastrophic. And the more precariously balanced our safety is, the harder it becomes to deal with those disruptions calmly and objectively. Many of us experienced the destabilising effect of a rapidly-changing situation and contradictory guidance and (mis)information during the pandemic, and the ’shock and awe’ strategy being employed by the Trump administration right now is a perfect – and terrifying – example. People become more fragile, more sensitive, more susceptible, more fearful and less able to cope even with small changes when the entire world around them ceases to provide the comfort of familiarity. Sonically, this first track it’s a deft, almost soothing, minimal electronic composition at first, before doomy, overloading guitars rupture the tranquillity. And so it continues, smooth, airy vistas of serenity float in an easy, linear fashion, unexpectedly dashed and smashed by roiling distortion. The metaphor may be fairly straightforward in terms of concept, but it’s executed in such a way that when the blasts of noise to explode, you feel the tension through your whole body.

‘Permanent State Of Flux’ washes in on delicate strings, subsequently joined by piano, and a persistent pulsation, and as the piece progresses, the layers, textures – and moments of dissonance – build, while ‘Good Morning Ansa’ takes the form of a more darkwave synth piece with a flickering beat in the background. But this, too, changes midway through, with both the instrumentation and mood making a shift.

The only piece with lyrics and vocals, ‘Hanging Rock’ is tense, dark, and discordant. But none of the works are any one thing for their duration, and in this way, the structure of not only the individual pieces and the album as a whole come to represent the overarching theme.

There is a perfect restlessness about this album, and while for the most part volume, harsher textures, and discord are used only sparingly, rendering it a comparatively subtle work, the fact that any emerging flows are swiftly disrupted make it something that holds the focus and keeps the listener alert and just that bit on edge for its duration.

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Human Worth – 18th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Given the event it supposedly commemorates, Good Friday has always seemed like a rather strange choice of name to give to the day – although I suppose for Christians it’s good because without it the religion probably wouldn’t exist. But this year, Good Friday actually lives up to its name, with the ever-dependable Human Worth dropping its second new release in a fortnight, this time in the form of TOTAAL TECHNIEK by KLAMP.

KLAMP first emerged in 2020, with the upfront Hate You, and since then, they’ve evolved considerably. Less a band and more of a fluid and ever-expanding collective, the original trio consisting of Jason Stoll (Sex Swing / Mugstar / JAAW), Lee Vincent (Pulled Apart by Horses) and Greg Wynne (Manatees) has now swelled to a lineup of seven performers, with Adam Devonshire (IDLES), Matthew Parker (Tall Ships), Rachael Morrison and Wayne Adams (Petbrick / Big Lad) having joined their ranks, along with a host of others who have contributed to this second album while passing through.

When approached in the right way – that is to say, with an open mind – collaboration can yield not only works which are greater than the sum of the parts, but unexpected results, as fresh input and different perspectives can throw wide open the doors to new ideas and possibilities. The converse of this is when a collaboration finds those involved arriving with egos fully inflated and preconceived ideas, and they simply stifle one another into playing to form. It’s abundantly clear that KLAAMP foster a spirit of experimentalism, a willingness to try things out, and see what transpires. The list of genres and influences, direct or implicit, noted in the liner notes is immense, and a reminder of why genres are not really the friend of artists who go with the flow of whatever happens creatively. But rather that dwell on that excessively, I’m simply going to replicate the ‘FFO’ list which accompanies the release, because it not only illustrates the stylistic range TOTAAL TECHNIEK offers, but also sets the scene in terms of expectation: ‘Swans / Sonic Youth / Black Sabbath / Godspeed You Black Emperor / Mark Lanegan / Einstürzende Neubauten / The Fall / Sunn O))) / Wire / Aphex Twin / Portishead / Godflesh / Earth / My Bloody Valentine / Gnod / Anna Von Hausswolf / The Bug and more… ‘ In other words, while there’s a lot of heavy and noisy stuff happening, there’s a whole lot more besides.

This means that the appropriately-titled ‘The First Song’ commences the set not with skull-crushing heavyweight riffery, but a subtle sense of ambience. Drones hover ominously, while chittering extranea evoke almost jungle-like sounds while distant beats flicker and echo like a collapsed synapse before they strickle into a drifting, psychedelic indie dream. There may be hints of later Earth about it, but ultimately it’s mellow and shoegazy, and while the pedals kick in just shy of the five minute mark, it’s steering hard in the vein of desert rock with an easy-going vibe, even with the raging vocals which are practically submerged in the mix. As it carries you along on its warm currents, there’s no frustration that this isn’t the heavy shit they’d promised. It’s simply good music, and has atmosphere and texture.

‘Zpine’ brings motorik drumming, a hint of Pavement crossed with Stereolab, with some noisy guitars slashing and splashing cross the solid, sequenced groove, while the vocals are harsh and ragged. The mid-section goes full Hawkwind, and the weirder and more wide-ranging it gets, the better it gets, too.

The album’s shortest song, ‘Wet Leather’ is a bass-led Krautrock-influenced psych-hued droner that bounces along nicely, and while it does kick off heavy a minute or so in, it mostly kinda comes on like The Fall circa Code: Selfish but with guitars from early Ride swirling all over.

‘Leprozenkapel’, the fourth track – which marks the end of side one – brings the rage and the noise and the throbbing noise, and it’s dark and heavy, and in some respects calls to mind late 80s Ministry as it pounds and snarls. Those drums, totally overloading with distortion and a metallic crunch… this is mean and brutal, while the eight-and-a-half-minute ‘The Crying Towel’ is different again, and altogether kinder. This is good: we need more kindness right now. And at some point a couple of minutes in, the ball-busting, super-weighty riff comes in, and there it is. But there are layers, texture, elements of shoegaze and more atop the lumbering rockout riffery. There is a lot happening here, and KLAAMP balance e it all perfectly.

Things shift towards menacing, doomy black metal on ‘Evil Pipe’, but the album ends – with another epic track in the form of the seven-and-a-half-minute title track, that comes on like a meshing of Joy Division or early New Order – particularly with the drumming – and Doves, before going full Melvins. And it somehow works. Of course, Human Worth would never release a crap album, but TOTAL TECHNITECH is truly outstanding. It’s not just the concept,  but in the delivery, and it’s all killer.

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Human Worth – 11th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Name three great but seemingly disparate acts for a collaboration, and the chances are that no-one, but no-one would pick Ghold, Bruxa Maria, and Test Dept. But here we are with the arrival of Ohm by Deadpop, which promises ‘Hard hitting & riff heavy sludge rock’ out of London.

It’s a pretty far-out work, it has to be said. Riding in on a siren-like wave of noise, ‘Saboteur’ announces the album’s arrival loudly and intensely, and it makes you sit up, alright, and your eyes pop when the guitars slam in after some forty seconds – which is a long time when it comes to listening to twitching, glitching feedback. The bass and drums meld together in a thick sludge of overdrive.

I’m not sure what the two parts of ‘Tomahawk’ are about – although it’s probably more likely to be a punk thing or the missile than expensive steak, and they bleed together for forge six minutes of thunderous racket which takes me back to circa 2009 when bands like Pulled Apart by Horses, Blacklisters, Chickenhawk (later rebranded as Hawk Eyes), and These Monsters were exploding on the Leeds scene. Sure, there’s been noisy shit in circulation forever, and grunge may have opened the doors to a wider, more mainstream, audience, but the indie charts and John Peel’s radio show was chock-solid with wayward guitar-driven racket. Human Worth have championed big noise from day one, but have perhaps leaned toward a different shade – or perhaps there hasn’t been anything quite of this nature released recently. And am I really feeling nostalgia for circa 2009? Well, actually, perhaps I am. It was sixteen years ago, after all. Kids doing their GCSE exams weren’t even born then.

I digress – as usual – but it’s relevant when positioning this release, an album that brings the kind of big sonic mayhem that feels less common now, and in context, feels quite different from anything else that’s been released recently. ‘Tomahawk II’ adds the percussive frenzy of Test Dept to the party, calling to mind early releases like the ‘Compulsion’ 12” and Beating the Retreat.

‘Third Metal Wheel’ is a lurching cacophony of lumbering guitars, layers of echoed vocals, and thunderous drumming, the outcome being something akin to Melvins current releases, and while the monster riffology of ‘Dirt Cheap Rage’ provides but an interlude at under two minutes, it’s well placed ahead of the experimental oddity of ‘Disgrace’, which straddles sludge rock, heavy psychedelia, and punk.

The six-and-a-half-minute ‘Yesterday’ summarises the album, really: a thick, full-heft riff slogalong that pounds away, relentlessly, it calls to mind Melvins, but also encapsulates the spirit of all that is stoner, sludge, and doom in a capsule.

The album’s final track, ‘Skygrave’ delivers a driving finish, a blistering blast of full-on, speaker-shredding distortion, with some brief warping samples and disturbances thrown in for good measure, and it’s a truly brain-melting occurrence. If on the surface, Ohm is just another sludgy / stoner noise, the actuality is so much more: this is an album that brings a certain experimental bent, on top of all the riffs. And yes, it does bring all the riffs. And that’s a fact. Ohm is a heavyweight riff-slugger – and that’s a fact, too. This album is a beast.

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18th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Eric Quach has been making music – or perhaps more accurately sculpting sound on the fringes of music – as thisquietarmy for over twenty years, amassing a substantial body of work as a solo artist, with an expanded band lineup, and with various collaborations, the most recent being Cîme, his second with Tom Malmendier

We learn that Langue Hybride was written and arranged in less than 4 weeks during thisquietarmy’s music residency at Centre d’Expérimentation Musical (CEM) in the region of Saguenay—Lac-St-Jean, Québec.

The album consists of five longform tracks, which range from seven and a half to sixteen minutes in duration. It’s the shortest work, ‘Les Rayons Cosmiques’ which lifts the curtain the album, with droning, dolorous strings and distant, delicate percussion conjuring evocative atmospherics, coloured with both a simmering tension and an underlying sense of sadness, which, while hard to define, is palpable. Around the midpoint, that distant percussion builds to stand front and centre and a groove emergers, suddenly and unexpectedly, and the whole feel changes towards something that’s a cinematic hybrid of folk and space rock.

‘Respirer l’instabilité’ crashes into altogether darker territory, a gloomy, doomy trudge of slow, deliberate drumming and a low, grinding bass, over which discordant sonic mayhem plays out. After a lull of calm around the mid-point, a pulsating rhythm merges, and things evolve into a strolling wig-out with some strong jazz-funk leanings and already, a pattern is beginning to emerge in terms of compositional structure, in that around halfway, the trajectory shifts, and the piece ends in a completely different place from the one in which it started.

This is confirmed by the pivot which takes place around five minutes into the third track. Reminiscent of latter-day Swans, ‘Les radicaux libres’ is woozy and weird, expansive and haunting, and begins to pick up pace and volume six minutes in, building to a bursting sustained crescendo that’s both hypnotic and tense, and if ‘Organismes en aérobiose’ starts out soothing, the sound of dappled sun through leaves on a summer’s day, it transitions to a fist-waving stomper and concludes as a skyward-facing surge of sonic exultation, via the detour of a post-rock tidal wave, while fifteen-minute closer ‘Solastalgie impalpable’ rides a wave of thick riffage and strings reminiscent of the long play-out on ‘Layla’ – only this is arguably more successful, as it always felt like an epic and overlong anti-climax in the wake of that guitar-line. True to form, ‘Solastalgie impalpable’ does make a shift, tapering into some elongated swirling drones which reverberate and rattle the ribs and taunt the senses, before suddenly bursting into life with a driving rock riff by way of a climactic finale.

Langue Hybride is a wild ride, and while claims for acts producing ‘genre-defying’ works are not just tedious and predictable but usually completely spurious, there’s no neat way of categorising this schizophrenic hybrid, where each track is a work of two halves, presenting almost oppositional styles and characteristics .But this stylistic polarity makes for exciting – if challenging – listening: given that the only thing that’s predictable is that each piece will fly in a different direction at some point, there’s no way one could call this album predictable. The vision – and its execution – are superb, and with Langue Hybride, thisquietarmy offer something which is quite different, and rather special.

AA

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Christopher Nosnibor

Ultha have been going for over a decade now, and have amassed an impressive catalogue of releases, but this is the German black metal band’s first UK tour. They’re out with Ante-Inferno as touring buddies, and tonight offers an impressive five-act lineup with early doors. And what could be better than back-to-back blistering metal on a Sunday evening? Some may suggest pretty much anything, but for many metal fans, this is the ultimate escape before the return to work. And with an early start and an early finish, this is gig perfection in terms of planning.

It’s not far off in terms of bands, either. Back-to-back black metal may sound like a slog, but tonight’s showcase presents the full spectrum of an increasingly diverse genre, with much to be excited about.

The venue is pretty busy from the start, and Oneiros make for a solid opening act, with atmospheric passages giving way to big, throbbing riffs. In terms of guitar work, apart from a bit of Brian May flourishing at the start of the second song, there’s nothing particularly flashy on display here, instead focusing on bold heavy chugs, and the songs evolve through movements defined by some deft tempo changes. There are some slower, trudging grooves which work nicely, and the front man doesn’t use his growly singing voice in between songs, which is a bonus. Sometimes, theatre is a stretch too far. They’re decent, for sure.

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Oneiros

Power trio Terra arrive in a wall of feedback and then blast in with some bowel-shredding bass. And they bring power to the max, with dual vocals and a maximalist sound. The bassist has obviously nabbed his stance from Lemmy as he leans back and raises his head up to the elevated mic. This is fierce. These guys have all the hair and all the beards and deliver a devastating wall of noise, with lengthy instrumental passages plugging away at expansive, repetitive riffs: they’re something like a black metal Hawkwind. The set’s five listed songs were performed as a single, continuous thirty-minute piece, and it was truly immense. For a band of this calibre to be so low on the bill speaks volumes about the quality of the lineup here.

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Terra

Wolvencrown are rather more clean-cut, but still bring beards, albeit trimmed ones (apart from the drummer). The quartet also bring the evening’s first synths and a whiff of Deep Heat. Their sound is crisper, cleaner, more cinematic, with rolling piano and soaring strings in the mix amidst their wide-screen compositions, which are overtly more technical in their bent, the lineup boasting seven-string guitar and five-string bass. The vocals hit the higher range, which adds a certain tension. Expansive, emotive, and highly polished, they’re hard to fault technically, and offer some immersive noise, too.

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Wolvencrown

Ante-Inferno bring the face paint. Not corpse paint, but dark smears, extending to arms and chests, too. With imposing candelabras positioned either side of the drum kit and smouldering incense smoke drifting from the stage, we’re in dark pagan territory here, and dressed in black and smeared in black, they’re barely visible in the low-level lighting. The sound is as filthy as their skins, scorched by the flames of hell as they create a sonic blanket that evokes pure purgatory. Heavy isn’t even close. It’s brutal and relentless, and there is no let-up at any point during their forty-five minute set.

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Ante-Inferno

Ultha’s lighting of choice is red, and red only. The stage is bathed in a bloodlike hue as they unleash their relentless fury. Their kit has two bass drums, and they’re blasted hard throughout. The vocals are a rabid squawk, pitching down to a guttural growl, and the interplay between the two vocals is perfect. Apart from the drums, which are up in the mix and clear as day, the instruments mesh into a dense squall of noise. This meshing creates a wall of noise that borders on shoegaze, only with thundering percussion and everything coming at a thousand miles per hour. It’s a full-throttle raging racket and they play primarily under red lighting, but seem remarkably affable between songs, even laid back, unflustered by a bust snare as they borrow one from another band. Theirs is a confidence that only comes from experience, and it shines through in the solidity of the performance.

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Ultha

For anyone who is of the opinion that all black metal sounds the same, tonight’s lineup abundantly disproves such a misconception, and while it may sound perverse to many, there’s something, if not necessarily soothing, then escapist about extreme metal shows. Mostly, the fans immerse themselves in the barrage of noise, nodding along in their own worlds.

Even having worn earplugs, I leave with my ears screaming, but feeling ultimately calm and uplifted.