Archive for the ‘Reviews’ Category

PIG – Feast of Agony

Posted: 14 September 2024 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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Metropolis Records – 27th September 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Hot on the sweaty trotters of Red Room, released in May, the Lord of Lard, Raymond Watts has managed to mine fresh truffles for a whole new EP ahead of embarking on an extensive tour of the US, which so happens to take its name from the first track on said EP, ‘Heroin for the Damned’. The fact that this isn’t a set of remixes

The title alone is glorious, and you can almost feel the relish with which Watts conjured up the phrase, wicked, perverse, dark, and equally ostentatious and grand, evoking an image within the realms of The Last Supper but with an S&M slant as the participants dine on an orgy of gore… or something. When it comes to relishing the richness of language and delighting in deliciously devilish wordplay and alliteration, sifting through PIG’s catalogue for titles and lyrics (there’s a suitably extravagant book containing all of them just out) provides abundant evidence that Watts really gets kicks from it.

It’s also clear he is absolutely loving the whole self-styled industrial rock-god posturing, hamming it up in leather and mesh, and simply the whole music-making thing, perhaps more than at any point in his career. Instead of being awkward about self-promotion, he’s fully embracing its absurdity, and in a genre that’s largely dominated by serious, angry people, PIG stand out as being rather less po-faced, and altogether more fun than your average industrial act. I’m not sure I’ve seen Al Jourgensen or Trent Reznor posting pics on Facebook hugging their pooches.

That doesn’t mean that the music is any less serious. Watts and his various collaborators really know how to bring a crunching riff and a stonking beat, and, occasionally, having taken early cues from the legendary JG Thirlwell, spin in some bombastic strings and grand orchestral strikes. And Feast of Agony is dark, heavy, intense, and marks a strong return to the more experimental 90s work following a pursuit of an altogether glammier sound of late.

‘Heroin for the Damned’ – the opium of the people for the 21st Century, perhaps – starts low, slow, and sinister, Watts’ vocal a croak amidst a dank electronic swamp before a steady riff, laden with grit, grinds in, rubbing hard against a lowdown pulsating synth groove. It’s a bit NIN circa The Downward Spiral, but equally it’s quintessentially 90s PIG, and lands a monster chorus that combines the raging roar of Sinsation and the grainy grooves of Praise the Lard with gushing gospel grandeur – something that really dominates the final track, the Jim Davies remix of ‘Baptise, Bless, Bleed.’ Piano and bold orchestral sweeps meld with stark synths and crunching guitars on ‘Fallout’, before Watts comes on like Bowie on the slow-paced anthemic ‘Comedown’, while the verses of ‘Hand of Mercy’ owe more to Prince.

It’s a PIG release and therefore it’s a pure [serial killer] thriller, alright – but even within the now-expansive catalogue, Feast of Agony is a strong entry.

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Mari Boine – Alva

Posted: 11 September 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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By Norse Music – 6 September 2016

Christopher Nosnibor

It was reading Naomi Kline’s Doppelganger recently that I truly came to appreciate the way in which western colonialism has annihilated indigenous cultures. I have no real defence for my ignorance, although it’s most apparent that the version of history we receive from virtually any source you care to name is slanted, skewed, almost to the point of revisionary fabrication. The fact that so many countless indigenous cultures have been erased or so diminished so as to be rendered invisible has become normalised and recounted as a process of ‘civilisation’ or ‘improvement’ renders the wider world oblivious to the brutality of fact.

And so it was that reading the text which accompanies Mari Boine’s latest release struck me with a heightened impact, and it’s worth quoting for context:

‘Like so many people impacted by colonisation which we see throughout the world today and throughout history, the Sámi people of Norway (Sweden, Finland and Russia), have been oppressed and deprived of their distinct indigenous culture and language since the 17th century. Mari’s music aims to convey a sense of oppression and frustration, anger and sorrow, which stems from this history. On Alva specifically, a Northern Sámi word which translates to energy, determination or willpower, Mari’s compelling use of traditional joik singing bores through layers of history, imploring the Sámi people to

‘Bring out, breathe out the stories

that ask to be told

With your light feet

trespass the border of time’

This release, we learn, sees Mari Boine ‘blending ancient traditions and resonating with a message of respect for the earth. Alva is not just an album – it’s a journey into the very soul of Sámi heritage, brought to life by one of the world’s most compelling and visionary artists.’

And indeed it is. The thirteen songs on Alva – which translates as ‘willpower’ – possess a palpable sense of spirit, of – for wont of better words as I fumble around in a weak effort to articulate – heritage, culture. Even where it’s not possible to comprehend the words themselves, the music, and Mari’s voice speak, and do so on an instinctive, human level.

You see, colonialism – and our capitalist society – was / is based on division, a narrative of ‘us’ and ‘them’, with an othering of indigenous peoples as being lesser. The fact the world as is – particularly in the last few years, and particularly on social media, which has increasingly become a cesspit of division and self-centredness – means a lot of us have lost sight of the fact that fundamentally, we have more in common than we have separations, and division is another instrument of control exercised by those who strive to hold power in this capitalist society. When society tells us that the only way becomes dog-eat-dog (and migrant-eat-dog, and cat, becomes a topic in a presidential debate), it’s apparent just how fucked-up things have got, and how far we’ve come from living in harmony with symbiosis with the planet.

Alva doesn’t evoke ‘simpler’ times by any stretch. In fact, I suspect what may prove unexpected for many is just how timeless – and at the same time, contemporary – Alva sounds. ‘Dánsso fal mu váhkaran’ manages to infuse an airy, folksy song with a tinge of funk and a buoyant, almost Eurovision groove, while ‘Várjaliviĉĉet min vuolláneames brings bold, ceremonial beats, and ‘Anárjoh’ gáttis’ is expansive and atmospheric, and again, percussion-driven. But there’s an air of fluidity, of naturalness, of something at once earthy and above the earth which lingers around the delicately-poised melodies.

Alva is graceful, life-affirming, meditative, transportative, and magical.

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Procter // Poulsen – PP8

Posted: 9 September 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Dret Skivor – 6th September 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Traditions are important: they’re grounding, they give us a sense of comfort and safety in their familiarity. In times of tumult, of confusion, during difficult times, they offer a raft to cling to in a sea of unrest. I’m not referring solely or specifically to old traditions, either, especially not the ones where Christianity has usurped pagan tradition, only for these traditions to in turn be usurped by the mechanisms of corporate capitalism. Christmas is the kind of tradition that should be tossed on the fire. What we need is to establish new traditions, traditions which are personal and meaningful – anniversary gigs or meet-ups, for example.

On a personal level myself, since one of the last holidays we made as a family saw us meet my late wife’s step-mum on Lindisfarne on August bank holiday week, and we had been due to stay there in accommodation with a view of the castle, we instead scattered some of her ashes with that view of the castle, and visit the spot around the same time each year before going to the pub we lunched in on that last visit. On the one hand it’s sad, but in such a magnificent and historically-rich location (we got married in Northumberland, and had Lindisfarne fruit wines obligingly delivered directly to the venue across the causeway), this new tradition of ours feels right, and in many ways positive.

The same is true – albeit in a different way, of course – of the traditional reconvening of the pairing of Procter and Poulsen. Something was written about it once, I seem to recall. Two friends, who see one another infrequently, but always make some noise together, and release the results, at some point or another. This is the kind of tradition which possesses real meaning, a symbol of connection. In a way, whatever music the session yields is irrelevant: this is about ritual, and interpersonal resonance.

As the title suggests, this is their eighth collaborative release, and contains two longform tracks, each occupying a full side of a C40 cassette, this time released in a limited edition of six.

There’s no way you’d describe the devastating soundtrack to nuclear annihilation that is ‘A’ as ambient: distorted, mangled vocals crackle out from the howling wails of feedback torn from shredded circuitry in a heavy gale which carries pure devastation. Once that raging storm dissipates, we’re still left with the sonic equivalent of a nuclear winter, the sounds drifting over shattered remains, fragments of things which existed before. Glitching beats fizz out in crackling walls of noise and fizzing distortion. Bleeps and wibbles pop and buzz and there are moments where it’s possible to catch a short breath. Sometimes it’s almost dubby, but it’s always a desert. It’s always desolate. The atmosphere is always thick, uninhabitable.

‘B’ is dronier, buzzier, more overtly electronic – but more like a giant bee hovering in suspension – sedate, bur trapped. As the track progresses – at least in terms of duration – it seems to degenerate, forms disintegrating, fracturing, crumbling, degrading. It’s not done elegantly, aesthetically, but presents as a greyening mess of murk and twisted wires, indistinct moans and Triffid-like clicks and clacks. It’s oppressive, and feels like crawling through the soundtrack to being a survivor of the apocalypse in a bleak 80s dystopian series.

Nothing is comfortable. Nothing is right. Tension and darkness are all around: every inch of this experience is eerie, uncomfortable. You don’t want to be here – but there is no escape. This is sheer horror, without words.

The shuffle into some sort of 80s industrial experimentation with a scratching guitar and stammering heartbeat percussion which soon slips into fibrillation, which comes to pass close to the end, only renders the experience all the stranger, before birdsong and groans hint that perhaps, this is it – you’re here, you’re dead. Perhaps we are all dead already, and life is an illusion. Perhaps this would be for the best.

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Huge Molasses Tank Explodes – III

Posted: 8 September 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Tidal Wave Records – 6th September 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Advance single cuts ‘Indeterminate’ and ‘Distant Glows’ whetted the appetite for III, the latest long-player from the cumbersomely-monikered purveyors of swirling psychedelic rock with a propensity for motorik rhythms. And the album does not disappoint.

Sure, there’s an element of formula here: sprawling psychedelic rock may have its roots in the 60s, but the 90s revival really cemented the form, and since then, it’s just kept on coming in wave after wave: it’s never really been totally on trend, but it’s never been out of favour, either. But when done well, it’s utterly enthralling, and Huge Molasses Tank know exactly what they’re doing here.

After a short, shimmering keyboard-led intro, first single ‘Bow of Gold’ wafts in like a heat haze, a steady, trickling melt of tone and texture – mellow, bleached-out hues ripple as the guitars bend and drift, bleeding into the mid-paced flow of the cloudlike ‘Tenuous Form’, where I’m reminded of Nowhere-era Ride, but also – perhaps less well-known but no less worthwhile – The Early Years. Time simply floats into a passing drift, and in your mind’s eye you see vintage photographs and movie clips, the oversaturated colours glaring and the details, the faces and forms blurred. Five minutes, six minutes, as you become immersed within the hypnotic flow of each song, time and reality evaporate in a sonic haze. It’s beautiful. Compelling and calming in equal measure, you start to feel your limbs loosen.

I’ve no great insights or exploratory reflections to posit here, no theories or musings: I simply find that music of this ilk hits a certain spot. You can sit back and let it unwind, and unwind with it. The original 60s sound may have been revived in the 90s, but since then it’s been a cyclical return to the space in between these as the past is filtered through endless contemporary filters and refractions, and receded further into the distance.

‘Indeterminate’ brings the synths to the fore and is more assertive and overtly Krautrock in its stylings, but still possesses that essential depth and dynamic which drives the more guitar driven songs – among which the penultimate track, ‘The Fall’, stands out with some solid riffery in the wake of the more dreamy, drifting, less overtly structured lower-paces ‘Eerie Light’. Yes, here they bring to energy and some pace, highlighting the album’s range. But for that range, III is a coherent work which pulls together the corners of all things psychedelic, and its quality is consistent – and it sure is a groove.

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Soma Crew / Needlework / Fat Spatula – The Crescent, York, 5th September 2024

Posted: 7 September 2024 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Sometimes, I get a little fixated on an idea. And the last few days, with social media and pretty much every news outlet pounding the story around the Oasis ‘dynamic pricing’ debacle, I’ve found myself viewing the gigs I attend in a slightly different light. More to the point, I’ve come to consider them in a ‘vs Oasis’ context, and so tonight, at a show presenting three local bands, where I knew a fair few people, with a few beers in me, found myself frothing enthusiastically “three bands for a fiver! And £4 pints!”. I do sometimes – often – worry about how I come across to people in social settings, but sod it. I think I’d rather be irritatingly excited than perpetually surly, and I always shut up and watch when bands are actually playing.

But enough of my social anxiety. Let’s focus on this: three bands for a fiver. £4 pints. You simply cannot go wrong. Tonight, the bands are set up on the floor in front of the stage, meaning that the 75 to 100 attendees are packed in tighter, and what could be a large space with a lot of room and not much vibe is transformed: there’s a heightened level of buzz and a real connection and intimacy in standing mere feet from the bands. If all the bands are absolute shit, you’ve paid a fiver: less than the price of a pint in many places. If one band is even halfway decent, you’re up on the deal.

Now consider forking our £150, or even £350, or even more, to see Oasis. And imagine of it isn’t the best gig of your life. You’re going to be gutted. I mean, you probably deserved it for being an Oasis fan in the first place, but I’ll keep that criticism in check for now. But imagine paying a fiver and standing close enough to the bands that you can pretty much smell them, and they’re all absolutely outstanding. So good that you think ‘I’d pay £20 for these’, and all three bands are of that standard. Imagine. We don’t all have to imagine. Sometimes, it’s possible to take a punt and be at one of those magical events. Like, imagine seeing Oasis at King Tut’s for a fiver. You’d feel like you’d won the lottery. The point is that there are little gigs like this all around the country every night of the week. And in convincing myself I should go out tonight, despite not having a stitch to wear, I found a band who really, really hit me. This is how it goes with making revelatory discoveries: you know nothing about an act, have no expectations, and are utterly blown away when they prove to be absolutely fucking awesome. But that isn’t even the best bit: the best bit is – and here’s the spoiler – that all three bands were absolutely top-drawer.

Up first were Fat Spatula, who I’ve maybe seen a couple of times and thought were decent – but tonight shows that something has happened since I last saw them. They could reasonably be described as making lively, uptempo US-influenced indie with some strong dashes of country. Their songs are infectious and fun, and. quirky, occasional nods to the sound of Pavement… But then, also a bit jazzy, a bit mathy, a bit Pixies, with sudden bursts of noise. They boast a aturdy rhythm section with 5-string bass and tight, meaty and incredibly hard-hitting drumming. The last song of the set, with its solid baseline and monster guitar-driven chorus, reminded me of DZ Deathrays. And they’re ace. And so, it proves, are Fat Spatula.

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Fat Spatula

As often happens to me, and has since I started gig-going well over thirty years ago, midway through the set, some massive bugger stands.in front of me and proceeds to rock both back and forth and side to side, occasionally adjusting his man-bun. It’s usually the tallest person in the room, but the singer from Needlework is one of the tallest bastards I’ve seen in a good while and he spends the set hunched over the mic stand, from time to time plucking percussion instruments from the floor and tinkering with them, and sometimes plonking the keyboards in a Mark E Smith kind of fashion.

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Needlework

The guitarist, meanwhile, is wearing a Big Black T-short, and is a major contributor to the band’s angular sound as they collectively crank out some truly wild and wholly unpredictable mathy discord. With clanging, trebly guitar, incongruous clarinet, and monotone semi-spoken vocals… and the guts to shush audience talking in quiet segment, they’re something else. It’s jarring, Fall-like, a bit Gallon Drunk with cymbals, shaker, cowbell all in the mix more than anything, their lurching, jolting racket reminds me of Trumans Water. No two ways about it, Needlework is the most exciting new band I’ve seen in a while. Speaking to a few people after their set, I’m by no means alone in this opinion. With the right support and exposure, some gigs further afield and all the rest, their potential is immense, and 6Music would be all over them. The world needs Needlework, and you probably heard it here first, but credit has to go to Soma Crew for putting them on.

Soma Crew – go for the slow hypnotic minimal intro, admitting afterwards they they’re a shade nervous following the previous acts. They’re honest and humble, and not in a false way: it’s clear that they’ve selected support acts who will make for a good night rather than make themselves look good – but because all three acts bring something quite different, there’s none of the awkwardness of any band blowing the others away. Besides, they very quicky get over those initial nerves, and crank it up with the big psych groove of ‘Sheltering Sky’, and in no time they’re fully in their stride. New song ‘Wastelands’ is haunting, and again – as is their way – built around a nagging repetitive guitar line and pulsating motorik groove, where drums and bass come together perfectly. The four of them conjure a massive sound. At times the bass booms and absolutely dominates, while at other points, everything meshes. Bassist Chris stands centre stage sporting a poncho that Wayne Hussey would have been proud of during his stint in The Sisters of Marcy, and once again, I find myself absolutely immersed in their performance.

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Soma Crew

So, to return to the start: three bands for a fiver. All three provided premium-quality entertainment. Sure, people go to see heritage bands in massive venues for huge sums to hear familiar songs, but it’s a dead-end street. Where does the next wave of heritage bands with familiar songs come from if no-one goes to see the acts who are playing the small venues? Do the £350 Oasis tickets provide – to do the maths – an experience that’s seventy times better, more enjoyable than a night like this? I’m not about to prove either way, because my argument is obviously rhetorical. THIS is where it’s at if you truly love live music. And I will say it again: three bands for a fiver: cheaper than a pint in most places these days. And three great bands, at that.

Theatre of Hate – The Crescent, York, 3rd September 2024

Posted: 6 September 2024 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Unlike the majority of attendees, I’m not massively familiar with Theatre of Hate’s catalogue. There’s no real reason for this. My appreciation of all things post punk and new wave is a fundamental part of who I am, and I’m a fan of Spear of Destiny, and have seen them, and Dead Men Walking a number of times. But I know just a handful of songs by Theatre of Hate. And so essentially, I’m here out of curiosity, and to fill a gap.

To take a momentary detour, there seems to be an expectation that a deep knowledge of a band – particularly one that’s well-established – is necessary in order to review their work, and you’ll often see on social media fans lambasting critics for knowing nothing, and so on. And I feel a certain anxiety reviewing anything that’s well-known. But aa critic can’t realistically be expected to know the work of every act, and moreover, music is a daily learning curve. There is always something new. And the question should always stand, regardless of the bad’s history, ‘how does this hold up? Is tonight’s performance any good?’

It’s immediately apparent that not only do Theatre of Hate have a sound that’s a world apart from Spear of Destiny – as expected, based even on my scant knowledge of their releases – but also a very different approach to performance. There’s practically no chat. They get their heads down and play the songs. The vibe, then, is very much of a band breaking out back in the day, keeping that distance between band and audience, building atmosphere and tension and avoiding the awkwardness of chat by really performing instead.

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This was very much the thing back then – a cultivated separation between act and audience, something some acts, notably The Sisters of Mercy, took to extremes, adding a wall of smoke between themselves and the crowd. It is all performance, all theatre. And as Kurt leads an incredibly tight unit through their catalogue, I feel that this is very close to the spirit of the early 80s. The reception may not have been quite so warm at every show at that time, but the essence is key – it’s all a part of the performance. The audience engages with the music, not rapport built through affable banter. Moreover, this is not affable music: it’s dark, vaguely claustrophobic despite the space between the instruments, the sparseness of the sound.

The guitar is fairly muted and definitely takes a back seat to the rhythm section. Original bassist Stan Stammers is at once an understated and dominant presence, and the way they cohere is compelling – but more than anything, I find myself fixated, mesmerised by the drumming. It’s a thing for me: some drummers are just spellbinding, and I find myself drawn in to the point of hypnotism watching their technique. Then again, the way the sax added a dimension to the sound was another thing which drew me in. By the mid-80s, sax had become cheesy, loungey, a bit yacht-rock, Duran Duran, Tina Turner. But a few years before, you had The Psychedelic Furs and a few others – including Theatre of Hate – slinging in a load of sax and yielding some dark results.

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Given that the band lasted a mere three years, and released one album – but a lot of singles – it’s no surprise that the set is singles-heavy, and they bung in a Spear of Destiny ‘cover’ (‘Grapes of Wrath’) to help fill out a set that’s solid, but comparatively short. With no support act, they’re on a bit after 8:30 and done by 10:15, and it’s tidy. Less is more, and all that.

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The captivating intensity of tonight’s performance is more than worth the price of the ticket: Theatre of Hate really brought some power, which was sinewy, compelling, and evocative, and you couldn’t ask for more.

History of Guns – Drug Castle / Survive the Night – short film

Posted: 5 September 2024 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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Christopher Nosnibor

It was in my early teens that I discovered goth, and Mick Mercer’s Gothic Rock Black Book was something of an early bible for me. Mercer has built a career on being a huge authority on the genre, and things in the post-punk sphere. So the fact that the latest release from History of Guns – a ‘maverick’ industrial act from Hertfordshire leads with a quote from Mercer, describing them as “by far, the most inventive UK band to have got their hands caught in the Industrial threshing machine,” is quite a strong sell. The strongest sell, of course, are the wares themselves, and highlighting just how unfettered by convention History of Guns are is the fact that Drug Castle isn’t just another video single, another lyric video, another ‘vizualizer’ (thank fuck). No, this is, they explain, ‘a short film for one of the more experimental parts of their latest album, Half Light, in which they take their instruments to the beach, and experiment with different audio and emotional frequencies, in an effort to contact beings from another world.’

If this sounds utterly deranged, the context counts for a lot, and to provide this, I shall quote at length:

‘Drug Castle was the nickname given to a facility in England where they used to conduct experimental, often unethical psychological procedures during the 60s and 70s. No one’s quite sure of its exact location, other than it was near the sea, and some of the sessions happened out on the beach. Different psychologists and psychiatrists could effectively book it out, and then take patients or unwitting volunteers down there for however long, and do whatever they liked. There are stories from people who received really helpful, life-changing treatment there, but it’s probably more famous for the awful horror stories and reports of extreme abuse and deaths. Apparently, there was very liberal use of experimental drugs and techniques, hence the nickname. One of the experimental treatments was called Frequency Therapy which involved using sonic frequencies to match or harmonise with emotional frequencies, which would cause a third frequency to be created which caused some quite profound healing and bizarre experiences. One survivor of a group of a group reported making contact with alien creatures.’

Sourcing information about ‘Drug Castle’ is virtually impossible, but then, that’s hardly surprising given the nature of the operation. We know that the CIA’s operation MK Ultra ran from 1953 well into the 1970s – but there’s also a lot we don’t know. This is how conspiracy theories are born – though the known existence of government conspiracies. While most of the documents relating to MK Ultra were destroyed, those which survived and were declassified, despite heavy redactions, contained staggering and truly terrifying revelations.

‘Staggering and truly terrifying’ happen to be fitting descriptors for this dark, challenging audiovisual excursion. Scaping, droning, groaning, tectonic-plate-shifting heavy industrial churns and grinding metallic noise and dissonance provide the sonic backdrop to a menacing spoken-word piece. The vocals layer upon on another and the experience grows increasingly uncomfortable. Strings swirl and build, but what may, done differently, be a soothing experience, creates nothing but tension.

The guys looks like they’re participating on some ritual as they sit, cross-legged, on a beach. That beach becomes the location of a washed-up emptiness further on, and then transition to acoustic-led neofolk-tinged darkness in the later parts of thee tune a dramatically alters the trajectory of this work. The pleasantry of the surroundings transition to unsettling territory.

It’s quite apparent that History of Guns have gone way, way deep into their excavations in shaping dark domains of Drug Castle. Dark and uncomfortable, this is remarkable art.

You can see it all here:

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Rip Space – Thank These People EP

Posted: 2 September 2024 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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28th June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

There are many reasons I’ve long been drawn to the obscure, the underground, the DIY – and many of those same reasons are why I try, wherever possible, to use my platform to champion those acts who fall within these broad brackets. And another thing I endeavour to use my platform for is the broader topics which relate to the releases – because during my life, I’ve become acutely aware of just how personal a thing music is, both to artist and listeners.

I suppose I first really tuned into this when I was around the age of fifteen: I’d started getting into goth and alternative stuff when I was twelve or thirteen – back when the weekly singles charts and Top of the Pops rules, and the likes of Killing Joke and The Sisters of Mercy and The Mission would make incursions into these realms – and was getting into live music. None of my mates were into the same stuff, so my choices were, go on my own, or don’t go. I decided I didn’t need my mates, but I did need to see the bands. This essentially set the template for my life, taking a position of a willing outsider.

Not everyone gets to be so willing in the place they find themselves, and while Rip Space’s biographical info is sparse, there’s a clear sense that they’re here as much out of compulsion as choice, describing themselves as an ‘anonymous autistic Scottish multi instrumentalist’. They outline how ‘Thank These People is an EP inspired by the catharsis of overcoming otherisation, public humiliation and otherwise targeted acts of evil that resulted ultimately, in official diagnosis in 2021… So this EP is called Thank These People. We make lemonade from the lemons life gives us. And in ways, we can decide to be thankful for the lemons.’

It’s hard not to find this apparent level of positivity and optimism quite staggering and more than a little overwhelming, as I fight the personal urge not to frame my own experiences as, rather than ‘thank these people’, but ‘fuck these cunts’. Ripspace has already demonstrated that they’re a better, less bitter human being than I before I’ve even heard a note… And then I heard a note, and I love Ripspace all the more. Amidst a roaring blast of lurching, distorted black metal guitars and crashing percussion there’s that anguished vocal howl. This… this is the sound of rage, of fury. Thanks? Yeah, right. This is a throbbing middle finger. This is what you’re thinking, what you want to say but muzzle because you don’t want to rile your boss. Because your boss is a twat.

Thank These People contains just three songs, and has a running time of under ten minutes – meaning it would fit comfortably on a 7” in old currency (when a 7” cost a couple of quid, although I’m not about to embark on a nostalgia trip, not now of all times, when nostalgia for the time of £1 pints costs £350 a ticket).

‘The Green Ripper’ really captures the vibe of Touch & Go and Am Rep in the 90s, but with a keenly Scottish lilt, and transitions from spoken word to full metal fury in a blink. And you feel the fury as it seethes and rages and roars, a pure, splenetic outpouring. ‘Welcome to Mother Earth’ is a noise-rock math-mash thrash-frenzy, Metallica in a three-way high-speed collision with Shellac and And So I Watch You From Afar. Thank These People spits, roars, foams, burns. And I have to agree when they add that ‘also, the music video is really good.’

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WALL – Brick by Brick

Posted: 1 September 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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APF Records – 30th August 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Perhaps it’s because I listen to and write about a pretty broad range of music, perhaps it’s something else entirely, but sometimes, I just get buzzed by the prospect of some monster riffage. And that’s what’s promised here with WALL’s debut, Brick by Brick.

Their press write-up got me in half a sentence, describing them as ‘An instrumental 2-piece heavy fucking riff machine, built brick by brick & riff by riff by twin brothers and Desert Storm members Ryan & Elliot Cole’ and the news that ‘debut album Brick by Brick is overflowing with unashamed Iommi-worshipping, instrumental, sludge/doom metal.’

There’s some flamboyant fretwork which adds detail – and a hint of extravagance – to the tunes, but in the main, they keep things tight, with pounding percussion and pulverising, full-weight riffery dominating the album from beginning to end.

Some may balk at the absence of vocals, and listening to the big, overdriven guitar heft of the album’s thirteen tracks, most of which pish their way past four minutes, which makes for quite a long album, I did occasionally thing that some throat-ripping larynx work would be of benefit. But then, how many great albums, even great bands, have disappointed with the vocals, for whatever reason? The number of times weak vocals have let down a strong instrumental sound for me is beyond my counting, so on balance, they’re wise to stick with the instrumental duo setup instead of risk diminishing the material.

The band – and album – are appropriately-named. This is just short of an hour’s worth of relentless riffery, and it’s solid. Like, well, a wall, and heavy, like, er, bricks. These may not sound like revelatory statements, but the point is that so many bands promise the world and barely deliver more than few pebbles. WALL hammer our hard riffs, back-to-back.

‘Legion’ is almost buoyant and the intro at least offers a picked guitar line that sits with the turn of the millennium metal sound before big, thick power chords crash in, evoking the spirit of the 70s and then some. ‘Avalanche’ brings with it some busy fingerwork, something which veers toward excess on ‘The Tusk’, but is kept in check for much of the album, thankfully.

There’s not really anything that’s new on Brick by Brick, but this kind of consistent riffology is comforting in a way, and moreover, they don’t disappoint.

There are some nice, atmospheric and pleasantly musical passages to be found along the way, and they clearly understand the power of the dynamic as well as of volume. When they take things down, it reels you in, before slamming on all the pedals and blasting you away with big, big chords. A few tracks feel a bit like filler, but then again, they provide some contrast, which is never a bad thing when an album is very much centred around one specific thing, namely headbanging instrumental riffs.

There are a couple of covers, and one night question the necessity of their inclusion, particularly closing with a Black Sabbath cover (‘Electric Funeral’): the may have been wiser to cut it on the penultimate track, the massive slugger that is ‘Filthy Doner Kebabs on a Gut Full of Lager’, but maybe they just don’t know when they’ve had enough, eh? But for that, this definitely feels like an eight out of ten in terms of delivering what it sets out to.

AA

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Don’t Try – The Bible Study Group Massacre

Posted: 31 August 2024 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
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Buzzhowl Records – 27th September 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Once again, following the release of a four-way split showcasing local talent a few months ago, Stoke proves the be the spawning ground of more off-kilter noisy noise, this time from no-wave duo Don’t Try with their second EP. As an additional point of note, and also something of a recommendation / hype point, the EP’s artwork is courtesy of Dan Holloway, of USA Nails/Eurosuite/Dead Arms fame, who worked with the band previously on their 2018 single ‘JWAFJ’. To accompany the release, Dan has also realised a video in his own inimitable style.

Like ‘JWAFJ’, their first EP, Elvis Is Dead was released in 2018, meaning it’s been a full six years since they last released anything, suggesting that on the output stakes at least, they’ve been living up to the band’s name.

Lead track ‘my grazed knee’ with its gritty yet poppy synths and urgent, determined beats isn’t actually a million miles from the sound of The Eurosuite. It reminds us of the proximity of new wave to punk, and the reasons why new wave and post-punk are essentially interchangeable terms. And while punk did, undoubtedly, spawn some great tunes (I’d perhaps contend less great bands, in that many punk acts, with a few notable exceptions like The Ruts and Adverts, produced only one or two outstanding or even memorable sings, and were unable to deliver the entirety of a solid album, let alone a career), it was post-punk where things got interesting, after things had evolved from three-chord stomps. If punk was predominantly pissed-off, railing against boredom and just off the rails, what followed explored a greater emotional range, and was more articulate, both musically and lyrically. For all its rebellion and antagonism toward conventions and norms, punk very quickly established its own conventions and norms: post-punk broke down those definitions to explore in myriad different directions, fragmenting and evolving into countless new genres.

It’s been a long time since the advent of both punk and new wave now, and in theory, any contemporary exponent of either is liable to tie themselves to certain tropes. But contemporary punk bands, more often than not, seem to be so limited in their scope, whereas many current acts who align themselves with post punk / new wave offer a broader range – even the ones who have been lazily lumped into the bracket of Joy Division imitators. I mention this as I discovered both Interpol and Editors because they were constantly being compared to Joy Division, and while I came to like both bands very much, my first reaction was dismay laced with disappointment over how unlike Joy Division either act sounded.

And so, circuitously, we arrive back with Don’t Try. ‘my grazed knee,’ as I was starting to say before I embarked on my obligatory and epic detour, is a fuzzy, low-fi keyboard-driven cut that boasts a monstrous throbber of a grindy synth bass groove that lands between Suicide and Cabaret Voltaire’s ‘Nag Nag Nag.’ But it’s a lot harder, harsher, noiser, more aggressive, more antagonised. Punkier? I suppose it’s representative of the point at which that nascent industrial sound began to evolve, but there’s also a manic hardcore edge to it, which is more apparent on the harsh assault of ‘climax in the imax’. Here, everything is ratcheted up in its volume and intensity, there’s a clattering metallic snare sound that crashes like a bin lid through the song’s duration, and about two-thirds in, it sounds like someone’s started up a drill and it all suddenly goes slower and heavier and you start to feel like things are getting dark and tense. This is very much a positive, in case you’re wondering.

There’s a clear trajectory to this EP, a sonic evolution which moved forward with each track, and things turn full-on industrial on the third track, ‘ritual’, which manifests are a monstrous, relentless rhythmic pounding reminiscent of mid-80s SWANS and the heavy grind of Godflesh. The crazed, anguished vocals are howled, yelped, drawled, hinting at the manic howl of the Jesus Lizard (and so, equally, Blacklisters). After hitting what feels like a locked groove around the mid-point, everything explodes and the track – and EP – climaxes in a slamming wall of ear-blasting noise. None of it’s pretty. All of it’s good.

AA

AA

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