Archive for the ‘Reviews’ Category

12th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

As genre crossovers go, Post-Punk/Alt Hip Hop is quite a rare one. Perhaps not as radical or as extreme as the kind of crossovers with alternative and metal bands and hip-hop acts that took place on the groundbreaking Judgement Night soundtrack in the early 90s, but at this point in time, where pretty much anything goes, this is unusual. Actually, I’d like to step back from that for a moment. Not so long ago, it felt as if anything went, that postmodernism had truly reached its peak and you could have grindcore with a kazoo and not be too surprised. More recently, while pockets of weirdness are strongly entrenched – as the recent Guardian article on Nerdcore, which managed to mention Petrol Hoers and BxLxOxBxBxY, both vehicles for beardy, ferret-keeping, pant-wearing York legend Dan Buckley (disclosure – Noisenibor performed a one-off collaboration with him in his guise as Danny Carnage, which was everything you’d expect) – things seems to have become more siloed, more set, more fixed, when it comes to genre parameters. Fluidity and crossovers remain, but wild invention seems to have given way to something of a return to convention.

‘Imagine Beck meets Sleaford Mods, meets Slowthai’ the bio says. Only, listening to this, you don’t have to imagine.

What’s noteworthy about these touchstones is that two are very white, and two are very British, the British acts both being overtly political, while all three draw on elements of hip-hop in their work. None of this is to denigrate anything about Oscar Mic or ‘Sun Star’, and nor is it a criticism to comment that it’s a hip-hop tune which is overtly white, as delivered by a pale guy with a vaguely gingery moustache. It’s a true testament to multiculturalism and artistic cross-pollination, and what’s more, ‘Sun Star’ boasts some truly sinister bass frequencies which strike way low and hit hard like subsonic torpedoes beneath the shuffling beat that clatters away nonchalantly all the way. Toss in some Beastie Boys and you’re getting a sense of where this is at.

Then there’s the really melodic indie break, and the thing has something of a quirk / arty / studenty vibe, while the video bursts with experimental oddness. And when you piece it all together… it’s gloriously mismatched and off-kilter. And we should celebrate its non-conformity.

AA

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2nd July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Unless I’m looking in all the wrong places, one genre you don’t seem to find many emerging acts coming through in is hardcore punk. Reissues of vintage bands – even minor cult acts who were criminally overlooked in their time – are coming (back) to light with releases on Southern Lord and the like, but new true hardcore punk acts are few and far between, with many presenting a more metal

This is raw, fast, gritty, and angry. And political. ‘Realise’ is a fist-pumping roar of rage, positively foaming at the mouth with the fury of betrayal. Told from the position of the punter for whom the penny’s dropping that they’ve been lied to and done over, ‘Realise’ rails against the system and the way in which politics serves politicians rather than the people. As they put it, ‘Writing with the credo “Shit’s fucked – call it out”, the song highlights that politics doesn’t, and cannot, happen only once every five years. Obviously, these guys get it, but it still shocks me that there’s such a thing as working-class Tories. They seem to proliferate in run-down rural areas, places like Lincolnshire, North Yorkshire, Norfolk, and Suffolk. Many of these regions are agricultural, and the (ageing) populations have bought the myth that the migrant workers picking and sorting veg for minimum wage – the same migrant workers who serve them their coffees and also service their health in evermore dilapidated hospitals – are stealing their jobs. Those would be the jobs they’re retired from, and would never have done on account of the pay and conditions being poor. But this is the way of capitalism – blaming the most vulnerable for your own plight while aspiring to higher things and buying into the idea of trickle-down economics is simply pissing on the head of the person on the next rung down because the person on the rung above is pissing on you, and because they’re on the higher rung, it must be right. It is, of course, a complete con. Shit is, indeed, fucked.

The bass-rattling blast of ‘Grindstone,’ which first surfaced a few years ago, finally makes it to an EP, and it perfectly summarises the wearying, dulling, life-robbing effects of drudge labour and the living hell of working all hours and multiple shit jobs to make ends not even meet. ‘I got my nose to the grindstone every day / I’m grinding so hard I grind my face away / I leave blood on the floor wherever I go / If I grind much more I’ll be grinding bone’ paints a visceral picture and take the notion of working one’s finger to the bone to its logical conclusion. This is precisely what proponents of capitalism and governments who support it want. A people too busy killing themselves with work just to stay alive hasn’t the time or the energy to protest, to uprise, to vote. Notably, the main parties all spoke of rewards for ‘hard-working families’, reinforcing the idea that both families and hard work are both normal and desirable goals. This is clearly false: not everyone is suited to family life, and rewards should not be based on one’s level of conformity, and a question I have asked elsewhere is why should work be hard? It should be enough to simply work, to earn a day’s pay, and still have the energy – physical and mental – to have a life outside it. Promoting the idea that hard work is something we should want to spend our lives on is simply another means of oppression. And yes, making art is work: art and culture are essential, and the existence of cave paintings is testament to the fact that the need for art is in our DNA. So fuck the pitch that work has to be long hours grinding out shit earning a pittance to fund the CEO’s multi-million pound package as if it’s somehow noble. It’s not: it’s exploitation, pure and simple.

This brings us to the final cut, ‘We’re All Going to Hell’, is a full-throttle rabble rouser with a strong chorus. It’s simple, direct, unpretentious. Much as I admire poeticism in songwriting, every form has its time and place, and Hearse Pileup are agitators, looking to shake people awake. You might think their fanbase would be young and left-leaning, but so many who have grown up under the last government are prematurely world-weary, dead on their feet, and apathetic to the whole circus. These are the people Hearse Pileup are reaching out to. And for this purpose, they don’t need to be subtle, but instead deliver a sonic slap round the chops. And with this EP, that’s precisely what they deliver.

AA

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Hearse Pileup Artwork

Distortion Productions – 5th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Released to coincide with the start of their US tour to promote the album HEX, released in March, HEXPLAY offers up remixes of three tracks from the album, by artists including Leaether Strip and Red Lokust.

Remix albums and EPs do tend to be a bit of a mixed bag, and my cynical side says they’re an easy way of milking maximum product from the material an act has – and the fact that the Grendel remix of ‘Veridia’ already appeared as a bonus track on the digital version of HEX does little to dispel this notion with this release (the album contained seven new tracks including lead single ‘Witch Lit’ released the year before, expanded with three remixes, and there was previously a standalone Stabbing Westward remix of the title track).

There are two further mixes of ‘Veridia’ here. Of these, the Leaether Strip reworking which opens this set is the most radical, transforming the dark electrop of the original – which clocks in at just over two minutes – into a sprawling five-minute exploration of brooding esotericism, with a hint of Eurovision-friendly groove. Pushing the bass up in the mix, it’s darker and denser than the original, and adds new depths and dimensions. Placing it up front was a sound decision, as for my money, it’s the strongest track here.

In the hands of Third Realm, the contemplative mid-tempo ‘Raining Roses’ is transformed into a cinematic anthem, and it’s a triumphant reworking – not a huge stretch in terms of imagination, but it simply makes the song so much bigger.

SPANKTHENUN take ‘Witchlit’ in a darker, murkier direction, straddling stuttering techno and ambience. It’s quite a departure from the original, unexpectedly tense and claustrophobic, and if it lacks the magical, haunting nature of the original its quite brutal treatment is big on impact and shows the song in quite a different light.

The last couple of tracks are solid enough, but perhaps a shade predictable, and certainly lacking the impact or imagination of those which precede. This is what I mean when I say that remix releases are a mixed bag, but I’m equally aware that this is a question of taste, and some will likely prefer the versions I’m less enamoured with.

Here, the source material is strong, which definitely gives the remixers a head start, and while I’ll often find myself asking ‘why mess with perfection?’ credit is due on this occasion for offering versions which, if not improving on the originals, certainly bring something different and worthwhile.

AA

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Drek Skivor – 5th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s been a little over a year since we last heard from Fern. Previous release, Deformed, was, as I put it, ‘appropriately titled’ and ‘some mangled shit.’ Such is Fern’s approach to music-making, it would seem, seeing damage as potential, an opening, a possibility. It may be a perverse pleasure, but it can be a pleasure nonetheless, to hark at the sound of breakage and malfunction. Perhaps because it’s noise which possesses an honesty that’s rare in so many musical recordings, where the more common ambition is to create the best, most polished, or otherwise superior version of something, be it a song in the conventional sense, or a live recording of something perhaps less conventional. It’s a rational and valid objective, but the reason I suggest that the sound of something broken is honest is because it feels rather truer to life’s lived experience.

How many obstacles must one surmount to achieve that polished definitive version? Moreover, how many obstacles must one surmount to simply get through the days? Life has a habit of throwing shit at you. Just when you think you’re having a good day, an ok week, something breaks – and it nearly always costs money. Your laptop dies, your phone screen cracks or your charger cable breaks. The shower starts leaking or there’s a power cut. Some days – and weeks, and months – it simply feels like everything is against you. Something goes awry at every turn. Life, then, is imperfect, an endless succession of glitches and breakages, against a backdrop of noise and distortion and shouting and frustration and confusion and just a whole load of shit in general.

I arrive at Error having recently had a couple of posts removed by Facebook having been flagged by their bots as ‘spam’ due to my attempts to artificially gain likes by tagging people. Those people specifically being the Aural Aggravation page, the band, and their PR and / or label. Somehow, this is spammier than sponsored links to shit I have no interest in that repeatedly crop up every time I return to the site and spammier than the relentless porn links and so on posted in groups. And so I arrive at Errors frustrated, antagonised, feeling that systems are against me, and feeling – in some way – persecuted, as if this is some deliberate obstruction to my efforts to promote obscure music. Music like this.

‘Is this music the result of a degaussing error? Or is it a long gone and forgotten tape shaped and distorted by time and a chewing cassette deck, still here for us to experience……’ This is the way the release is famed on Bandcamp. And I find that Errors isn’t as messed up as all that. It’s not exactly easy listening, but…

The first track, ‘slip ‘n’ slide’ is a fairly standard work of glitchy minimal electronica: a bit dark, a bit stark, bit trip-hop. ‘abrupt morning’ hums and crackles, and something about the production renders everything muffled, distant, in the way The Cure’s Seventeen Seconds feels simultaneously claustrophobic and distant. It is not a comfortable sensation. It is a work of sonic wizardry, to create a sound which stands at such polarity.

‘mellow dream’ is a more conventional ambient work, a buffeting sonic cloud carried by the wind, although there are some less mellow moments where darkness enters the equation and unsettling undercurrents rumble disquietingly.

‘ignite interlude’ goes all-out on deep bass hip-hop, but sounds like listening to a Wu-Tang side-project from the pavement as it plays from a car pulled up at traffic lights with the windows up, before ‘c’mon intro’ hits a slamming industrial dance seam – but again, it sounds as if it’s bleeding through the wall from next door. The album takes a solid turn towards the dancefloor in its second half, although the insistently percussive ‘bits and pieces’ is more reminiscent of Throbbing Gristle. ‘generative form’ feels like something of a collapse into a formlessness defined only by a looping repetition, emanating a kind of fatigue that paves the way for the suffocating collage of loops and electronica of ‘lambs’ – where they sound as if they’re being tortured and strangled. It’s a scrambled melange of sounds collaged from wherever, which brings the album to a suitably dark and unsettling conclusion.

I’m not quite sure what I’ve heard here, or whether I like it or not, but that, I feel, is the desired effect – and it’s certainly a desirable one.

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5th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Sometimes, I really do feel as if my brain is my enemy. Word association and wordplay are a particularly frequent and annoying curse. Oftentimes, I keep this to myself, but midway through listening to this, it struck me, completely at random, that Killzones isn’t a million miles away from Calzone, at least when written down. So why share this? A problem shared, and all that, for one. But as much as anything, I felt the urge to purge, or moreover to crack open the challenges that present themselves as part of the creative process. Writing – and finding something new and interesting to say – about music, day in, day out, is a challenge in itself, without other factors.

Seemingly, the recording of this EP proved rather less challenging for its makers, who came together and developed it swiftly and fluidly –although the same can’t be said for listening to it. That’s by no means a criticism. In a climate where the airwaves are jammed solid with anodyne sameness and slickly-produced beige sonic slop disguised as raw or edgy on account of some explicit content and some choice language that requires beeps or asterisks in the mainstream media, anything that does something different offers a welcome challenge in the way many pit themselves against the Great North Run or similar. We’ve grown accustomed to everything being delivered neatly-packaged and pre-digested, and feeling like following a recipe from Hello Fresh makes us a Michelin chef. Collectively, we’ve forgotten how to chew – meaning that this will either kick-start your metabolism or simply make you spew if you’re unaccustomed to anything that’s this high-fibre. Just look at that cover art. It’s dark, grainy, uncomfortable. It’s the perfect encapsulation of the music it accompanies.

Machine Mafia is quite the collaborative paring: Adam Stone of gritty northern grimsters Pound Land and Jase Kester of ever-evolving experimental noisemakers Omnibael / Omnibadger have come together to do something different. Very different.

As Jase explained to me, the EP features ‘no live instruments, leaning into the way dub reggae was so embraced by punk right in the early days.’ And there’s no question that it has both – simultaneously – the spaciousness of The Ruts (D.C) and the density of early PiL. It’s a formidable combination, that’s for sure.

The title track assembles sampled snippets as its foundation, drawing parallels with the collaging methods of Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle, evolved from William Burroughs and Brion Gysin’s late-50s tape experiments – in turn a progression from the cut-ups on paper. Atop of this slice ‘n’ splice selection of political speeches and an almost subsonic, floor-shaking bass, Stone delivers a mumbling, drawling semi-spoken spiel. It’s like Sleaford Mods on Ketamine, a heavy trudge of ever-degenerating sound which eventually collapses to a low-end buzz and a crisp sample that makes the pair’s political position clear through antithesis.

On ‘Faces’, scrapes of discord, distortion, and a thudding beat half-submerged in the mix grinds out the opening before a dark, dense bass groove starts a gut-shaking growl. The drawling, atonal vocals, too, are distorted and low in the mix, and I’m reminded of some of the more obscure Ministry offshoots witch Chris Connelly – the vibe is dingy, sleazy industrial, a bit early Pigface, and sounds like it was recorded in a damp mould-stained basement on a salvaged reel-to-reel.

The songs get slower and heavier – and longer – as the EP progresses. ‘I Am Not You’ comes on as if Dr Mix and The Remix had done dub, while ‘Lecture 0.3B’ goes all out on transforming a simple spoken-word piece into a cut-up tape experimental headfuck with loops and delays and effects galore, all laced with crackles of distortion and sonic degradation fuzzing and fading the edges. It lands somewhere between the JAMS, Max Headroom, and Throbbing Gristle’s ‘Hamburger Lady’ – weird, unsettling, dystopian, with near-familiar elements twisted and recontextualised in an ugly mash-up collage work.

Conceptually, Killzones is far from new – but then, there’s no claim to innovation here, explicitly drawing a line from the past. But the kind of reference points and influences in evidence here are not the ones you find often, if ever – independently, perhaps, but the whole point of intertextuality as a method of creating is the nexus of divergent touchstones and the way in which they’re combined. With Killzones, Machine Mafia deliver a crash course in experimental music 1976-1994. It’s a mangled, messy cognitive assault. It’s knowingly, and purposefully, difficult, unpleasant, and a complete creative success.

AA

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5th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

The trajectory of the career of The Virginmarys has been an unexpected one. Starting out as a classic punk-rock power trio, they seemed to really seemed to find their niche and hit their stride when paired back to a two-piece. If the duo configuration has grown in popularity in recent years, there have equally been duos expanding their lineups.

For many acts, the cost of touring has rendered the minimal setup a necessity, but for many, it’s proved beneficial in other ways, too, compelling artists to really focus on their compositions. There is absolutely no space for a weak link or any slacking in a two-piece: there is simply nowhere to hide, and no space for skulking low in the mix adding the odd but of layering or texture.

To compensate for the lack of additional members, the strongest two-piece acts play louder, harder, determined to fill the space, and both players need to bring one hundred percent and combine to deliver something more than the sum of the parts.

The Virginmarys may not look or sound like an obvious choice of support act for The Sisters of Mercy, but The Sisters have a long history of selecting interesting and contracting tour buddies, from Public Enemy for an aborted US tour, to I Like Trains and Cubanate via Oceansize and drum-machine-driven grunge act La Costa Rasa. But contrasts tend to work well: who needs a goth band ripping off The Sisters supporting The Sisters? Conceivably one of the most cringe supports I ever had the excruciating agony of witnessing was Broken Bone, spectacularly wanky and 100% cliché industrial noise duo supporting Whitehouse. So. The Viringmarys aren’t goth and aren’t about to swerve that way, either, but no doubt they’ll have made some new fans along the way on their recent travels, and deservedly so. And those fans – and the older ones – won’t be disappointed by this new single offering.

‘Northwest Coast’ is the first single from their first album since becoming a two-piece, and it captures force of The Macclesfield power duo’s live performances, bringing a crunching riff and spadefuls of northern grit – without being dour and po-faced about chips and beans and tea, with cans of Boddingtons featuring in the video. Yep, for all of their travels, they’ve not lost sight of where they’ve come from, and this is certainly not a case of a band spending a week in the US and coming back singing in American accents. If anything, there’s an overt pride in their geographical roots, and they’re keeping it real. And it all works: it’s authentically and unapologetically rock ‘n’ roll, it’s got some swagger but arrives without any sense of superiority or arrogance. And it’s a proper, solid, stomping rock tune that kicks arse.

AA

The Virginmarys Band image

à La Carte Records – 23rd June 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Perfection is a thing so rare it’s practically mythological. And yet LA post-punk act appear to have achieved it with ‘Never Say Forever’. While reprints of their bio abound, evidence of a back catalogue or previous work is impossible to locate, so it does appear that this is their debut single, which makes it all the more remarkable.

‘Never Say Forever’ is pure vintage in every respect – stylistically, it captures the essence of 1981-85, and I have no shame in saying that I’m an absolute sucker for that era which saw post-punk give birth to goth and dark pop. Sonically, too, they’ve got it down. There’s a certain sound, something that comes not only from the production but from the equipment of the time. Technology was advancing apace – it was around this time that drum machines and synths became widely available – and while the last forty years have seen substantial further developments, I can’t help but feel that something has been lost. That crystal-clear digital fidelity we’ve become accustomed to lacks something, a certain soul, perhaps, but also the sonic haze that defined the sound of the early 80s was absolutely integral to the music itself, and while many contemporary acts have tried to emulate it, they’ve simply fallen short. Not so Mirror of Venus: ‘Never Say Forever’ sounds completely authentic, to the point that it sounds like an archive recording. How have they done it? I don’t know. Time travel, perhaps.

Promo and visuals have increasingly become key to success. People of a certain age, in particular – that would often be people my age (and above) – bemoan the advent of style over substance and how it’s all snazzy videos and shit now, while conveniently forgetting that this came to pass in the 80s. But of course, the difference between major-label 80s and independent acts 80s was immense, and this was perhaps the time when capitalism and money really changed the shape of things: the majors would chuck megabucks at the big acts, which led to the slickness and ubiquity of the like of Duran Duran (who I do happen to like) and the low-budget values of all of the bands who weren’t signed to the likes of EMI. The video which accompanies ‘Never Say Forever’ captures the vibe of the era, and how we view them now, also: once affecting slick but now looking faded, it’s a perfect recreation of the VHS era, the pre-digital age. And yes, when I say a ‘perfect’ recreation, I really do mean it.

Everything about ‘Never Say Forever’ feels like it’s been cracked out of a time capsule. But none of this counts for anything if the material isn’t up to scratch, and that’s where ‘Never Say Forever’ really shines. It’s crisp, it’s catchy, it’s moody, broody, hooky, and nothing short of sheer shimmering magnificence. In other words, perfect.

Will they ever match this moment again? One would hope so – of course. It makes you crave more, so much more. But whatever the future holds, with ‘Never Say Forever’, Mirror of Venus have achieved more than almost any band ever does. Perfection.

AA

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The Helen Scarsdale Agency – 14th June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

For some time now, The Helen Scarsdale Agency has homed some quite challenging experimental noise and industrial-orientated releases. It seems somewhat incongruous, the name suggesting they’re a stuffy literary agency or something.

The notes which accompany this latest offering from Ekin Fil are instructive and informative, in terms of expectation and context, and as such, worth reproducing here:

‘The drone-pop consternations of Ekin Fil emerge through vaporous tone and forlorn, distant song, as if plucked from a dream. These exist on their own accord, moving with their own internal logic of an emotion heaviness that belies any the passing observation of this as mere shoegazing ambience. Her songs, her compositions find themselves adjacent the fragmented etherealization of Elisabeth Fraser’s voice from a forgotten scene of a particular David Lynch film, as a ASMR trigger for Proustian recollection. Something profound. Something hidden. Something desolately sad.’

Do I want to feel something sad? This is a question I asked myself in all seriousness. Everyone has felt deep, desolate, profound sadness at some point, to varying depths and degrees, and while wading through the mires of a recent bereavement I find I can be set off easily and unexpectedly. But sadness is necessary, and is sometimes something to be embraced. To embrace sadness is not the same as to wallow, and to face sadness squarely is to accept its presence, and perhaps begin to make peace with it. And only in making peace with it is it possible to begin to move on.

The album’s first piece, ‘Sonuna Kadar’ is a billowing cloud of thick ambience, suffocating, disorientating. Occasional chimes do little to light the way, and the vocals drift, lost, lonely through this tentative space. Things grow darker still with ‘Stone Cold’: long noes echo out like sirens, and soft, fizzy-edged notes ripple before being absorbed by cruising waves of thick, heavy sound. The organ is almost without question the heaviest of sounds, a droning, wheezing sound that has the capacity to be uplifting, but, more often than not, is slow a d mouthful. It’s a synthesized organ drone with slowly throbs away on ‘Reflection’, too lugubrious, soporific effect.

Vocals echo as if reverberating in caverns, cathedrals, while the instrumentation is abstract, its direction unfathomable. ‘Sleepwalkers (Version 2)’ is heavy with atmosphere, and the experience is haunting.

The absence of percussion or structure renders these pieces formless, rootless, shapeless, and consequently they hang like heavy cloaks which drag the head down to the ground, and, staring at your feet you contemplate the weight of the world.

Sleepwalkers is one of those albums which seems to build in effect cumulatively over its duration, and wile it’s not overtly heavy with, say, distortion or volume, it brings a weight that drags you down, and the final composition, the ten-minute ‘Gone Gone’ pulls the shoulders down.

Listening to Sleepwalkers doesn’t fill me with sadness, as much as a sense of unease. It does unquestionably bring a sense of weight, but on listening I feel a sense of uneasiness and uncertainty more than anything. But music presents much of what you pitch in and bring to it. With Sleepwalkers, Ekin Fill presents music with open doors. What will you bring?

AA

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Roulette Records – 19th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

“I fucking hate how lame we’ve all become” yells Peter Chisholm by way of a hook which is almost guaranteed not to get this single mainstream radio airplay – as if it was ever likely in the first place. But the best music rarely on mainstream radio anyway. Nirvana, Therapy?, RATM breaking the singles charts at a certain point in the early 90s was a revolutionary moment in cultural terms, but ultimately, it was but a brief incursion which represented a mere moment in time, and whatever you may read about grunge taking over the world and breaking down walls, you’d never catch Tad or Mudhoney or Nymphs on the airwaves. This is not how the world works, and you’re never going to hear LiVES on R1 – especially not now.

Much as I loathed that sycophantic blowhard Zane Lowe, his show was pretty much the last bastion of alternative on mainstream radio, and while we do still – fortunately, and for now – have 6Music, it’s not the same, and 6Music really isn’t what it was, either. It’s not simply me being a miserable, nostalgic old sod: we’ve lost something, culturally, and that’s a fact.

But I digress – but not without justification. Because LiVES deserve to be heard, far and wide. ‘Cancelled’ is no right-wing supporting rant or moan about being cancelled. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. So you won’t find LiVES bleating about how right-on acts stole their slots or how being edgy has deprived them of a platform, in the way the likes of Ricky Gervais and John Cleese do, completely, and bewilderingly, without irony.

Chisholm states: “‘Cancelled’ is about my feeling of disenfranchisement of online and political society, my total despondence and hatred of the right AND the left… far right and postmodernism attitudes. They claim to be decent whilst being indecent, tolerant whilst being intolerant… always outraged, self righteous, aggressive, violent…they are swimming in hypocrisy and can’t see it. Meanwhile the real elite destroy the world around us, seemingly unnoticed whilst we fight amongst ourselves. I hate them all!!”

The frankly dismal turnout at this week’s election in the UK is a signifier of massive disinterest in politics as a whole, and Chisholm’s loathing of both sides is commonplace. ‘They’re all as bad as each other’, people moan. It doesn’t help that it’s become increasingly difficult to differentiate between the two, especially where the main parties are concerned. But cause for concern is not that Reform bagged five seats in parliament, but the fact they scored 14% of the vote, evidencing a massive surge in right-wing sentiment in the country.

‘Our final hour is a shitshow shower’ he spits as he calls out the calls out hypocrisy over a monster churning riff as cartoon images of Trump, Johnson, and Farage drift in and out of shape in the accompanying video. And if ‘Cancelled’ is the 2024 howl of disaffected nihilism that marks parallels with 1994, then it should also be seen as an awakening, a call a neglected generation to come together with a single voice and call for something better. And ‘Cancelled’ is nihilistic, and it’s angry. The guitars buzz and grind, and the rhythm section is monster-weighty and it’s the perfect backdrop to a snarling dissection of the world as is and just how hard it is to navigate. I’m drowning…. I’m drowing…’

It’s hard to argue that the right have surged forward, or that they’re a bunch of cunts, and it’s hard to ignore that the left have made a significant shift to the right. It’s also hard to deny, for anyone with ears, that this is a big gutsy riff-driven tune. Dig it.

AA

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Regenerative Productions – 7th June 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

The last couple of years – and 2024 in particular – has seen a huge upturn in acta reconvening after lengthy breaks. Anticipation for the Autumn drop of the first album from the Jesus Lizard in over two decades is immense, but then only this week I wrote – extremely favourably – on the new album by The March Violets, released eleven years on from its predecessor, and From Fire I Save The Flame by Three Second Kiss – twelve years down the line from their last album. They all have their reasons for pausing, and for the timing being now, but as much as its perhaps coincidental, it makes for exciting times for fans who had little to no expectation of ever hearing new material. And what’s more, and perhaps most remarkable, is that these albums have been proving to be GOOD – not some damp squib, reheated soufflé reunions which sully their catalogues and make you wish they hadn’t bothered (in the way Bauhaus’ Go Away White was such a monumental let-down).

And so here we have Norwegian death-metal outfit Okular with their first full-length release in eleven years since their 2013 second album Sexforce.

I will confess to being unfamiliar with their previous work, which means I’m unqualified to comment on how the aptly-titled Regenerate stands in comparison. But I do feel able to consider Regenerate on its own merits.

Blasting in with ‘Back to Myself and Beyond’ the sound is dirty, murky, dingy as fuck, snarling, gnarled vocals spewing venom and gargled gasoline over churning guitars, from which emerge the occasional squealy note before flicking into a quickly-woven blanket or fretwork wizardry. Underneath it all, the bass and drums thump and thud away at a hundred miles an hour, muffled, muddy, and manic.

The two-and-a-half-minute title track follows this five-minute titan, and it’s a fast-and-furious fretfest, on which the vocals switch between menacing growl, strangled rasp, and raw deep-throated demonic howl.

All of the requisite tropes are in place: a hefty percussive barrage and super-fast fingerwork provide the backdrop to ugly, bowels-of-hell vocals, with some rapid drops and sudden breakdowns, and when it comes to genres, missing these elements is case for disappointment. That said, there is still scope for invention, and ‘A New Path’ brings what its title proffers, opening with a soft acoustic almost country-tinged grunge intro, before doom-laden power chords crash in, an unstoppable chuggernaut – and the two elements play off one another to forge a really interesting dynamic.

The album’s shortest track, ‘Debauchery’ surprises again, with another almost folky acoustic flavour to start, before simmering up to a boil to deliver what it promises in the shape of some spectacular soloing, preceding the album’s longest track, the six-and-a-half-minute epic what is ‘Another Dimension of Mind’. It’s a delicate, lilting, layered acoustic segment – which is really quite technical and borders on a blend of folk and neoclassical – which plays out on the album’s closer, ‘Elevate’, and it’s really quite nice. Of course, everything blasts in at double the standard intensity for the final minute, and it’s positively incendiary, a ground-scorching flame-thrower assault that hits like a tsunami before an abrupt and unexpected end.

Regenerate is a smart album. By its nature, technical prowess and musicianship is portrayed almost extravagantly, but, as is the law, it’s contrasted with the dirtiest, hardest, fastest riffs. But Regenerate offers so much more – more texture, more stylistic diversity, more range, a really ambitious approach to songwriting that goes beyond the confines of genre.

AA

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