Posts Tagged ‘Album Review’

Disjecta Membra – Pearls Before Swine

Posted: 10 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Goths are the most knit-picking pedants and harshest critics of their favourite bands of any genre’s fans I know. Actually, that’s not quite true: fans of The Sisters of Mercy are the worst knit-picking pedants and harshest critics of their favourite bands. I preface this review with this observation as a Sisters fan first and foremost, and contestably as a goth second.

Y’see, most of the bands which emerged after that initial post-punk crop which included The Sisters, Siouxsie, The Cure, Bauhaus – disparate bands who have little in common sonically and stylistically beyond reverb, dyed hair, and studded belts – and sure, The March Violets, The Danse Society, UK Decay, and a handful of others, were toss. By the time ‘goth’ was formalised as a ‘genre’ it had gone to shit, mostly with every other band ripping off the guitar and bass for ‘Walk Away’ and diluting it to a pissweak rehash, and all too often with ghastly theatrical booming vocals. And they all started wearing waistcoats and frilly cuffs and appropriating ‘gothic’ imagery to boot. That was circa 86, by which time – that’s which time, not witch time – The Sisters and The Cure and Siouxsie had very much evolved, so we can probably as much blame The Mission for the start of the rather more naff second wave. By the 90s, derivative cack like Every New Dead Ghost was crawling out of the woodwork, amplifying the cliches on top of simply being laughably bad.

It so happens that Disjecta Membra have been going 30 years, emerging from that early 90s milieu of corny goth revivalism – presumably pining for 1985 and sobbing into their baggy sleeves when The Sisters went cock-rock with Vision Thing. This release is a career-spanning retrospective, which they’re giving away free on their Bandcamp. And this is the first I’ve heard of them.

I kinda wish it had stayed that way. It starts off with the single version of ‘Whakataurangi Ake’, which features Rob Thorne, and it’s a preposterous, pretentious semi-ambient new-age effort with over-the-top dramatic vocals. I mean, fair enough in that it draws on their New Zealand heritage, but it’s pretty obvious and cheesy as. And it’s all downhill from there.

‘Lilitu’ might actually be quite exciting if X-Mal Deutschland had never existed. But as it is, it might as well be a cover of ‘In Der Nacht.’ Talking of covers, there are a few here. And again, after The Sisters broke the ground of taking songs that didn’t obviously sit with the style – like ‘Jolene’, and disco faves ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’, and Hot Chocolate’s ‘Emma’ and made it their schtick, every other goth band thereafter just had to toss in some quirky covers… and lo, we get a take on Boney M’s ‘Rasputin’ and covers of other goth bands, because they obviously add so much more. ‘Rasputin’ sounds like you’d imagine, of course: drum machine with a head-splitting snare and spindly guitars. It’s cack, but the worst thing is that it doesn’t really bring anything new and doesn’t even sound like it’s done vaguely ironically, meaning it’s neither cool nor funny.

And while we’re in the realms of cliche, what’s the obsession with marionettes in contemporary goth? ‘Antoinette Marionette’ is as obvious as it is lame as wordplay goes., and with its crashing snare and chilly synths and spindly guitars, the best that can be said for it is that it’s uptempo. I did kinda wish that ‘Skin Trade’ was a Duran Duran cover instead of the po-faced and predictable goth-by-numbers that it actually is.

Apparently, ‘Madeline! Madeline!’ and ‘Death by Discotheque’ are both good enough to warrant two versions on a thirteen-track compilation. They aren’t, and it suggests a lack of material of a quality to fill a single album over the course of thirty years. The latter, especially is a derivative disappointment, a stab at rambunctious goth-country in the vein of Fields of the Nephilim while attempting to create their own take on Suspiria’s ‘Allegedly, Dancefloor Tragedy’- one of the few decent songs to come out of the early 90s revival. This isn’t a patch on it, and just seems to think it’s amusing bashing cybergoths. I mean, they have a point, in that cybergoth was a ridiculous thing, but of all the audiences to alienate in their position.

The last track, ‘Walking in Light’ is quite interesting, marking a shift in tone towards droning guitar ambience, at least initially, but then it descends into a glam-infused rock stomp which turns out to be a cover anyway.

30 years, and this is the best they’ve got.

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Torpedoes – Heaven’s Light Our Guide

Posted: 7 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Bin Liner records – 5th July 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

The band hailed by Louder Than War as ‘probably the Last Great Gothic Rock Band’ – Portsmouth based post-punk/goth band Torpedoes – return with their fourth album, Heaven’s Light Our Guide, six years after their previous outing, Black Museum (2018). To compensate for the time away, they’ve made it a twenty-track beast of a double-album, and when coupled with something of a transition in their sound towards something rather more keyboard-driven, it’s almost certainly their most ambitious release to date.

The album’s themes are pretty bleak, but no-one’s here for a party goth album, right? The press release is worth quoting for context: ‘Principal songwriter Ray (Razor) Fagan (Ex Red Letter Day) gives his take on the world we must all inhabit whether we like it or not. Lyrically the album focuses on largely dark themes from the destruction of the planet & corruption to bereavement and historic tragedies. Including a song inspired by a mass suicide in the town of Demmin, north of Berlin in May 1945. Over a thousand of Dremmin’s inhabitants, mostly women and children elected to commit suicide rather than face the advancing Russian troops….’

Hopefully, this sets the context, rather than torpedoing the mood – pun intended, of course.

Heaven’s Light Our Guide is by no means a concept album, or a work which focuses specifically on any one tone or theme, which would be difficult to sustain and likely difficult to listen to over such a duration: instead, the album is in many ways a pick ‘n’ mix from the smorgasbord of goth, in the way that The Cure’s Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me offers contrasting elements of light and dark. These contrasts do make for a work that feels like it pulls in different directions at times – not nearly as schizophrenic as Kiss Me, but certainly the product of a band on a voyage of discovery.

‘Somekindaheaven’ kicks things off with a quintessentially gothy bass groove, that foot-to-the-floor, four-four thudding bass, and while it’s draped in cold synths, the guitars rip in just shy of a couple of minutes into its expansive six. There are some nagging gothy guitar breaks, too, and it presents balance between introspective and anthemic.

‘End of the World Party’ is far from a knees-up, but it’s a dreamy, wistful Curesque slice of jangling, indie which definitely sits at the poppier end of the goth spectrum. It’s fitting, inasmuch as it was The Cure who really broadened the spectrum of what is generally recognised as ‘goth’ – a term I really do struggle with despite principally identifying as such myself. Then, as many of the songs on here are more 90s grunge than goth, as ‘Idiot’ evidences perfectly.

‘Blue Sky (In the Rain)’ sits somewhere between Dinosaur Jr and REM, and in its execution ends up sounding not unlike later Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. None of this is a criticism: it’s a solid tune, and Heaven’s Light Our Guide has plenty of them.

There is a strong leaning towards that mid-late 80s alternative sound as showcased by the likes of The Rose of Avalanche and IRS-era Salvation. The fact that the latter toured extensively with The Alarm does give some indication of the more commercial sound which had evolved by this time, and hints at the tone of Heaven’s Light Our Guide. In the main, this is a highly accessible set of songs. But then they chuck in some really hefty darker-hued cuts along the way: ‘Made of Stone’ comes on like The Mission in their early years, but heavier and more fiery, and it’s by no means the only stomper in this vein here. The grungy ‘Your Democracy’ certainly brings the riffs on one of the album’s most blatantly political songs, which goes a bit Metallica, too.

The title track is different again, a sweeping post-rock instrumental sweep that really mellows things down, and it’s clear that Torpedoes really want to demonstrate their range and musical skills here. Takings its title from a novel by Dostoyevsky, ‘Notes from the Underground’ is another gritty slice of sociopolitical critique, which contrasts with the altogether folkier acoustic-based ‘Fear of Human Design’.

Despite its length, Heaven’s Light Our Guide manages to hold the attention: it’s varied and interesting enough to do so, but not so diverse as to feel unfocussed or messy. Perhaps an even greater feat is that it doesn’t feel like there are any filler tracks or any which it would have been beneficial to cut.

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Celer – Perfectly Beneath Us

Posted: 5 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Field Records – 24th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s funny to reflect on how things evolve, and how one evolves as an individual. Ten years ago, I was pretty underwhelmed on my first encounter with Celer, commenting on Zigzag that ‘aside from the occasional ripple and swell, there are no overt peaks or troughs, there is no drama. In fact, very little happens.’

Over time – a lot of time, in truth – I’ve come to appreciate that things happening aren’t always the maker of a quality album. And when it comes to more ambiently-inclined works, there’s not a lot that’s supposed to happen.

Released on 24th May, like every other album this year, Perfectly Beneath Us was originally released way back on CD in 2012, and now, 12 years on, it’s getting a well-deserved vinyl release, with four tracks spanning roughly thirty-four minutes occupying an album.

Each side contains a longform sonic expanse and a shorter piece, approximately three minutes in duration, and everything is segued to bring a connected flow the work. I’m not going to debate the pros and cons of the formats or how nigglesome some may be. If you buy the vinyl, you’ll need to turn it over after about a quarter of an hour. It’s exercise at least, and that’s a positive as this certainly isn’t ruining music.

Just as I complained that nothing much happens on Zigzag, nothing much happens on Perfectly Beneath Us, either, only now I’m not complaining.

Since the inception of Celer In 2005, initially as a collaborative project2005 between Will Long and Danielle Baquet, until the passing of Baquet in 2009, since when, as the Celer bio outlines, ‘Long opted to keep their project going, and Celer has continued to grow as an expansive exploration of purest ambient.’ Purest ambient is indeed a fair description of Perfectly Beneath Us, and to report that I found myself nodding off at my keyboard on more than one occasion while trying to pen my critique of the album is proof positive of a mission accomplished. It isn’t that Perfectly Beneath Us is dull, or boring – as I may have surmised many years ago – it’s just the very essence of ambience. It’s mellow, it’s background, it’s soporific, and it’s supposed to be.

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Beak> – >>>>

Posted: 5 June 2024 in Albums
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Invada Records – 28th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Well, this one landed out of the blue. A boon for fans, a shock to everyone, necessitating a reshuffle of review diaries for the likes of me.

It’s been six years since the last Beak> album. There are good reasons for this, as they explain: “After playing hundreds of gigs and festivals over the years we felt that touring had started to influence our writing to the point we weren’t sure who we were anymore. So we decided to go back to the origins of where we were at on our first album. With zero expectations and just playing together in a room.”

This is a remarkable slice of honesty about the effects of touring on the creative process, and band relationships. Most bands start at home – in some sense – with writing songs and the aspiration of touring those songs. But the dynamics change with success, and when touring relentlessly, time to write new material is squeezed. Over time, particularly with a pandemic interfering with, well, everything, many bands evolve their methods to operate over distance, and there’s always a risk that some of the dynamic is lost and stuff gets dialled in. It’s true that it’s now possible for bands to operate at distance, intercontinentally, even, but that’s not the Beak> way. They thrive on that instant interplay, the interaction, and without it, there’s simply no Beak>.

When they do come together they work fast. Single ‘Oh Know’ was ‘recorded on the only day the band could physically get together during the winter lockdown’ and released in October 2021. They really do make the most of their time, and their music – particularly this latest effort – froths with the urgency of pressured time. The urgency which has always permeated their music is banged up a couple of gears here, and as a result, >>>> is a frenzied explosion, with perhaps a desperate edge.

This being a Beak> album, it’s brimming with experimentalism, oddness, woozy psychedelia and persistent Krautrock pulsations, relentless beats. This being a Beak> album, it’s bloody great, and a lot of fun.

But that said, much of >>>> actually feels pretty bleak. Yes, Beak> turn bleak. It’s like a band having a blast while staring into the abyss, conscious that the end is near, but carrying on because at some point…

Of the album’s sudden and unexpected release, the band say in their statement, “At its core we always wanted it to be head music (music for the ‘heads’, not headphone music), listened to as an album, not as individual songs. This is why we are releasing this album with no singles or promo tracks.”

‘Oh Know’ isn’t included here, but the album does, however, include flipside ‘Ah Yeh’, and it does slot in nicely with its downtempo, lo-fi Pavement on sedatives vibe. It’s kinda loose, with rattling drums and drags out with a quivering organ drifting over a tense bassline, and it works something of a trance-inducing spell over the course of six minutes. You get the sense that however long and far part these guys are, they share a magical intuition, and whenever they do manage to get into a room together, creative sparks fly.

The band continues, “the recording and writing initially began in a house called Pen Y Bryn in Talsarnau, Wales in the fall out from the weirdness of the Covid days. Remote and with only ourselves and the view of Portmeirion in the distance we got to work.”

“With the opening track, ‘Strawberry Line’ (our tribute to our dear furry friend Alfie Barrow, who appears on the album’s cover) as the metronomic guide for the album, we then resumed recording, as before, at Invada studios in Bristol, whilst still touring around Europe and North/South America.”

‘Strawberry line’ makes for fairly a low-key opener, with a trilling organ and psychedelic reverby-drenched vocals rippling atop a bubbling bass before a shuffling beat enters the scene. But it stands as an eight-minute statement of intent, with that statement being that >>>> packs density to equal its melody. ‘The Seal’ delves into Krautrock, with a relentless groove centred around the rhythm section dominating. It grows dark. It grows tense. It’s sparse, minimal, but it persists, and four and a half minutes in, there’s a taut, jangling Joy Division guitar part.

Chilly synths and a robotic, rolling, repetitive bassline dominate the slow-melting ‘Denim’, a hazy psychedelic downer which delivers delayed gratification with the bursting of a monster riff. ‘Hungry Are We’ is delicate, reflective, post-rocky, with vocal harmonies which again allude to 60s pop and perhaps a bit of prog.

‘Bloody Miles’ marks a stylistic shift towards groovier territory, with a nagging bassline that borders on funk, but the tone remains doggedly downbeat, without getting depressing. With one foot firmly in the early 80s new wave sound, there’s no shortage of weirdness and warpy, brain-bending discord here, not least of all in the shadowy vintage-sounding electropop of ‘Secrets’, that brings together elements of Soft Cell and The Associates with the atmosphere and production of New Order’s Movement.

>>>> is often stark and claustrophobic (and nowhere more so on the eight-minute closer), and it’s always intense and brilliant. Beak> have surpassed themselves – again.

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DRAAGS – HEADLINES

Posted: 2 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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LAAG Recordings – 10th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Over the last couple of decades, Leeds has thrown out some truly amazing acts, and while few have achieved the kind of commercial success of Kaiser Chiefs, in terms of creativity and sheer range, it’s come to stand in a league of its own. It was round about twenty years ago that The Brudenell began to build its reputation as being s place that provided a space for non-mainstream acts, notably becoming something of a residential spot for iLiKETRAiNS in their early days, hosting their Signal Failure nights. While I saw a lot of post rock there around this time, I also got to see the likes of That Fucking Tank, Pulled Apart By Horses, Blacklisters, as well as visiting acts which included Whitehouse and Unsane. The Brudenell may have expanded in terms of what it offers now, but it remains in many ways the essence of the Leeds scene, an open and accommodating space where pretty much anything goes, with emerging local acts still getting a platform and, significantly, high-profile support slots. And then that are – and have been – an array of smaller independent venues which have all been integral to the crazed melting pot which is the Leeds scene, from Wharf Chambers, to the Packhorse, via Chink and Mabgate Bleach.

From the quirky alternative noise of Thank to the banging rave mania of Straight Girl, Leeds in 2024 really does provide a broad span of representation, in every way. And if further evidence is needed, step forward queer-dance-punk five-piece DRAAGS, who offer up their debut album on their own DIY label, LAAG Recordings.

Their bio and album pitch set out their stall nearly, as they recount how the album was ‘Made in their home over 2023’, where ‘the five-piece explored themes of escapism, queerness, rebellion, anti-capitalism, -police and -mass-media, creating melodies and lyrics to reflect their feelings at the time. No one song sounds the same, just as no member of DRAAGS is the same.’

They go on to explain how ‘In Headlines we are grappling with the alienating nature of post-internet capitalist society, fuelled by a will to understand our surroundings and not succumb to normality and drudgery. The album is an unraveling of self-purpose, self-destruction and escapism vs reality in a world that distorts the truth and seeks exponential growth through false ambition. The work as a whole intends to reflect the overstimulating impact that a possessive individualist society has on the human psyche. How this obstructs our ability to connect and the challenges we face to not degrade our beings to reflect our bleak surroundings. This project has been a driving force for us to rebel, find togetherness, community, collective joy and purpose and we hope others feel that too.’

Headlines is a deranged mash-up of absolutely everything. ‘SPINNER’ is exemplary: starting with a recording of a standard call-queue experience – we all know that that the reason all the agent are busy and an agent will be with us shortly – or not – is because no company ever hires enough staff because paying staff to provide any real service eats into their profligate profits… and then everything goes crackers, a head-on collision between Age of Chance and iForwardRussia!, in turn continuing the lineage of Leeds bands who dare to be different. Then it goes a bit operatic, a bit Sparks, a bit drum ‘n’ bass, a bit Foetus, a but Mr Bungle, a bit Selfish Cunt. To say that it’s a crazed and bewildering three-and-a-half minutes would be an understatement.

Every single song on here is ABSOLUTELY WILD! It’s quite difficult to pay attention to the lyrics when there’s so much going on. It’s arch, it’s arty, it’s a bit campy, it’s WAY over the top. It’s a RACKET! And as the song titles evidence, THEY LOVE CAPITALS, because SHOUTING AND IN YOUR FACE IS THE THING! I don’t even mean that critically: this is an album that feels like a relentless blizzard of barminess, and everything is just brain-melting. ‘PAPERS’ is a full-on, brain-melting slice of jazz-flavoured derangement, and there isn’t a moment’s let-up here, with helium-filled freneticism leading a cacophonous carnival of dementiture.

Twisted jazz and grinding funk coalesce, or congeal, into a maniacal mess, and sometimes, it gets noisy, too. How do you possibly keep up with this, or stay sane? Maybe you don’t. HEADLINES isn’t really a SONGS album, so much as an EXPLOSION that leaves you shaking our head to get clear as you find yourself sitting dazed, utterly floored.

There is no sane or objective response to this album. There is no easy way to process it: there is simply too much.

DRAAGS are going all out here to push and test themselves and their potential audience. Surrender to the CRAZINESS.

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Thou – Umbilical

Posted: 1 June 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Sacred Bones – 31st May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

‘This record is for the radicals, the crackpots, the exiles who have escaped the wasteland of capitulation. This record is for the militants and zealots refusing to surrender to comforts, to practicalities, to thirty pieces of silver. And this record is most especially for the weaklings and malingerers, burdened by capricious indulgence, hunched by the deep wounds of compromise, shuffling in limp approximation, desperately reaching back towards integrity and conviction.’

So Thou sell us their latest album, their first since Magus in 2018. And in this way they prepare us for a release which has no easy or comfortable positioning other than in the realms of outsiderdom. It was, of course, ever thus, their bio reminding us that ‘Thou transcends genre boundaries, drawing inspiration from a diverse array of influences spanning from ’90s proto-grunge icons like Nirvana, Alice in Chains, and Soundgarden (all of whom they’ve covered extensively) to the raw intensity of obscure ‘90s DIY hardcore punk found on labels like Ebullition, Vermiform, and Crimethinc.’

Coming into my mid-to-late teens in the early 90s, it’s hard to overstate the impact and importance of the advent of grunge, the breaking through of Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden (who I wasn’t personally a fan of, but even at the time recognised their merits); this was a new wave of music which really spoke for us at that time, articulating the rage and disaffection. Put simply, grunge was our punk.

Times have changed, but by no means for the better: now, there is even more reason to be incendiary with nihilistic rage. And with Umbilical, Thou give voice to that rage. To say that they articulate it would be a stretch: the lyrics are completely unintelligible, a guttural howl spat with venom from the very pits of hell.

The titles are reflective of our times: ‘Narcissist’s Prayer’; ‘Emotional Terrorist’, ‘I Return and Chained and Bound to You’, ‘Panic Stricken, I Flee’ – these are all summaries of varying traumas, of deep psychological challenges. We’ve seemingly got better about discussing these things, bringing trauma out into the open and breaking down the walls of taboo, and in the process it’s become apparent that nearly everyone has suffered some trauma, but worse than that, the sheer extent to which Narcissism and abuse is rife is now beginning to emerge.

The guitars on ‘Lonely Vigil’; billow in blasts of nuclear detonation, the sound of sheer annihilation as the overloading wall of distortion decimates all before it. And then things step up even further with ‘House of Ideas’. Wails of feedback trace desolate trails amidst a landslide of the heaviest, most shredding deluge of sludge, and it feels like the idea that sits first and foremost is total destruction. Given the track record of major corporations and governments around the globe, this would seem a fair summary. Over the course of six-anfdf0three-quarter minutes, it scales heights of elevation paired with the deepest of trudging riffery.

‘I Feel Nothing When You Cry’, released as a single not so long ago, is the pinnacle of brutal nihilism, and ‘Unbidden Guest’, which follows immediately after plunges still deeper into the abyss. It’s a torturous experience that drags the listener to hell by the hair, and simply drops them there. ‘The Promise’ arrives as a surprise: a straight-up, no messing grunge metal stomper.

On Umbilical, Thou bring the riffs alright. By which I mean it’s fucking brutal. It’s not heavy: it’s hellish. It’s the sound of raw anguish, of unfiltered pain, and simultaneously an outpouring, a ceaseless spewing of untrammelled emotional tumult. There’s a purity to it which is powerful beyond words.

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Frédéric D. Oberland / Grégory Dargent / Tony Elieh / Wassim Halal – SHIR

Posted: 31 May 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Sub Rosa – 24th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Yet another 24 May release… It really does feel as if the world had conspired to release 75% of the years albums on this one day. So I’m still working my way through them. And this release from some known names is not what I was expecting. I can’t recall precisely what it was that I was expecting but certainly not anything as heavy or as percussion-led as this.

They describe SIHR as a ‘sonic manifesto by a post-anything quartet’, a work that offers up ‘new folklore for a devastated planet’. Within these words, there’s a sense of nihilism and gloom, but simultaneously an undercurrent of ‘fuck it’ and of quintessential avant-gardism, the principle ethos of creating anew only being possible from the destruction of that which came before. There’s a sense here that the destruction – the devastation of the planet – clearly isn’t something they’ve chosen, but in the face of apparent futility, they’ve come together to create, perhaps in the hope of a brave new world, or perhaps, more likely, something to be discovered among the ashes and the ruins of society and life as we know it.

The way in which they document their coming together and the creation of SIHR has all the hallmarks of the first stages of developing a mythology, which has the potential, in time, to grow its own legend: ‘The first sonic moves of this eclectic quartet, made in a bunker studio somewhere between Paris and Berlin, urgently took the form of a quest, that of a neo-folklore for troubled times, a music seeping with many kinds of atavism and experimenting in all directions. A fertile no-man’s-land where trance and contemplation, jazz and electronica, acoustics and electricity would merge in a stimulating mystical magma. From the possible emergence of a Babelian language to the shared desire to rediscover music as a ceremonial act, this encounter took place over three days of improvised sound bacchanalia, the phases of which were all recorded by Benoit Bel.’

The first track, ‘Oui-Ja’aa’ is a nine-minute colossus of a cut, drawing together elements of electronica and ‘world’ music with a dash of Krautrock and the sensibility of Suicide, with a throbbing rhythm melting into a hypnotic bubbling sonic cauldron. The tempo twists and seems to quicken as drones and jazz horns warp this way and that as if blown by the wind and everything builds to a frenzy before collapsing, exhausted in the dying moments.

While conjured in a bunker studio, SIHR sounds as if it was improvised around a fire in the middle of a desert while string out in an hallucinogenic haze. I suppose in some respects, the two scenarios bear numerous similarities in terms of their psychological effects: while one setting is a vast expanse of space with a huge sky vista and a distinct absence of other people, so the other, equally devoid of other people, forces the contemplation of the infinite realms of inner space.

‘YouGotALight’ is slow, smoking, soporific, a crawling, sprawling, mellowed-out meditation, before the glitchy whorl of bleeps and jitters that define the sound of ‘OhmShlag (Quake Tango)’ sees things take a very different trajectory at the album’s midpoint. A pulsating, seething miasma of sonic swampiness, punctuated with a metallic tin clatter of a snare that cuts through the murk, it’s like slowly sinking, not only in boggy terrain, but in a mental fog.

‘Babel Cedex’ eliminates the fog and just goes for the mental, beginning as another slow, serpentine, hypnotic exploration before building to a deranged frenzy of frenetic percussion and howling horns and chaotic discord that’s truly brain-melting. Eastern vibes and glitchtronica ripple through the woozy ‘Black Powder’, and you find yourself marvelling and utterly bewildered by the whole experience.

My earlier visions of desert campfires dissipate life vapourising mirages during the second half of the album, and I come to conclude that SIHR is indeed the sound of bunker life: one envisages the collective huddled in semi-darkness, hunched and half-crazed after months below ground in the wake of a global catastrophe, trying to keep it together in the hope of one day being able to return above ground. How will they know when it’s safe, when the coast is clear? Or is this a scenario akin to Philip K. Dick’s The Penultimate Truth?

We live in perilous times, and likely closer to the brink than any of us know or can even compute. In this context, SIHR feels like a document, and a message to future times.

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Yannis Kyriakides – Hypnokaséta

Posted: 28 May 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Unsounds – 24th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

When it comes to being a music writer, for me, at least, perhaps even more of a buzz than getting advance listens of the most eagerly-anticipated releases is being exposed to music I otherwise wouldn’t have. And the nature of the avant-garde means that you have to be in the know to know. Being introduced to the Unsounds label and the work of Yannis Kyriakides certainly opened my eyes – and more so my ears – to a whole expanse of music I assumed must exist, but would have had no obvious means of locating or accessing while going about my ordinary life before.

Although I’ve only dipped in and out of Yannis Kyriakides’ output, more as one with a casual interest than a fan per se, his work has never ceased to impress with its range and constant questing for something different, something new, both sonically and methodologically and “Hypnokaséta (2020-2021) is no exception.

Kyriakides’ introductory notes explain both the concept and the practice behind the recording of the album: “Hypnokaséta (2020-2021) is a continuous set of 16 pieces for string quartet, improviser (playing cassettes and any instrument) and live electronics. The source material is based on dreams that I had during the first few months of lockdown, April-June 2020. Accounts of these dreams are encoded in the music that is played by the quartet and also encrypted in the sound textures that surround this.

“The pieces alternate between quartet as the foreground and electronic interludes, where solos or duos underpin the soundscape. The title of the piece (Greek for ‘sleep-cassette’) refers to a theory of dreams proposed by Daniel Dennett, that says that dreams are loaded into consciousness like a cassette tape during the night and played just before waking.”

It’s longtime collaborator Andy Moor who provides the guitar and tape work on these recordings, and together with Kyriakides’ electronics, which move between shuddering skitters and unsettling scratchiness and quite abstract sounds, when juxtaposed with the strings – which span playful to mournful to droning discord.

The sixteen pieces have been mastered as six separate tracks, but they flow as one immense composition in a continuous state of transition. Within each of the six numbered tracks, the individual segued pieces bear titles, with their time markers also noted. The titles present, if not strictly a narrative, then a guide to the theme, the idea, the inspiration.

‘Hypnokaséta I’ comprises ‘The government’s new cultural scheme’, ‘All roads to the airport are blocked’, and ‘Everyone is nervous, everyone is lost’, titles which serve to encapsulate the events and the sensations they engendered within the populace at the strangeness and uncertainty of lockdown.

‘Hypnokaséta III’ is a stunning work of contrasts, containing as it does the gentle, almost light-spirited string-led ‘The reluctant hotel manager’ and the dramatic, jarring ‘She lifts the mountain’, a dark, alien drone brimming with electronic tension that crackles and tweets. The rapid switches in mood and form recall the sudden and wild extremes I experienced myself during this time: it was impossible to keep up with the constant stream of developments in the news, while at the same time entrapped within the confines of the house, where the world outside felt so very far away, while also having to accommodate the changeable and diverse headspaces of friends, family, and colleagues. No-one knew what the fuck was going on, or how to cope.

There was an air of unreality about it all, and at times it became difficult to distinguish between the bewildering nightmarish reality of the wakeful hours and bewildering nightmarish sleep, and in drawing on dreams in the creation of Hypnokaséta (2020-2021), Kyriakides captures the essence of that abstract space forged in the mind where everything blurs. This blurring and abstraction is also reflected in the titles: ‘The concert promoter complains that not much happens in the piece’ sounds like something that could happen in one of those self-reflective semi-anxiety dreams, and ‘Bridges are being dismantled

across the city’ has an apocalyptic sense of separation, while ‘Body swap opera’, ‘Swimming pool synthesis’, and ‘Mutations on an empty grid’ are altogether more surreal in their connotations.

Throughout the album, the lister is jolted from a moment of tranquil reverie by some abrasive thud or rasp, an unexpected spike in volume, and a turn towards an altogether more disquieting atmosphere.

The composition is nuanced, the placing of the switches and transitions perfectly timed to achieve optimal impact, never allowing the listener to truly settle, to relax, to sit back and enjoy, and the moments of tension are indeed tense; but credit must also go to the performers: the strings are played with a keen awareness of the importance of both dynamics and detail, and Moor, in his capacity of ‘improviser’ brings texture and tone delivered with an infallible intuition. The album’s structures may be subtle, almost invisible, but they’re affecting, and as a whole, Hypnokaséta (2020-2021) is an experience which permeates the psyche in unexpected ways.

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Botanist – Paleobotany

Posted: 27 May 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Prophecy Productions – 17th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

While many progressive metal bands are preoccupied with space or fantasy realms or mythology in some form, with San Francisco’s Botanist, the clue’s in the same, and it’s an obsession with species of plant-life which have provided the lyrical focus over the course of eleven previous albums before Paleobotany, which, they say, ‘take[s] us back more than 70 million years to a time when dinosaurs ruled the planet and early forests began to turn to coal. Before the age of giants ended in flames with the apocalyptic impact of the Chicxulub asteroid, some families of plants that still have descendants today also grew much larger.’ Bet you didn’t know that, did you? But then, the title tells is, really: an album about the botany of the Palaeolithic era.

Sonically, Paleobotany is interesting, and is more progressive than it is overtly metal for the most part, perhaps on account of the less conventional instrumentation used by the band, as outlined in their bio, which details how ‘Their music clearly has its foundation anchored in ‘metal’, but instead of 6-string guitars the Americans use 110-string hammered dulcimers. To the confused horror of traditionalists, BOTANIST fit these percussion-stringed folk instruments with magnetic pickups and distort them through various perverse means that range from amplifiers via analogue tape to digital manipulation.’

Perverse seems to be the operative word here. It’s fair to say that this is a band unswayed by trends or popularity. The overall sound is an amalgam of folk and progressive, and it’s highly melodic, too – and not just in the instrumentation. For the most part, the vocals are clean, soaring, tuneful, apart from the occasional foray into growliness, and they sit comfortably atop sweeping layers of cinematic sound, of which ‘Sigillaria; is perfectly exemplary. The bass runs in the closing bars of ‘Archaeamphora’ are more jazz-influenced than anything, and there are some truly black moments, such as ‘Strychnos Electri’, the verses of which are propelled by double-pedal bass beats and a deep growling vocal – but then they’re off on a tuneful trip about ferns with a tuneful piano rolling along in balladic fashion. When they’re heavy, they hit hard in the guts, but much of the album is given to expansive fields of tunefulness.

Their eschewing of all the conventional tropes is admirable and offers and exciting prospect, and while the concept is novel it is quite remarkable that they’ve managed to eke it out this long. At times, it does feel a shade pretentious – it’s certainly a little serious and lofty, with some of the lyrics sounding more like excerpts from essays in journals. This is by no means to denigrate intellectualism in music or anywhere else for that matter. Musically it’s an incredibly complex and accomplished work. It’s just… maybe it’s just a niche I can’t quite connect with.

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Crushtrash & Nicholas Langley – Prosthetic Self

Posted: 27 May 2024 in Albums, Reviews
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Cruel Nature – 24th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

It seems as if every album of the year has been released on this date, May 24th – and by every album of the year, I mean all of the releases have landed at the same time, but also that this album and the other ‘best album’ contenders have all landed simultaneously, too. It’s meant that I’ve been absolutely swamped, and struggling to listen to everything, let alone formulate thoughts and render them coherent – something I fear I struggle with at the best of times.

Surveying this release, I learned that ‘Prosthetic Self is a collaboration between CRUSHTRASH & NICHOLAS LANGLEY that seamlessly blends the energy of early ‘80s dark industrial synth pop with the mesmerising allure of ’90s electronica. Drawing inspiration from iconic acts like Coil, The Associates, Depeche Mode, Björk, and Portishead, this album is a sonic journey that transcends time and genre boundaries.’

It does feel as if every electronic act with a dark leaning wants to be Depeche Mode, and every electro-based Industrial act is essentially wanting to be Pretty Hate Machine – era Nine Inch Nails – who in turn sounded a fair bit like Depeche Mode if truth be told. That’s no real criticism, as much as an observation of the extent to which those two acts broke ground and created new templates in the 80s. However, the industrial elements of Prosthetic Self hark back to a time before Nine Inch Nails, and presents a more experimental form.

The tile, Prosthetic Self Connotes a sense of falseness, the fake exterior we apply to ourselves in order to deal with people and society. Workplaces – particularly offices – tell us to ‘be ourselves’ at work, while at the same time telling us we need to leave our problems and personal baggage at the door, but at the same time seem incapable of dealing with non-conformity. Well, come on then: what do you want: individuals or clones? Prosthetic Self is an exploratory work which presents a multitude of facets, and it’s a fascinating journey which leads one to the question as to what is real and what is construct, artifice. The cloak, on the cover, with its empty hood feels like a representation, not necessarily for this collaborative project, but the album’s themes, searching for what lies beneath the prosthetic self: is there, indeed, anything at all? Then again, how much here is style, and how much is substance?

There’s certainly a lot of well-studied style on display. ‘Bring Some Change’ is dark but also soulful, and their referencing The Associates hints at the almost operatic stylings of the vocals at times, and against some stark backings prone to some unexpected sonic ruptures and moments of heightened tension and drama, I’m also reminded of Scott Walker.

‘Claustrophobia’ is appropriately-titled. ‘In my dream, something’s wrong, caving in…’ Crushtrash croons with hints of Dave Gahan in his delivery against a slow-moving murky throb. But there’s a really attacking percussive loop that knocks on the top of your skull which makes it tense rather than soothing, and before long, panicked breathing gasps in the darkness, and you’re drawn into the nightmare.

Elsewhere, glitching, knocking beats shuffle and click, and the production really brings these to life in a way that makes you clench your jaw and tense your shoulders. ‘Selective Memory’ has something of a collage structure about the way the sounds are brought together and overlaid, with sampled snippets woven in alongside the bubbling vintage synth sounds.

In places, the kind of retro vibes which permeated 90s trip-hop seep into the shadowy atmospherics, and ‘Subtle Fetish’ comes on like Marc Almond in collaboration with Tricky, spinning lascivious wordplay along the way.

Prosthetic Self creates a lot of atmosphere with minimal arrangements, and they work because of the close attention to detail, the multiple layers of percussion which pulse and snake through spartan synths, more often than not with a simple, repetitive bass overlaid with subtle details, in a fashion which adeptly recreates the sound of the early 80s. In doing so, it recalls a time when so much was new, innovative. Coming at a time when there is so much sameness, and production and mixing has come to be all about the loudness, to hear a set of songs which really concentrate on dynamics and detail, it seems unexpectedly different.

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