EMI North / Launchpad+ – 30th March 2026
Christopher Nosnibor
The 113 have done it again – only this time, more so. Like its predecessors, single ‘When I Leave’ is take from the forthcoming debut EP, The Hedonist, which is due to land on 17th April. And once again, it steps things up.
It follows the noisy path of debut, ‘Leach’, a vitriolic blast which powers in on a thick, thunderous overdriven bass, paired with an attack of heavy-hitting, cymbal-smashing percussion, slamming in with hard impact in the opening bars. Immediately, it’s the sound of a band that means business and arrives with a physical force. The vocals are straight in with a pumped-up spleen-venting tone of disaffection, and on this outing, the focus of their dissection and dissatisfaction with the conditions of contemporary living is lasered in on ‘the personal, exploring the gamified and repetitive nature of dating apps, where every interaction can seemingly begin to blur into the next’.
The accompanying notes expand on this, explaining how ‘the track captures that specific sense of cyclical monotony; scripted conversations, fleeting intimacy, and the almost inevitable feeling of disillusionment that can occur following the search for something real within systems designed with the purpose of endless scrolling: “Nice to meet you! Scratch the skin and we’re done, and hold the stench of a thousand pros playing for fun”.
Does anyone actually gain anything but grief and stress from dating apps? A few shit experiences, perhaps gathering a stalker or pest along the way, but really, how many find love – versus how many find nothing but the dregs of humanity?
It’s perhaps relevant to mention here that I met my (now late) wife online, in a music chatroom, at the turn of the millennium, before dating sites existed and before it was socially acceptable to meet people from online in real life. Her friends and parents were far from encouraging about her meeting me: back in 2000, the perception was that the Internet was full of weirdos, creeps, stalkers, and worse. Now… perhaps we’re more willing to take those gambles with the ever-expanding creep of isolation as a result of floating office hours, where people only see one another occasionally, the death of after-work drinks, and social media taking precedence over in-person interaction. How do you meet new people nowadays? Is this really what we’ve come to? It would seem the answer is yes….
And then, the guitar kicks in over that thick bass and pounding percussion, and it’s squalling and dissonant and then everything hits a laser focus to drive home a blistering chorus – their strongest yet – and POW! ‘When I Leave’ is two minutes and thirty-seven seconds of concentrated, distilled intensity.
AA
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Credit: Naomi Whitehead
Russell Haswell – Let it Go
Posted: 28 April 2026 in Albums, ReviewsTags: Album Review, Ambient, Consumer Electronics, critique, Dystopia, Editions Mego, electronica, Experimental, Let it Go, ominoius, Russell Haswell, social commentary, soundtrsck, Techno
Editions Mego – 1st May 2026
Christopher Nosnibor
With absolutely no referencing of that animated Disney movie, the textual contextualisation for Russell Haswell’s latest sonic assault echoes what I’ve been saying – and writing – for some time now. I feel a small sense of elation… but equally a certain tiredness. I’m 50. And while no doubt global history is essentially a tale of innovation and destruction in equal measure, the last quarter of a century has felt truly hellish, as if the exponential pace of progress has run in parallel with an ever-accelerating desire to wipe ourselves as a species from the face of the planet.
It has been twenty-five years since the seismic events of 2001—when twin towers collapsed under terrorist attack and Coventry’s sonic insurgent Russell Haswell launched his inaugural salvo on the original Mego label with Live Salvage 1997–2000. The intervening era has delivered unrelenting turbulence: protracted wars, institutional corruption, a global pandemic, the resurgence of fascist currents, rampant media distortion, and omnipresent surveillance. For Haswell, a lifelong admirer of 1970s and 1980s dystopian cinema, the verdict is unequivocal: “Science Fiction is now!”
It’s hard to argue that the moment in which we find ourselves has all the hallmarks of every dystopian fiction ever imagined rolled into one unimaginable fusion, and that we are inching closer by the second to the end of days.
Haswell has long used sound to articulate the horrors of the 21st century, both as a solo artist and in collaboration, notably bringing additional layers of abrasion to Consumer Electronics, and while the accompanying notes detail quite extensively the equipment used, the influences, and the creative aims of Let it Go, my focus here is more on what it actually sounds like and the listening experience.
The first few seconds of the first track, ‘Exit Downwards’ are innocuous enough: a drone, nondescript, smooth – but within seconds its rent with shuddering glitches, squelches, and discordant clanks, not to mention the stammering thud of a particularly sharp kick drum. And over the course of seven minutes, it pumps and pounds blasts and bleeps like a circuit in meltdown. It’s pretty tense stuff, and descents, tension, and anxiety are recurrent themes not only in the titles, but in the formations of the compositions themselves.
‘Fall 3’ and ‘Fall 2’ follow the theme of descent, and manifest as wibbly collage works, while ‘The anxieties of our time’ is fairly straightforward in its implications and manifests as a head-swimming, dizzying panic attack, a meltdown in musical form, the crackling industrial glitch monster that is ‘Stress Testing’ functions on numerous levels. As much as the phrase relates specifically to financial, economic, and societal systems, there is also the stress test as it relates to the effects of physical activity on the heart, and, by association, it feels like an implicit hint of the stress we as individuals find ourselves subject to on a daily basis: how far can we – individually, and collectively – be pushed under the late capitalist model? At this moment in time, it seems like we’re close to finding out. And through swooshing sweeps and rippling fractures in sonic fabrics which twist and flare, Russell Haswell renders an aural replication of the overwhelming experience of life right now.
In comparison to some of Haswell’s releases, Let it Go is not particularly noisy or abrasive, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less intense. Even the ambient hums of ‘Curated narrative’ bring a hovering tension which is difficult to step away from.
Christmas is a difficult time for many, and while there’s no indication of what inspired ‘Thu 25 Dec 2025’, it buzzes and throbs for a relentless six and three quarter minutes like an angry hornet, trapped in a greenhouse which is slowly collapsing in on itself. The final track, the thirteen-minute ‘There’s always a bit of light somewhere’ seems to offer a thin ray of hope in its title, but the fine metallic scrapes and glistening edges which intertwine ominously and with no discernible form are far from comforting, and you find yourself on edge, sensing darkness visible and encroaching from all sides. Yes, There’s always a bit of light somewhere, but that somewhere isn’t here.
Let it Go is varied, exploratorily, and an artistic success, but it’s by no means the easiest listen. And for that, I say ‘good’. Embrace the challenge.
AA