Posts Tagged ‘Experimental’

UK electronic outfit Scissorgun announce their album Scream If You Wanna Go Faster, out November 21 via Dimple Discs. Mixing urban electronica with fuzz and wah guitar, these trailblazers present a solid collection of songs, dances and abstract soundscapes. A must-have for Factory Records collectors, the vinyl includes seven tracks, while the digital and CD versions include three bonus tracks. Ahead of its release, they present the tracks ‘Gone Rogue’ and ‘Bad As Bingo’.

Formed in Manchester in August 2016, Scissorgun is an electronic trio comprised of Dave Clarkson (synths, rhythms, tapes, percussion), Alan Hempsall (vocals, treated guitar, samples, loops) and Adrian Ball (light show and projections). Carriers of Factory Records’ legacy.

“We always operate on instinct and improvisation is the key starting point. Some ideas become structured songs, but others remain as first recorded, with the music finding us and not vice versa. The title is a soft attempt at social comment, intended to be inferred rather than overt,” says Dave Clarkson.

Their musical scope is varied – pastoral dreams one minute and, the next, crashing swathes of noise chased down with a dub twist.

“The idea for ’Gone Rogue’ started with a busy electro bass line and, as soon as we found a good quote from a conspiracy theorist on social media, the whole thing seemed to turn into a polemic against turning your back on humanity in revulsion. We dwell on the impact of the fight for our attention on the individual and the damage done. All the while, the driving beat is pushing us on with heavy cowbells and pulsing bass. We’ll all feel better if we dance,” says Dave Clarkson.

Alan Hempsall adds, “As for ‘Bad as Bingo’, we were both overjoyed when this came out of the mincing machine. We’d been looking for something with a go-go beat to it, so this was perfect. The words flowed automatically as the best ones always do. Broad brush observations of a situation gone bad coupled with a mawkish sentimentality for what’s lost. The glitching and grinding bass line and barking dogs take on a life of their own. Suddenly it all makes sense and the initial spark revolts into structure and form.”

Alan and Dave first met in 2007 when Dave’s band, Triclops, were supporting Biting Tongues at Islington Mill in Salford. Alan was in the audience and was so taken with Triclops’s performance that he wandered over to show appreciation and a friendship was struck up, bonding over a mutual weakness for early industrial, rock and modern jazz. After nine years of gig-hopping and hanging out, the timing was suddenly right for them to organise some jam sessions to see what came out.

It so happens that both of their bands were on hiatus at the time. While Dave Clarkson was in Triclops from 2000 to 2015, he was in White Cube prior to that. He since boasts an extensive catalogue of solo works.

As for Alan Hempsall, he was the vocalist for Crispy Ambulance, who was on Factory Records from 1980 to 1982, before spending five years in the mid ‘80’s playing percussion in a Brazilian Samba band. Hempsall also famously appeared on stage with Joy Division in April 1980, standing in for Ian Curtis at a show in Bury that descended into a riot.

“As with any album, we operate on instinct. Improvisation is the key starting point. At this moment, anything can and generally does come out. The bizarre accidents and serendipity that occur during this process are the parts we keep. Those moments that feel like you’re merely the vessel that the music is transmitted through,” says Alan Hempsell.

Dave Clarkson adds, “Some ideas gradually emerge into structured songs whilst others have the fortitude to remain in their original form to some extent or another. Yet no conscious decision is made. We are not in control. It is the music that finds the musicians. As the body of work is growing and developing, it seems to take on its own identity, something else we appear to have little influence on. So, there is an element of Praxis at work here, we’ll do it because we want to and think up the reasons why later.”

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Kev Hopper recently released his fourteenth solo album, titled XiX. Having started out playing bass with Stump – a band who in just five years released two albums and a bunch of EPs, attaining a cult status and critical acclaim over commercial success – his career has been defined by quirkiness and eclecticism. This is nowhere more apparent than on XiX, which got a thumbs up from us here at Aural Aggravation. Since Stump called it a day in 1988, Hopper has been keeping busy, dividing his time between music-making, both solo and with a few notable collaborations, and painting. And because a new release inevitably brings the cycle of promo, John Wiesniewski hopped on board to chat with Kev about the new album, inspiration, and his various collaborations.

JW for AA: What was the experience like recording your new album, Kev?

KH: Pretty much like all the others in that I always have a lot of track doodles and sketches on my hard disk and it usually takes a month or two to arrange them properly and get them into shape with proper intros, verses and chorus etc. I have to stop painting while I do that and put in long days.

When did you begin playing music? Did you play music from an early age?

I started playing bass in bands around ’78 at the age of 18 or 19. I didn’t take it seriously till I was in my twenties. I didn’t grow up in a musical family and didn’t like music lessons at school but loved Pop from a young age and knew I wanted to get involved eventually.

What was it like being in Stump? What kind of music did you want to create in Stump?

It was crazy. Stump was a smart band of loud hotheads and big personalities. You couldn’t relax. There were a miss-mash of different influences in the band but the main prerogative were good lyrics, interesting rhythms and wobbly, funky lines. Bread and butter drumming and bass lines were out. Writing was a four-way collaboration and followed a typical pattern of starting with the bass, then the guitar, then the drums and finally the singing.

What inspires you to paint and compose music?

I don’t believe in ‘inspiration’ – that’s a flawed concept IMO. It just comes naturally – and I advise anyone who doesn’t feel ‘inspired’ to just put random notes or (paint marks) down… and the missing content will usually prompt structure.

I feel an urge to create something most days even if it turns into an unruly mess. If I don’t create I feel useless. I’ve had this feeling all my life. If I’m honest, I am slightly less motivated than I used to be – a natural and inevitable consequence of advancing years and other concerns filling my time, I guess. I also have to remind myself that not everyone will appreciate what I do, (or indeed value it). As an artist one has to learn to live with indifference and get used to it… especially with my kind of music.

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How did you come to collaborate with Ticklish and Prescott?

Ticklish was a merger of friends I knew from the experimental and free-improv scene in London and was a very electronic, improvisational, abstract collaboration which involved minimal preparation beforehand. We would identify ‘sound areas’ and have a rough idea of how we would transition through them in a live set. Prescott was totally different in that I wrote all the music then rehearsed it with the band. It was very influenced by the ‘Canterbury’ Prog sound and minimalism. There wasn’t much room for improvisation in that format.

6. Any favourite albums among the many that you played on?

I don’t have favourites as they’re all stages in musical development, however I can unfortunately identify the weaker recordings or the albums that didn’t hang together well. Fortunately there are not too many of them (IMO!)

How would you describe your music? Any favourite bands? Any artists who inspire you?

I’m often asked how I would describe my music and I wish I could say something like ‘blues’ or ‘Funk’ or ‘Indie Rock’ and have done with it. The truth is it’s a very personal, hybrid musical style where odd sounds meet melodic content. It has a strong electronic element and uses influences from the avant garde as well as Pop and Jazz. That’s where I see myself: somewhere in the exciting middle of those two things.

There are so many bands I like. Too many to list. Here are some things I’ve enjoyed lately:

Daniel Landois – Goodbye to Language
Ichiko Aoba – Windswept Adan
Cathal Coughlan -Rancho Tetrahedron

Oval – Romantiq

Arch Garrison – the bitter lay
Christobal Tapia De Veer – Utopia Soundtrack
Pino Palladino – That wasn’t a Dream

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Any future plans and projects, Kev?

I am writing songs for my old friend, singer, Kelsey Michael for an album next year and there’s a plan to re-issue my Kevlington bass album on vinyl also on Dimple Discs. My motto is ‘keep buggerin’ on’.

XiX is out now.

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Legendary Italian experimental trio Zu returns with Ferrum Sidereum (produced by Marc Urselli), a big and bold double album arriving on House of Mythology on the 9th January.

Ferrum Sidereum – Latin for ‘cosmic iron’ – draws inspiration from the mythological significance of meteoritic iron, found in artefacts like ancient Egyptian ritual objects, Tibenta  “Phurpa” blades, and the celestial sword of Archangel St Michael. This elemental force imbues every moment of the album’s apocalyptic sound. Whilst heavy in tone and subject matter, bassist Massimo Pupillo comments that their music also aims to "raise good energy… people would come up to us after the show and tell us that they felt alive."

The music combines the complexity of progressive rock, the grit of industrial music, the precision of metal, the spirit and energy of punk, and the freedom of jazz. The result is a sonic journey that is as cerebral as it is visceral, defying easy categorisation while remaining unmistakably Zu.

Today they share the track "Golgotha", about which Massimo says; “Once upon a time, the stars spoke to men, but now cosmic destiny brings a silence. Silence in which lies what men say to the stars. Man radiates atmospheres and is in continuity with the cosmos. These are atmospheres of colour and atmospheres of sound.  What we radiate is colour and sound. And the cosmos listens.  The return of what it incessantly gives to the earth.”

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The trio – Paolo Mongardi (drums, percussion), Luca T Mai (baritone saxophone, synth, keyboards) and Massimo Pupillo (electric bass, 12-string acoustic guitar) – spent a year refining this sprawling 80-minute epic through relentless rehearsals and live studio recordings in Bologna. Produced and mixed by three-time Grammy-winning engineer Marc Urselli, known for his work with Laurie Anderson, Lou Reed, and Mike Patton, the album balances raw intensity with refined production tweaks and textures.

“We are very spiritually-oriented people,” says Massimo. “Machines and AI do not have spirituality. So they can mimic and they can assemble existing things, but they cannot create. That spirit is probably the most important thing that our music carries.”

Set for release in January 2026, Ferrum Sidereum is Zu’s biggest and boldest statement yet that challenges all conventional boundaries. Uncompromising, innovative, fiercely original.

Zu

Photo credit: Marco Franzoni

It’s been two years since Deep Cross delivered Royal Water, and now they return with the enigmatically-titled Scaffolded Dawn.

As the accompanying notes outline, ‘Utilizing treated vocal drones, tape, modular synth and an array of found sounds, on the new album, Deep Cross delivers seven tracks of heavy Devotional Electronics. Blistering and crude yet ecstatic and sacred, Scaffolded Dawn focuses on transition points where tempers blur beyond ideas of convention. In each track discomfort, overcoming, decay, lure, attraction and beauty inhabit an axis of equal reign where multitudes thrive.’

As a taster for Scaffolded Dawn, they’ve landed a video for the track ‘Ranine Copper’. With hints of The Walking Dead, it’s suspenseful, disturbing, and very, very dark.

We love dark here at Aural Aggravation, so we are immensely proud to premiere this video. Brace yourselves.

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Coup Sur Coup – 17th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Few drummers receive much recognition, unless they’re the backbone of bands who are household names (people know Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, Dave Grohl, Mike Joyce, Lars Ulrich), or have otherwise featured prominently in a specific musical milieu (Martin Atkins and Paul Ferguson come to mind). Their contributions are overlooked and underappreciated, and in the main, there’s a tendency to only notice exceptional drummers, or poor ones. It’s not the job of a drummer to grab attention, but to hold everything together at the back. Consequently, you might be forgiven for being unfamiliar with William Covert, whose career is defined more than 15 years of drumming in math rock, post-rock, and post-hardcore bands (Space Blood, Droughts, and Rust Ring).

As the narrative goes, ‘Covert began experimenting with live-looped synths alongside acoustic and electronic drums. This experimentation birthed two full-length solo albums characterized by post-rock and krautrock-inspired synth loops and melodies, all performed solo with loop pedals and sequencers.’ Dream Vessel was born out of a desire to pursue a different approach and a different direction, and indeed, the first part of this latest offering was a collaborative, group effort, with Nate Schenck on bass and Jack McKevitt on guitar, while we learn that ‘the other half was performed entirely solo, diving deep into cinematic ambient soundscapes, dreamy Frippertronic-influenced guitars, modular synth, and free-jazz drumming filtered through a post-industrial lens.’ Nothing if not varied, then.

The album’s five tracks span thirty-eight minutes, and it’s very much an exploratory experience. ‘Brotherhood of Sleep’ eases the listener in gently, with a slow, strolling bass and reverby guitars. It’s an expansive and spacious instrumental work, rich in texture and atmosphere – a shade proggy, a little bit jazzy, unfurling at a sedate pace. ‘Trancers’ fades in, and offers similar vibes, but it’s both more spacious, and more groove-led. The guitars bend and echo that bit further, and as the track progresses, so the pace and urgency build, along with the density of the guitars, which warp and stretch more with every bar. It may not hit the extremity of My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless, but the guitars do sound as if they’re melting by the midpoint, before the track locks into a muscular, driving groove that’s a world away from where it began. There’s an appeal that’s not easy to pin down when it comes to compositions which begin in one place and end up entirely in another, while it’s not entirely clear how they’ve transported the listener from A to B. The experience isn’t completely unlike making an absent-minded walk somewhere, when you haven’t been paying attention, and arrive with minimal recollection of the journey- although the difference is that the walk is usually via a familiar route that requires little to no concentration or engagement, whereas a song that swerves and switches involves an element of brain-scrambling along the way.

‘Dream Void’ is a centrepiece in every way: The third track, right in the middle, it’s over nine minutes in duration and a towering monolith of abstract drone. It’s immense, cinematic, widescreen, gentle. Around the mid-point, the drums arrive, and they’re busy, but backed off in the mix, and we’re led down a path to a place where frenetic percussion contrasts with chords which hover and hum for an eternity. Slow-picked guitar brings further texture to the mellow but brooding post-rock soundscape of ‘C-Beams’, which pushes toward nine minutes, as the album ventures into evermore experimental territory. As present as the drums are, they don’t provide rhythm, but bursts of percussion, swells of cymbal and wild batteries of rolling, roiling whomps.

The more concise, feedback-strewn ‘Throttle’ marks a change in aspect, a roar of noise, a wail of feedback, and positively wild, before ‘Come True’ closes the set with some Kraftwerkian bubbling synth and undulating bass, paired with a rolling beat. It’s all nicely done. And this is true of the album as a whole.

Dream Vessel is gentle, overall, but not without edge, or variety, and certainly not without dynamic. Here, ‘interesting’ and ‘unusual’ are not dismissive shrugs with a hint of condescension: Dream Vessel brings together a host of ideas and traverses a succession of soundscapes , never staying still for a second.

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17th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

From the very outset, this is not easy on the ear. Sometimes, something leaps out about an album in the opening minutes, and here it’s the production – or lack of. The title track heralds the arrival of Benefactor, the first album by Washington D.C. improvisational psychedelic outfit Zero Swann in two years. And it’s a swampy, reverby, dingy mess. It’s integral to the experience, but it’s also likely to be a deterrent for some – but screw them, it’s their loss, right?

Although straddling heavy psychedelic and the dramatic gothic style, it’s the sludgy, feedback-riven outtakes of The Jesus And Mary Chains’s Barbed Wire Kisses which first come to mind when listening to this.

Benefactor is the follow up to 2023’s Amon Zonaris, which, at the time, was a one-off collaborative release with Scott “Wino” Weinrich. This time around, bandleader and Saccharine Underground label curator Jeremy Moore is flying solo, handling guitars, fretless bass, drums and noise assault. And there’s no shortage of the noise assault on this punishing no-wave behemoth. As they tell it, ‘From the noise rock / no wave snarl of Ritual Tension and early Sonic Youth, to the shoegaze sounds of My Bloody Valentine, to doom and free jazz chaos over a backdrop of pure lo-fi abrasion, Moore’s latest outing is a true crosspollination of styles’. It is, and what’s more, many of those styles are melted together to form a dark, disturbing sonic sludge.

‘Grave Wax Horticulture’ is a skull-splitting mesh of noise, equal parts The Jesus and Mary Chain and Christian Death. It’s theatrically gothy, in the vein of The Horrors, but primitively noisy – which is a fair summary of the album as a whole. It’s experimental, overloading in its racketaciousness – and while is a psychedelic album, it’s a full-on assault album, too, which draws parallels with Head of David’s first album, LP, and simply summarises a noise ethos which eschews convention in every sense.

Moore’s commanding baritone brings a sense of drama, not to mention a certain theatricality to the chaotic, palpating grind, and there’s an edge to his delivery which is both world-weary and tense, a voice emerging from the desolation of a society collapsing, a world in flames. This is surely the sound of the apocalypse, the sound of everything ending. Everything is overloading, murky, blown-out, blasted with distortion and reverb, resulting in a discordant thunderous attack which fires in all directions at once. It’s a primal roar reverberating from buildings collapsed to rubble, a brain-bleeding blitzkrieg of ruinous proportions, as mechanised drum sounds fire like machine guns and missile explosions, cutting through the wildest, densest racket. The absence of overt structures only compounds the sense of things falling apart. It’s the sound of unravelling, of societal threads pulling apart in real-time, a descent into mayhem, anarchy, barbarity.

‘Anagrams for Agnosia’ is perhaps jazz, but jazz in the loosest sense: it’s exploratory, experimental, freeform, but more than anything, it’s the sound of fracture, or fragmentation, instruments churning and burning, and pulling in different directions like splinters of an object in the wake of a detonation. As the screams die down, there is the thud of a panicked heartbeat, before the final track, ‘Phaneron’ obliterates with a squalling wall of howling guitar, stuttering drums and raw, ruinous noise.

Benefactor is an album without let-up, which provides no breathing space, and is thoroughly relentless in its intensity from beginning to end. Recommended, but approach with caution, and a stiff drink. It sounds like the cover looks.

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Dret Skivor – 3rd October 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

This is proving to be a particularly good week in the world of noise, what with Foldhead’s Paris Braille and this being released on the same day. There’s more information given about this release than most to slip out from Swedish underground label Dret Skivor – in that there is actually some. We learn that the work was ‘Recorded and assembled on residency at Bergen Centre for Electronic Arts, Leveld AIR and Gallery ASK, Norway 2025’, and that the ‘Album and song titles taken from / inspired by WB Yeats ‘The Second Coming’’. We also learn that Misery Bacon is the vehicle of Bergen’s Luke Drozd. It’s not clear if this is one of those monikers that’s amusing because translation, or if it’s a case of humour that doesn’t translate geographically, like Die Toten Hosen. I’m sure dead trousers are a massive wheeze in Germany, but here it’s vaguely surreal but mostly a bit odd. Then again, ‘Misery bacon’ makes me think of all the moaning gammons we have here in the UK, red-faced and chuntering into their Carling about ‘immagrunts’ and how everything’s ‘bloody woke’ nowadays.

It contains two longform pieces, each filling a side of the cassette release – of which there are just six copies – ‘Every finger double crossed as things fall apart’, and ‘Shambling onwards in the shadows of indignant birds’, and neither literary allusions or social commentary are apparent in the work itself.

‘Every finger double crossed as things fall apart’ starts with some sampled dialogue and an array of pops, clicks, whirrs and glops, a swampy collage of seemingly random elements layered across one another. It’s atmospheric, but also difficult to get a handle on any idea of where it’s headed, if there’s any theme or concept that connects the diverse sources. But soon, serrated drones and distortion build to a sustained whorl of noise atop a quivering bass judder. Five minutes in, and it’s an all-out assault worthy of Merzbow or Kevin Drumm. It’s noise, and it’s harsh, but it’s an ever-shifting, seething mass of tinnitus-inducing tones and textures, at time fizzing and crackling in such a way as to give the impression that the sound is actually inside your own head, rather than reaching the brain from an external source. There’s a niggling crackle of static that sounds like there might be a problem withy your equipment. This is most pronounced and unsettling during a quieter spell of jangling metal which sounds like a light metallic object being rattled against a metal fence, or the clattering of cutlery. It’s a piece that slides and slithers hither and thither, and sits well against Throbbing Gristle’s most experimental, abstract works. Towards the end, it does feel like it could be the soundtrack to the collapse of everything. Listening to it while the US government is in shutdown, Israel seemingly continues to level Gaza despite a supposed ceasefire, hundreds of people are arrested in London and other cities for protesting against genocide, and Russia continues to expand its campaign of interference across Europe, it’s hard to feel much positivity.

On a personal level, the present feels overwhelming. The world is at war. The world is on fire, and at the same time that we have drought, we have flooding. But instead of coming together collectively to address this global crisis, as a species, we’d rather bomb the fuck out of one another. And with shootings, mass knife attacks and all manner of savagery taking place daily, it really does feel as if humanity has descended into a spiral of insanity and self-destruction. And there are really no words to articulate the panic and anguish of all of this. Music and literature may provide a certain comfort and distraction, but it’s in sound alone – more specifically, sense-shattering noise – that I find something which articulates the experience of living in these torturous times.

And so it is that ‘Shambling onwards in the shadows of indignant birds’ returns to the sampled dialogue which opens ‘Every finger double crossed as things fall apart’, before plunging into a mess of static cackles and hiss. It’s a Bladerunner world of rust and robotics gone wrong. It’s murky and it’s unsettling. A blast like the roar of a jet engine momentarily hampers the hearing, and we sit, dazed, in the comparative quiet of crackles and pops. There’s a mid-track lull, which feels uncomfortable as whistles of feedback and laser bleeps criss-cross before collapsing into a broken wall of noise on noise.

Turning in the widening gyre is harsh, heavy, bursting with uncomfortable frequencies. The final minutes are nothing short of punishing. And yet, at the same time, that punishment offers vital release. This is where you get to let go. At last.

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It’s that time of year again, when the nights draw in, it rains nearly every day, and people start coming down with bugs and viruses. Consequently, JUKU have been forced to pull out of tonight’s double header, which is disappointing in extremis. A powerhouse live act wo we don’t get to see often enough, they promised to provide the perfect contrast to Soma Crew’s psychedelic drone. But alas, it was not to be on this occasion. This did, however, provide an opportunity for The Expression to step up and open the evening.

If ever one was looking for proof of just how healthy the York scene is right now, this is it. There are new bands of outstanding quality copping up all the time, none of whom are run-of-the-mill indie acts. It’s also worth noting how many of the bands in York aren’t all just blokes, either. And at the risk of repeating myself to the point of tedium, this is why it’s worth going to the free gig in pubs, the five-quid gigs in local venues, and turning up for all the acts. JUKU’s absence afforded the absolute revelation of The Expression.

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The Expression

They showcased a set of well-realised, tight compositions which brought together elements of dreamy shoegaze, and blistering post punk, propelled by rolling drums. The final song started gently but swelled into something altogether more solid, more riffy, calling to mind The God Machine. Despite battling issues with mic feedback, and nerves jangling just below the surface, they came across well and kept it together to relay some magical moments of chiming, mesmerising picked guitar, with vocals which at times were reminiscent of All About Eve’s Julianne Reagan. Definitely a band to keep on the radar.

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The Expression

I really so wanted to like Deathlounge. They have a great name and a great premise. Previous outings had shown real promise, too, not least of all their EP launch, despite what felt like an overly ambitious and overlong set. But tonight, they sparked, but simply failed to ignite. They sound rough, and it’s nothing to do with the PA. First and foremost, it’s the singer who’s the weakest link, but their lack of coherence is the real issue. They do melodic hardcore without the melody. Or the hard. The guitarist thinks he’s in Fugazi, while the bassist wants to be in Jamiroquai. The whole thing is a bit of a mess.

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Deathlounge

Soma Crew always seem to start with a slow, sparse number, and sound a bit trepidatious, awkward, uncertain. And tonight is no exception. I find myself thinking ‘ooh, is this even in key?’ With a substitute drummer, and Soma Crew being Soma Crew, the set is off to a slow, hesitant-sounding start, but building to a surging swell, a monolithic throbbing drone. I’ve drawn the comparison to Black Angels before, and the parallels are never more apparent tonight. With three guitars plus bass, and with everything but the vocals coming straight from the backline, they’re loud, and the sound fills the small space and then some. When they hit their stride, they’re phenomenal. Toward the end of their set they drop ‘Roadside Picnic’ and the sound is simply huge, and this, this is why we’re here.

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Soma Crew

3rd October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Foldhead has been quiet on the output front of late, after something of a purple patch around lockdown, there was a lull, broken by Mirfield Pads in 2022, with only the ‘Single’ release with …(something) ruined since, and a live outing or two. This is the only kind of quiet you’ll get from Foldhead, mind you: the Yorkshire maker of mangled noise likes to turn it up and blast the frequencies – and tones.

If Mirfield Pads ventured towards mellower, more Tangerine Dream-like electronica, Paris Braille sees a return to the harsher territories more frequently wandered by Foldhead.

Paris Braille – the title likely a reference to two cut-up novels by the late Carl Weissner (who not only appeared in some collaborative / split works with Burroughs, including the seminal pamphlet So Who Owns Death TV?, but translated many of his novels for the German market), namely The Braille Film and Death in Paris – is a typically abrasive affair, with the title track being a nine-minute loop of noise which captures of the essence of the ‘derangement of the senses’ Brion Gysin strove to achieve with his multi-sensory performance pieces which extended the concept of the cut-ups to its logical extreme. The thunderous beat, when surrounded by and endless loop, becomes almost trance-like and strangely euphoric. It’s difficult to discern precisely what’s in the mix here: there may be voices, or it may simply be a tricky of the human ear – my human ear – in its quest to seek recognisable forms amidst the formless sonic churn, in the same way one finds the shapes of animals and faces in clouds. In the right context, say, as a remix on a Cabaret Voltaire EP (where it would be right at home, and the William Burroughs / cut-up connection is again relevant here), this would be hailed as an industrial dancefloor stomper – largely because that’s what it is. Intense, hypnotic, relentless, it’s a pulsating, shifting noise beast that slowly spins off its axis and out of control in a swelling surge of sound.

‘CW Loop’ unashamedly harks back to the tape experiments of Burroughs and Gysin from the late 50s and early 60s, which in turn were a huge influence in Throbbing Gristle, and in particular Genesis P-Orridge, who released a selection of archival recordings on the Nothing Here Now But the Recordings LP on Industrial Records in 1980. It is, quite simply, short vocal sample, heavily bathed in echo, looped, and overlayed with a churn of undulating noise.

The third and final track, ‘Film Death’ – the title echoing and mirroring that of the first – round the set off with a return to the thunderous, beat-driven sound of ‘Paris Braille’, this time with a squall of shrill feedback and full-spectrum static. The result is akin to Throbbing Gristle covering Matal Machine Music. In the world of Foldhead, this is absolutely mission accomplished.

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House of Halifax – 3rd October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Content’s career to date – such as it is – has certainly not followed a conventional trajectory, or even one designed to gain a following. It’s not the shifting lineups (that’s hardly unusual) but the fact the direction of their output is completely unpredictable. Their debut EP, We Keep Improving, released five years ago, was a riotous DIY racket, which I described as ‘a gnarly mess of electronics, popping beats and a disorientating sonic swirl’. Released in an edition of seventeen physical copies, it has all the ingredients required to become a near-mythical underground work.

So of course, with a different lineup, they followed this with an album which recreated the entirety of Yes Please! by Happy Mondays – an album which was roundly pilloried, and saw one of the weekly music papers review lead with the headline ‘No Thanks!’. It was the Mondays’ Shark Sandwich moment.

Amazingly, their second album is another cover of an album in its entirely, this time the 2018 Geezer by Leeds grindcore legends Ona Snop, who recently called it a day. I can’t think of anything further removed from, the slack, bloated funk of Yes Please! But this is Content, the vehicle of Benbow and – currently – Richard Knight. And this is absolutely guaranteed not to bring them world domination, or even more than a handful of fans. I don’t think they’re fussed about that, though.

Given that Ona Snop’s approach to powerviolence / grind was never entirely straightforward, or serious, Content’s irreverent approach to ‘reimagining’ the album, which blends industrial, techno, ambient, electropop, ‘retains some of the humour included in Ona Snop’s original work’, they say. Indeed it does. It certainly doesn’t contain much else, although that shouldn’t be construed as a criticism. The ‘reimagined’ tag gives them licence to pretty much do whatever the hell they please, and that’s precisely what they do.

And so it is that the first track, ‘In Pieces’, is transformed from forty-nine seconds of thrashing, splashing aural vomit, into a three-and-a-half-minute technoindustrial workout with a funk groove, coming on with the strut and snarl of Revolting Cocks circa Linger Fickin’ Good. It’s grimy and sleazy and fuck – and it’s as ace as it is audacious. It sets the tone for a wild ride: ‘Total Both’ brings bump and grind and flamboyance in spades, like Rammstein covering The Rocky Horror Show – or perhaps the other way around. Either way, it’s camp and crazy.

It’s all going on here: ‘More Important Than Christ’ starts out with wibbly 80s wizardry before going hyper electropop, landing somewhere between The Associates and The Teardrop Explodes in the process. There’s wonky electronica, spoken word, bleeps and horns… ‘Mustard Farm’ seemingly draws from Depeche Mode, Devo, and Man 2 Man in equal measure, while ‘Respect’ goes lounge, and there’s a hint of early Foetus in the warped disco blast of ‘Rotisserie Geezer’, before ‘Cement Head’ goes a bit Tom Waits.

How all this actually works, it’s hard to pinpoint. That each track is well executed – in that it’s apparent what they’re aiming for, and they achieve – helps, but the hectic, drum machine-propelled arrangements are dizzying, and so far removed from the source material at times it feels beyond tenuous. While the original ‘CD / DVD’ opens with a sample, Content rework it as a cut-up collage of glitched-up, mangled samples, harking back to the old-school Industrial roots demonstrated on the EP, with a debt to Throbbing Gristle and Cabaret Voltaire, and in turn, William Burrroughs. ‘Ona Snop F.C.’ is a super-slick autotuned workout that’s equal parts Prince, Har Mar Superstar, and overprocessed R’n’B. Horrible as it is, the knowing levels of cringiness are something to respect. Then, seemingly from nowhere, ‘Hot Soup’ goes all Mike Oldfield and ambient.

While the original album has a running time of less than twenty-five minutes, pulling the songs out and stretching things apart in every direction means that this reimagining runs for closer to an hour, and it never ceases to confound with its weirdness, or its willingness to embrace the cheesy. It’s almost impossible to judge Geezer Reimagined by conventional benchmarks or assess its merits by the standards one would ordinarily apply, because it simply doesn’t conform, and exists in its own sphere of strangeness. And whether or not you dig it – and I do – it’s impossible to deny that it’s imaginative in its interpretations.

AA

Content - Geezer Reimagined (House Of Halifax, 2025) (Front Cover)