Posts Tagged ‘Folk’

Gravity Machine – Ally The Truth

Posted: 21 June 2026 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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18th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

The other day, my daughter came home from school complaining – not for the first time – about her English class, in which she’d been given ten minutes to come up with an idea for a story, and to plan the opening two paragraphs, and then perhaps another twenty to write the aforementioned paragraphs. She makes the same complaint about art and music lessons. “They expect us to write a song, with chords and a melody in fifteen minutes,” she moans. “Doing creative stuff just doesn’t work like that, Dad. How do they not know this?” She’s absolutely right. This is essentially where the distinction lies between making content and creating art, and artists all have different methods and work at different rates, often even between different projects. Sometimes, the thing just flows and – boom! It’s there. Other times, however, something just doesn’t quite click, and all the fiddling in the world doesn’t do it.

Ally The Truth, the new single from Devon-based alternative rock band Gravity Machine is, as they put it, ‘a track with a long gestation’. In fact, it began life in 2020, the same year they released their debut album, Red. There have been a few single releases since then, but it’s only now that they finally unveil this ‘epic tale of a relationship moving from curiosity to joining to fighting to resolution before finally hitting the universal truth of love and connection.’ That’s clearly the description of a work of art rather than mere content, and so it is that ‘Ally the Truth’ is epic in every sense, and not only in terms of its seven-minute duration.

It builds from an elongated drone with clattering drums reverberating in the distance, with a value lick of New Age vibes creeping around the edges before, suddenly, the song itself bursts in from nowhere, and we find ourselves in the midst of a sweeping amalgamation of alt-rock, psychedelia, and folk – a bit All About Eve, but also (yes, this is a bit of an obscure one, even for fans of 90s alt rock) a bit Eight Story Window (which is one way of saying, you should probably explore their album, too). It’s airy, atmospheric… and there are layers, and layers, and stages and stages – and with each segment, they step things up, until just a couple of minutes in, we’re being spun through a sandstorm of kaleidoscopic rock, before, later – much later – we find ourselves being escorted, gently, back down from the summit of the crescendo on a rippling piano and a chorus of voices. Such is the drama and dynamic of the song that it’s easy to lose the thread of the narrative – which means that you just have to go back and explore it all again. What a chore!

It’s not hard to grasp why this song took so long to reach its final version: ambitious would be an understatement. It’s compelling, immersive, atmospheric, exciting, and there is just so much happening. And all of it’s good.

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Photo: Adriana Banari

Picastro – Double On Time

Posted: 18 June 2026 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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12th June 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Picastro may not have the swiftest workrate – it’s been three years since their last release, the single ‘Earthseed’ / ‘Tacitus’ and four and a half since their EP of cover versions, I’ve Never Met a Stranger. But they’ve maintained a steady flow for the best part of three decades now, evolving through manifold permutations and carving time out for creative endeavours among the usual obstacles which face most adults, including, but no limited to, day-jobs and simply life itself.

At their (slow) core has always been Liz Hysen, vocalist, composer, and multi-instrumentalist, and this time around she’s joined by longstanding contributor Tim Condon (synth, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, bass, harmonium, piano) and Alex Fournier (double bass). Together, they’ve created a set of songs which – recorded primarily in their homes – conjures a weirdy, warping, lo-fi ethereality. ‘Fell the Family Tree’, centred around a stuttering discordant piano loop, laced with tremulous strings, is stark and revels in the perversely awkward nature of the way in which the elements rub against one another. ‘Remember who you are my son,’ Hysen croons, her meandering vocal swerving around a melody rather than holding one, in a way that’s haunting, the way sing-song tunes sung off-key in thrillers and horror movies are employed as a way of alluding to emotional disturbance, or being psychologically unsettled. I’m not actually sure it happens so much in real life, but the effect is unnerving.

‘Chance Striker’ is droney and foggy, and drags a deep weight, low and slow, and in this context, the skipping lightness of ‘Ring Description’, which clocks in at exactly just two minutes sounds and feels like a different band entirely. With a soaring vocal delivery which has a certain jazziness to it, the pulsing keyboards almost lean into a kind of groove. To describe it as ‘fun’ might be a bit of a stretch, but these things are relative, and it happens to land bang in the middle of an EP that, while moving, emotionally powerful, and inventive, is by no means designed with entertainment in mind.

Pairing acoustic guitar with strings and extraneous clanking and noise, ‘Move Fast, Break’ is a mournful folk song at its heart – but it’s a challenging listen, and not only because all the elements appear to be battling against one another to play different tunes. Hysen sounds emotionally hollowed out, before dragging herself through the moody piano murk of ‘Believer End’ with a tense, breathy performance.

Nothing about Double On Time is comfortable or easy: it leaves you feeling somewhat stricken – somewhat lost for words, and short on breath. It may be superficially simple in its instrumental arrangements, but the extent to which Picastro explore dissonant tunings and atonality is affecting. It feels wrong. And it’s this wrongness which is very much its strength, in that is hauls the listener from whatever comfort zone they might be lounging in, and into a space that forces them to look directly at scenes they might find hard to process. In doing so, Picastro give us true art.

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Melanculia – post mortem

Posted: 16 May 2026 in Albums, Reviews
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15th May 2026 – noot moon records

Christopher Nosnibor

The term ‘post mortem’ has come to bare a number of meanings, not least of all the connotations of autopsy, but ultimately, it boils down to being something after the fact, specifically, after death, as the phrase implies. I suppose what it is that happens after death does vary between individuals, but it doesn’t necessarily mean being carved up.

By way of context, Melanculia is the solo project of Nino Sable, front man of goth act Aeon Sable, and the release of post mortem marks the first new album under the Melanculia name since 2018’s Seventh Circle. The accompanying notes inform that ‘The album expands further into a melancholic palette shaped by Nino’s strong sense of post-punk melodicism, while also drawing on dark psychedelia and indie-folk textures.’ And there’s more: Sable says that ‘Freed from the constraints of collaboration and compromise, the album focuses on a more direct and personal approach, centred on acoustic guitar, haunting synths, and sharply focused lyrics that cut to the bone: fragile and unfiltered.’

If I were collaborator or bandmate, I might take this statement with a pang of annoyance, or feel it to be a slight sleight, but as I’m not, I can take it at face value, intending that for all the fun of collaboration, it’s empowering to cut loose and fly free every now and again.

And, indeed, with the freedom to explore any and all directions, that’s exactly what Sable does here: the fourteen songs on post mortem are varied, not only stylistically, but in terms of mood and emotional range.

post mortem’s first song is something of a sad song: ‘Dark Days’ blends acoustic guitar and sweeping retro synths to strong effect, and that effect is downbeat and melancholy. The first song sounds like an album closer, and starting on a downer with a slow fade is a bit of a risky way to start an album, but when that’s pretty much par for the course, what else are you going to do? This set of songs is very much set on the downbeat, the wistful, the melancholy, brimming with reflection and gloomy nostalgia. ‘The Tower’ steps up into another level of theatricality, and over the course if fourteen songs – which does make for a long album – post mortem dredges the depths of the soul.

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It’s hard to put your finger on exactly what it does or how it registers: post mortem finds Melanculia strolling quite confidently around the territories of alt-rock and post-punk, while also incorporating folk elements – repetitive chord sequences thrummed out on acoustic guitar may be simple, but utterly gripping, and never more so than on the haunting ‘Runaways’. The folksiness goes a bit pirate folk in places, but ‘The Healer’ drips emotion and brings mid-tempo theatrics propelled by a metronomic and insistent mechanised beat with a vintage snare sound that cuts through and hits hard. ‘Emptiness’ drips heavy emotive swooning, as Sable croons in a quivering Pete Murphy inspired intonation, ‘I wish you were dead now’. No doubt there’s someone in all of our lives that this sentiment applies to.

Standing in the centre of the album like a towering monolith, the seven minute epic that is ‘We Are Only Human’. Hearing the words, laced with a grace and ache, ‘I’m only human, so mall, insignificant’ against a backdrop of rolling piano played in waltz-time is unexpectedly impactful, and also reminds me of another song I simply can’t place. It doesn’t matter: what matters is that the way the atmosphere builds.

There are echoes of Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’ about the reverb-soaked sadness of ‘Confessions’, and ‘Sabiaoa’ scrapes the dark terrains of the whispering undulations that creep underground.

It’s perhaps fair to say that in terms of instrumentation and musical style, post mortem explores a narrow space in microcosmic detail. This is their two inches of ivory, if you will. Consequently, it’s an album which benefits spending time with, uncovering the details and the delicate differences. In capturing moods and atmospheres, post mortem is highly accomplished, filling every moment with a sense of poignancy, a swooning sadness.

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A Forest of Stars – Stack Overflow in Corpse Pile Interface

Posted: 4 May 2026 in Albums, Reviews
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Prophecy Productions – 8th May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

I seem to be on something of an inadvertent black metal trip this bank holiday weekend, and, peculiarly, one devoted to black metal forged on this small island, for following my review of Hellripper’s Coronach – black metal that’s staunch in its Scottishness – we have Prophecy Productions pitching the new album from West Yorkshire (Leeds, of course, where else) act A Forest of Stars as being uniquely British in their branding.

It’s tempting to unpack the importance of national identities here, particularly at a time when ‘British’ identity – at home, far more than away – carries some toxic connotations, and the majority of Scots are keen to claim independence from the government of the United Kingdom – in short, to become dis-united, but this is such complex and boggy terrain that there simply isn’t the time or space, even if it were appropriate here. And so I will return to the seemingly flippant word selection concerning ‘British branding’, for while – as is a central trope of black metal – A Forest of Stars’ album titles are strewn with corpses, death, and decay (their debut was entitled, perhaps somewhat oxymoronically, The Corpse of Rebirth, while their last was called Grave Mounds and Grave Mistakes, which sounds probably more humorous in its punning wordplay than intended), Stack Overflow in Corpse Pile Interface sounds like corporate speak. If a there was multinational corporation that dominated the industry of funeral directors, Stack Overflow in Corpse Pile Interface could well be the title of a report for the executive committee. Or perhaps Pure Cremation have already written it and had that meeting concerning their strategy in the event of another pandemic, replete with an array of graphs and graphics, pie charts and flow charts, costings and projections. Because capitalism exploits everything there is to exploit.

As such, the language of capitalism sits very much at odds not only with a metal band, but a band so immersed in art and poetry, whose biography goes to significant effort to point out that ‘in his recitative mode, vocalist Curse is even reminiscent of electro poet Anne Clark – after a steady diet of prescription drugs and rusty nails. On the other hand, his singing voice evokes memories of a young Martin Walkyier. The impressive command of the English language by that great metal bard, his plentiful plays on words and subtle multi-layered meanings also have a place in the poetic lyrics of A FOREST OF STARS – yet in different, often far more neo-dadaist ways, in which tiny twists of spelling can have surprisingly dark effects’ (suggesting, at the same time, that the wordplay of Grave Mounds and Grave Mistakes was entirely intentional after all).

The regular release of the album contains six songs, the shortest of which is the opener, ‘Ascension of the Clowns’ at a hefty nine minutes, and with the last two stretching beyond the fifteen-minute mark. The deluxe edition adds three more tracks – by most standards, an additional EP, or even an album of bonus material.

‘Ascension of the Clowns’ is grand and theatrical: Curse brings the metal fury, but emotes and enunciates, his words not only audible but clear above the spacious guitar work – which, over the course of the album’s expansive compositions – are accompanied by an array of instruments from piano to violin, as well as acoustic guitar. There’s a strong orchestral leaning – not to mention folk elements – to incredibly ambitious work, and it’s hard to fault the musicianship or arrangements, although the instrumentation is often dialled down to accompany the vocals, rather than the elements merging to create a sonic whole.

There are obvious reasons for this: Stack Overflow in Corpse Pile Interface is as much like a musical as it is a metal album. Without wishing to sound in any way mocking, one can almost picture Curse lofting a skull and affecting his most dramatic Hamlet-inspired gushings as he proclaims in the most thespy rendition of anguish, “Shit of that shit! The enshitenment!” on ‘Street Level Vertigo’. Yes, he knows his words and wordplay, and clearly revels in the way words reverberate and resonate and rub against one another to conjure layers of meaning and heightened drama.

‘Mechanically Separated Logic’ references the processes of the meat industry, applied to the psychology of late capitalism, and while the instrumentation is subtlety detailed and softly picked for the most part, only bursting into cathedrals of sound in places, again, the vocals are pure theatre, bold, exaggerated, and it’s hard to know quite how to take it, to deduce how serious this preposterously excessive style is. But even assuming there is a knowingness, a joyful revelling in the absurdity of all of this, it feels more like a work to respected and admired rather than enjoyed. No, that’s not entirely accurate: it’s enjoyable, even entertaining, particularly with its folk flourishes and revelling in the excremental, but it’s enjoyable as a performance, rather than as a set of songs which resonate on an emotional level.

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Watch: ‘While the Womb Screams Silently’ by Cinder Well

Posted: 29 April 2026 in Recommended Streams and Videos, Singles and EPs
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Cinder Well – the hauntingly stark musical project of multi-instrumentalist Amelia Baker – announces a new album A Blooming Body which arrives July 17th via Hen House Studios (where the album was recorded with Harlan Steinberger). The album is preceded by the lead single and video ‘While the Womb Screams Silently.’

About the track, Amelia says… “This song is inspired by the movie Portrait of A Lady On Fire from director Céline Sciamma. In the film, a woman is arranged to be wed, and because of her intense resistance to the situation, a painter is commissioned to secretly paint her wedding portrait without her knowing. The song is about listening to your inner knowing, which often screams loudly but is ignored for the sake of conforming – constantly trying to break out of the restraints and projections of patriarchy while stumbling over new ones and internalized ones along the way – “pulling at an endless thread of thistle – whose hooks and briars they catch things you thought you couldn’t miss em / while the womb screams silently for you to listen”.”

Watch the video here:

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This album also marks a shift in recording process, with Amelia being just as involved in the production and mixing as the writing this time around. “I strived to record the initial takes of guitar and vocals live, to give the music as much life as possible… As far as arrangements, I also brought in different types of instruments and players – in the past, I would use violin to centre most of the melodies, but on this record there are horns by Amy Sanchez (Kendrick Lamar, Bruce Springsteen, Dave Matthews Band, Kamasi Washington, Florence and the Machine and more), synths by Dylan Desmond (Bell Witch), e-bow and other fun textures leading the melodic instrumental parts.” Other contributors include; Greg Cohen (Tom Waits, John Zorn, David Byrne, Laurie Anderson) and Pete Olynciw (Leyla McCalla) on bass, Phillip Rogers (Hayley Hendrickx) on drums, and C.P.N. Hollywell (Twisted Teens) on vocals.

On A Blooming Body, Cinder Well creates a sound that is both expansive and cinematic, and the kind of experimentation which lead to her composing the original theme song and score for the hit BBC TV series Small Prophets (written, directed by, and starring Mackenzie Crook alongside Sir Michael Palin).

Through endless shifts in perspective, and a sound which knows when to bolster the lyrics, and when to let them speak for themselves, Cinder Well’s music becomes universal on A Blooming Body, laying bare a weight that exists not in guitar tracks or distortion, but the kind we carry with us day to day.

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Photo credit: Chelsea Moosekian

Utterly Fuzzled 7.5: Bhajan Boy / Lou Richards / Piró / Andrew DR Abbot / Jo Dale – Fulfordgate WMC, York, 23rd April 2026

Posted: 24 April 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

It may be numbered 7.5 in the Utterly Fuzzled catalogue, but there’s nothing ‘half’ about this event. Showcasing quieter and more acoustic-based acts than usual, it does mark something of a departure from their usual mix of indie / alternative / different / stuff, but this stacked five-act bill still brings variety and quality in equal measure.

The joy of these nights is that you can turn up without knowing anything about the majority of the acts and still know there’ll be plenty of interest, even if it’s not all to your taste. Put another way, an Utterly Fuzzled night is not dissimilar to how it was listening to John Peel: a mixed bag, you might not love all of it, but it would never be dull and you’d always come away with something new that made an impression. And tonight is absolutely no exception.

Jo Dale – event co-organiser and bassist with local favourites Knitting Circle is on early doors, nervous and questioning the wisdom of putting herself on for a solo acoustic set – doesn’t make the obvious choice of playing versions of Knitting Circle songs. Oh no. Instead, it’s a whole new set of songs played on acoustic bass, one of which was penned mere hours before when she realised her set was too short. The combination of nerves and newness make for a slightly shaky start, but she’s a deft tunesmith and the audience is behind her (metaphorically speaking, that is) and she finds her feet and confidence over the course of her handful of songs.

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Jo Dale

Andrew DR Abbot is an old hand, and a longstanding feature of the DIY scene in the North. It was more than a quarter of a century since I first stumbled upon him playing baritone guitar as one half of That Fucking Tank, supporting Whitehouse at The Grapes in Sheffield. Whitehouse were too quiet and rather disappointing on that occasion, and TFT were the act of the night by miles. While now performing – again with James Islip, and still with the baritone guitar – as Lands and Body, he’s also doing solo stuff which is an electroacoustic sort of set up, involving field recordings by way of a backing to guitar that’s looped and layered. He’s at ease on stage, and the set simply flows. Starting with a 12-string guitar and switching to an eight-string, Abbot deploys a bottle, a tiny bow, and various other tools to augment some technically proficient picking and fretwork. Cascading notes create an immersive, atmospheric continuous piece which transitions through a sequence of passages. To say that it’s ‘nice’ may sound weak and noncommittal, but as a listening experience, that’s exactly what it is, and I find myself feeling calm but subtly exhilarated.

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Andrew DR Abbot

Piró – over from Spain and touring alongside Andy Abbott – plays vibrant folksy songs with a Latin flavour, routing an acoustic guitar through some pedals with loops and distortion making for some interesting sounds. His set was marred somewhat by some noisy sods at the back who talked and laughed constantly, and talked and laughed louder during the louder parts. But like a pro, he kept a level head and simply played on, and gave us some nicely worked loops and guitar detail in songs performed with heart.

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Piró

Lou Richards’ set was a compact affair comprising just four songs, the last of which was a John Cale cover performed alongside one of her former bandmates. But less is more, particularly when it comes to poetical words paired with delicately picked clean electric guitar. It’s pleasant, a very different kind of folk, about hedgerows and heritage, nature and nurturing.

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Lou Richards

Bhajan Boy is sporting a Fall T-shirt and brings big drones which form the basis of a set that builds slowly and deliberately, with some clattering and clanking that adds considerable texture. It’s only gradually that the drone evolves into a dense noise, as the set bhuilds subtly in layers and volume. Twenty minutes in and I’m wondering how much further he can take it, how much more he can add. That’s when he starts on the bellows and the sound really swells to a huge swashing sonic tide, rendered all the more full-spectrum by bleeps and crackling distortion, before gradually pulling back through a very long tapering wind down.

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Bhajan Boy

It’s an immersive soundscape, which is very different from the rest of the lineup. This in itself is the quintessence of the Utterly Fuzzled ethos, and in a time where live music is struggling and touring is difficult, a night like tonight stands as a beacon.

Stine Janvin / Morten Joh – Or Gare: Funeral Procession Music from Ryfylke, Norway

Posted: 4 April 2026 in Albums, Reviews
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Futura Resistenza  – 24th Match 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Well, it is Good Friday, so it seems an appropriate time to settle down with a large whisky and some candles to engage with an album of funeral procession music from Ryfylke, Norway. And as the title suggests, this is actually what this collaborative album contains:

Rooted in the bygone custom of ‘Liksong’ (literally ‘corpse song’) that was once sung by small groups of singers who guided rural funeral processions, Janvin and Joh tap into its uncanny, unbearably slow intervallic structures, reanimating the practice as a kind of ancient electronic microtonal devotional music. Voices and vocal effects, synths and melodic percussion seep into the cracks between major and minor, and the whole thing carries the creaking weight of ceremony, yet glows with an otherworldly modernity, as if a forgotten liturgy had been retuned for a dimly humming chapel of circuits.

The duo, with Janvin on vocals and electronics and Joh on synths, tape machines, and percussion, also enlisted Lucy Railton (cello) and Jules Reidy (electric guitar).

The nine tracks present a remarkably structured, linear funeral journey – and while the premise of the album is already most uncommonly literal, so is the linear structure, which begins with ‘Leaving Home’ and concludes with ‘Postlude’, which it arrives at via ‘Pasing neighbours’, ‘Before the burial site’, ‘By the grave’, ‘Lowering the coffing’, and ‘Processing grief’, among other almost instructional titles.

The pieces them selves are quite minimal in their arrangements: drones, hums and haunting, folk-inspired vocals, bathed in reverb and surrounded by echo come together to create soundscapes which are haunting, and, at times, other-wordly. ‘Pasing Neighbours’ is a slice of detached, rippling electronica, which on the surface couldn’t be further removed from ancient Nordic rituals… and yet Janvin and John succeed in subtly manipulating the sounds to conjure something which reaches deep into the psyche with its rippling dissonance.

There’s a gravity to this album which underlies the twisting, processed electronic experimentalism which is befitting of the subject and the context, and while ‘Passing neighbours’ does amalgamate shoegaze with robotix 80s electro, it doesn’t feel disrespectful to the source.

‘Rest – Bordvers’ which features Jules Reidy) is a sliver of ghostly folk which sounds like spirits ascending over an early Silver Jews outtake, and ‘Before the burial site – Jeg Raader Eder Alle’ is a heavily processed, almost space-age reindentation of a folk incantation – but it’s the haunting, eight-minute ‘By the grave – Akk, Mon Jeg Staar I Naade’ which really grips the attention with its ghostly wails and insistent pulsations and expansive, arcing drones. The dronerous ‘Lowering the coffin’ features vintage spacemuzak ripples and reverberating ululations contrasts sharply with ‘Processing grief’, which begins hymn-like, before swiftly transitioning to shuffling, fractal synthiness reminiscent of Tangerine Dream.

One suspects that in this modernisation, in this translation, something has been lost. But at the same time, this interpretation serves to keep an ancient heritage alive. And this is the sound of dark woodland, of glaciers, of spartan spaces – ice-dusted woodland. Often, it’;s trult beautiful, and this is nbowhere more clear on ‘Acceptance – Kom, Menneske, At Skue Mig!’, another piece which is more than seven minutes in duration.

The final track, ‘Postlude’ is gentle, and even alludes to a brighter future on the horizon. For mem it feels a little soon, although there s no use of timescale by which to orientate oneself available in the immediate entrance of the accommodation.

Having spent the last three years processing – and documenting – grief following the loss of my wife, Or Gare: Funeral Procession Music from Ryfylke, Norway is a difficult album to approach on a personal level. But there are times in this expansive, exploratory work, that death, in all its suffering, has been muted and spun into niceness – if not a palatable, packageable sound.

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Peiriant – Plant

Posted: 2 March 2026 in Albums, Reviews
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27th February 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

Real strings always sing ‘organic’, as well as ‘mournful’, however they’re played, at least to my ear. There’s an ache these sounds inspire which feels in some sense almost biological in the way they resonate. And with violin – and acoustic guitar – being the primary instruments on this gentle instrumental album, there’s an inescapable air of melancholy and a tug of internal tension, even when they slide uptempo and wander lighter, and more mellow, settled territories.

After the fractured soundscape of ‘Agor Llygaid’, which consists initially of pings and sighs and what to some may sound like tuning up, before some loosely-structured pastoral folk emerges, the second piece, ‘Pwis’, switches toward a more electronic-sounding, Krautrock style, and while the pulsating grooves are vaguely Tangerine Dream, the picked strings are altogether folksier – not quite Steeleye Span, but there’s a real feel that Peiriant’s inspirations lie in the 1960s and 1970s, while at times also reaching much further back, to a point that’s difficult to pinpoint – it’s not medievalism, it’s not pre-Christian paganism – but it is something more ancient, more steeped in nature and some deeper, more primal core of human existence. Fumbling and digging for the words to articulate the experience, all I can say is that Plant does something beyond words: it has a depth which feels cellular.

The stuttering, fractured intro to ‘Wrth y Bwrdd’ brings some of the promised experimentalism, before delicate acoustic guitar and sweeping violin take centre stage. Meanwhile, ‘Hwiangerdd’ brings the feel of mournful, minor-key traditional folk crossed with a subtly droning atmospheric. It’s the drone which comes to the fore on ‘Tynnu’. ‘Velfed’ stands out, with its pulsating, almost Krautrock undercurrent bubbling beneath the sawing strings which lock into a tight back-and-forth repetition.

Quite how they achieve their sound, I can only begin to imagine: it doesn’t sound particularly processed, but then, oftentimes, it doesn’t sound like any regular acoustic instrumentation. What’s clear is that Rose & Dan Linn-Pearl are remarkable musicians who have a rare mastery of their instruments, which is matched – and perhaps even exceeded – by their vision and their capacity to innovate.

From the title to the performance itself, Plant is magnificently understated, but possesses a subtle power, not to mention range. It extends far beyond its basic premise of being ‘experimental folk’, and being an instrumental work, its representing Welsh-language acts is somewhat peripheral. Instead, what this does is speak in a way which transcends language – any language – and the result is… quite special.

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Falling You – Metanoia

Posted: 17 December 2025 in Albums, Reviews
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Projekt Records – 1st December 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Having recently written on the retro qualities of Lowsunday’s latest release, the latest hot landing in my inbox is from another act which is preoccupied with a previous time – and who can blame them? I am painfully aware that old bastards like me constantly bemoan the shitness of the now while reminiscing about the golden era of our youth, and it’s no different from boomers still banging on about The Beatles and the music of the 60s and 70s as if time stopped when they hit thirty or whatever. There is a lot – a LOT – of exciting new music coming out right now, and much of it is pushing boundaries in unexpected directions. I for one will never cease to excited by this. But there is a significant amount of music emerging that draws its primary influences from the eighties and nineties, created by artists who simply cannot be drawn by nostalgia. Falling You are a perfect example.

Metanoia is pitched as being for ‘fans of 1980s 4AD dreampop (This Mortal Coil, Dead Can Dance), ‘90s shoegaze (Slowdive, Lush), or the darkwave / ethereal / ambient-electronic releases of the Projekt label (Love Spirals Downwards, Android Lust). It’s quite a span, but the fact is that this is a release with its inspirational roots well in the past. It pains me to be reminded that 1995 is thirty years ago when it feels like maybe a decade. The cover art of previous releases very much state shoegaze / dreampop, and while this album accompanied by altogether moodier artwork, which may in part serve to reflect the album’s title, it’s nevertheless hazy and evocative at the same time. ‘Hazy and evocative’ would be a fair summary of the album itself, too, and the dreamy / shoegaze elements are countered by some really quite unsettling spells of rather murkier ambience.

It starts strong with the bold swell of steel-stung acoustic guitar and a strong vocal – I’m not talking about a Florene Welch lung-busting bellow, but a controlled and balanced performance that really carries some resonance, and it’s mastered clear and loud… and then things swerve into a more electronic, almost dancy territory. Immediately it’s clear that this is going to be less an album and more a journey, and ‘Demiurge (Momento Eorum)’ immediately affirms this with its spiritual incantations and sonorous, droning rumblings.

‘Alcyone’ is the first of the album’s ten-minute epics, and it uses the time well: that is to say, with shuffling drums, spacious synths and layers of lilting vocals, it’s very much distilled from the essence of The Cocteau Twins, and slowly unfurls with an ethereal grace. A delicately-spun pop song at heart, the extended end section tapers down to a softly droning organ.

While the atmosphere is very much downbeat, downtempo, understated, one thing which is notable is the album’s range: ‘Ari’s Song’ is built around a soft-edged cyclical bass motif, around which piano and synths swirl, mist-like, the drums way in the distance, and even as a disturbance grows toward the end, it’s so far-away sounding, and the song itself, beyond that ever-present bass, barely there, and the same is true of the dank, dark ambient echoes of ‘Inside the Whale’. If ‘Ariadne’ is another shimmering indie tune hazed with fractal electronic ripples, the second ten-minute epic, ‘They Give Me Flowers’ provides a suitable companion piece to ‘Alcyone’, swerving from a brooding country and folk-tinged song with hints of All About Eve, and the album’s final track, ‘Philomena’ effectively completes the triptych, pulsing along gently and dreamily before slowly tapering away to nothingness. It’s a fitting conclusion to an album which at times is so vaporous and vague, it’s barely there – which is precisely the design. But in between the hazy drifts and particle-like waftings, there are some beautifully atmospheric and utterly captivating songs with strong leanings towards the dreamy pop side of indie. In terms of achieving an artistic objective, Falling You have absolutely nailed it with Metanoia.

AA

Falling You - Metanoia - cover

Dawnwalker – The Between

Posted: 26 November 2025 in Albums, Reviews
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Room312 – 24th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

You know you’re in ‘epic’ territory when an album contains just two tracks (or one, depending on the edition). With a running time of thirty-two minutes, The Between is inching into the bracket of monster works that includes Earth 2, Sleep’s Dopesmoker, or much of Sunn O)))’s output – or Swans for that matter – but still. What they promise is ‘a long-form suite of experimental metal that runs the gamut of their whole discography’, described by the band as “a guided meditation through death and dying”, which ‘takes liberal doses of ancient Eastern philosophies on life and death and pairs them with a modern existential despair.’

And so it is that the vinyl release features the half-hour long ‘The Between’ split across two sides, while the digital version features the track unbroken, and paired with a ‘bonus’ track in the form of ‘Remember Death’, which has a running time of over twenty minutes. In short, this is an absolute fucking behemoth.

And it doesn’t stop there: this material was recorded with a twelve-piece lineup. Yes, you read that right. Said lineup features contributions from Oli Genn-Bash (Codex Serafini) on saxophone, virtuosic guitar solos from Alexander Brown (Infected Dead), sound design by new recruit Jack D’Arcy and notably, the return of Dane Cross (Sacred Son) on vocals. No wonder they pitch it as ‘Dawnwalker’s most ambitious work yet.’

I feel a degree of preparation is required for this experience. Candles are lit, whisky is poured. And I’ve brought the bottle up to my office because I suspect that I’ll be needing a refill before the album’s over, and I don’t feel like breaking the spell by pausing it and heading downstairs.

‘The Between’ begins with a bell chime. It rings on… and on… hushed spoken word and hovering tones conjure a rich atmosphere. There’s a magical mysticism about it, as well as a slow-build as rolling cymbals swell and drones hang, thickening the air. Over time, the instrumentation shifts, and doomy folk transitions towards post-rock, then towards cinematic progressive soundscapes. Four minutes in, it goes large… and there’s no looking back from here. It twists and turns, and takes myriad unexpected paths, with a sudden lurch into sludgy guttural metal. With dark, growly noise sharing space with huge progginess, and the riffs lurching this way and that, there’s a schizophrenic feel which begins to take hold after about five minutes. Nine minutes in, a wild solo simply explodes, and POW! Moments later, there’s a sax break. It’s simply too much to process rationally.

Ambitious isn’t the word, really. We’re talking about an album – A SONG – that veers more or less between Black Sabbath and Radiohead. It’s nicely produced, but where does that sit when you’re confronted with such extreme contrasts? ‘The Between’ is a head-spinning, brain-bending experience.,

The same is true of ‘Remember Death’. It begins with haunting, post-rock picked guitar and spoken word, and introduces the idea of years and life itself being cyclical: it’s gentle, its calm, and it’s human. Lyrically, it’s deep, deep, deep… ‘I know it’s an uncomfortable subject, but it shouldn’t be’, says the speaker. And it’s true. Death in our society remains a taboo subject. But why? That as a species we are afraid of death is one thig, but our avoidance of the topic is simply wrong, and the words of ‘Remember Death’ articulate all of this magnificently.

The simple fact is that death is inevitable and we all shall die. Preparing a will or something is good, but simply an acknowledgement of the inevitable rather than fully facing it. Facing it is to live every day like it’s your last. And the fact is, it may be, because you never know.

Things start getting particularly brain-bending around four minutes in. by this point, the atmosphere is hypnotic. You’re invested. You’re open, vulnerable. “The existence that we have now is not real. It’s an illusion. What we see as existence is fundamentally mistaken. What we see and perceive and taste and touch and feel is all filtered by subjective elements… and thus, we do not see reality.” And there is some truth in this: we each experience our own reality. We see colours differently, and our reality is simply our individual experience. It’s why eye-witness accounts of an event vary so. Wildly different as they may be, they will all be true for the person recounting the event. “Through a perfect death, we regain that perception of what is real…” the narrative continues. And this is where it really starts to get difficult, and strange. It is a very, very difficult listen. It continues in this vein, expounding the principles of Gnosticism, while the guitars gradually ebb and flow. The instrumental shifts are subtle, and ‘Remember Death’ contrast dramatically with ‘The Between’.

This would have worked well as a double album, but equally ‘Remember Death’ would have worked as a standalone album. Then again, they’d probably prefer that it was situated as a satellite work, being so far removed from the main release and their other work.

However you approach it, this release documents the work of immensely imaginative band at a creative peak, and it provides much food for thought.

AA

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