Posts Tagged ‘Single Review’

Criminal Records – 18th December 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

For many, 2020 has been a year to forget, next-level dismal, in ways that it’s hard to relate from our isolated boxes. Those of use fortunate enough to be working from home struggle to fully grasp the hardship of furlough or redundancy, to fully appreciate the impact of mass poverty and the pace of its spread.

Christmas is always difficult for so many people, and if Whammagedon is enough to be an issue for you, then you’re probably in a really, really fortunate position. Seeing artists rallying round at a time when many of them are themselves struggling due to a lack of gigs, which in turn means no merch sales and so on, is heartening in a time of seemingly eternal bleakness, and The Kut’s first new material in a while, in the form of Christmas single ‘Waiting for Christmas’ sees 100% of profit from sales and streams being donated to the Red Cross, supporting those affected by poverty as a result of the pandemic.

‘Waiting for Christmas’ may be a Christmas single, but it’s not, if that makes sense: it’s more about intent than profile or publicity, and as the press release notes, ‘while independent musicians are usually discouraged from releasing at Christmas, due to expected lack of ‘impact’ in comparison to major label peers, The Kut affirmed, “We know the single is an underdog, by the design of the music industry, but I am appealing to our supporters and to Christmas and music lovers in our community… If we can raise even a few hundred pounds for those affected by poverty during the pandemic, and support families, we would love to do that. We have lost so many people before their time, and so many families are suffering and feel alone. With the single, we are collectively raising a candle for all those we have lost and showing solidarity with our wider community this Christmas.”’

It’s a slow-burning ballad, which is seasonally / charity single appropriate and Where ‘Waiting for Christmas’ differs from the norm is that straight into the first verse, Maha reflects ‘It’s Christmas, why do I feel so low?’ Confronting those so-common-but-less-commonly-addressed mental health issues in a Christmas single is practically unheard of, but we need more of this: this is what makes ‘Waiting for Christmas’ an essential Christmas single, even more than the fact it’s a decent tune.

Released across digital formats and CD via a dedicated website, it’s not about the Christmas charts but raising few quid.

AA

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4th December 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

Woooh, shit, trigger warning! Aggressive electronic music which may trigger feelings of anxiety and n increased heart rate paired with themes of death and suicide! Biomechanimal should be plastered with red flags and probably quarantined. Wait, we’re all quarantined, and it should go without saying there’s some heavy sarcasm there.

Personally, my tigger is the ‘triggers’ crowd: unless either billed as family entertainment or the content is particularly disturbing, art shouldn’t require a warning: the very function of art is to challenge, and to present audiences with real emotions and concepts that are uncomfortable. Art is a window – or a mirror – on the world, and one that provides a conduit to explore the places we don’t necessarily venture in everyday conversation.

‘End Your Life’, which features Nysrok Infernalien is pitched as ‘a brutal, filthy expression of electronic music,’ and an ‘aggressive collaboration [which] brings together elements of industrial, extreme metal’.

If, in combining the crazed attack of the likes of KMFDM with the persistent but gnarly groove of early Ministry and stitching it together with a gauze of heady trancey cybergoth, anyone could possibly expect anything that wasn’t full on and in-your-face intense and designed with absolute precision to punch buttons – while at the same time geared up to make you move – is living on a different planet. Sonically, ‘End Your Life’ is very much rooted within genre context, but it’s actually an uplifting tune, a rush of hi-nrg beats and hyper synths, while lyrically, it’s hard to decipher, and it may be a threat or a promise or neither. But it’s more likely you’ll be too busy bouncing around to want to be slitting your wrists.

The five accompanying mixes mangle the tune to varying degrees, each accentuating a different aspect of this snarling beast of a tune, with the harsh metallic guitars often pitching to the fore, propelled by pounding beats that pump so, so hard. Die Sektor strip it back and slow it down a bit, and get a bit Nine Inch Nails in the process. Overall, there’s more than enough variety in the mixes to keep it interesting, and they compliment the original version well.

AA

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11th December 2020

London trio Slow Cooked Bears are all about the hybridity, bringing together a mixture of visceral alternative noise rock to forge what they describe as ‘a left-field, avant-garde sound that’s both nostalgic and modern with elements of grunge, synth pop and reverb heavy post-rock’.

Now, nostalgia ain’t what it used to be, especially now it’s become the last cash cow for late capitalism to milk, and there’s never been a better time to milk it dry than in 2020 when half the world is stuck at home, unable to socialise, see friends or family, shop or conduct all of the activities that have been part of everyday life for the last century. Who doesn’t yearn for the past? Who hasn’t at some point in recent months delved into musical memories that remind them of time spent in the company of friends?

Their releases to date all carry something of a spacey theme, that seem to have little correspondence to the oddball barbarism of the band name, which makes ‘The Grand Scheme’ something of a departure from Eclipse (2018) and Space Odyssey (2019).

It kicks in with a big swaggering blues riff and burns into a grungy alt-rock descending chord sequence for the chorus. It’s hooky as hell, and they sound confident but not cocky, and there’s a 90s vibe that hints vaguely at Placebo while they’re kicking out Zeppelinesque guitar breaks spun through a contemporary filter that alludes to the likes of Rivals Sons and (earlier) Royal Blood. As such, it’s nostalgia, but with a twist, and it works. In the grand scheme of things, and even by any measure, this is a pretty strong single cut.

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27th November 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

There’s nothing like a short-lived relationship ending badly and without closure to inspire a fiery breakup song, and in ‘Honey Sauce’, singer/songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Redwood goes for the lyrical purge.

Gently crooning, reflective and contemplative over a sparse backing before bringing in the full band backing, ‘Honey Sauce’ is a slow-burner and nicely arranged, but great songwriting, great lyrics isn’t about solid gold – it’s about having that one hook that one killer line, that signature moment that stands out and sticks.

With ‘Honey Sauce’, Redwood hits the mark with ‘I know you couldn’t give me your time / And I wish you’d get up and move out of my mind’. It’s a line that’s universally relatable and possesses a translatability across a host of scenarios, that speaks to the mental anguish of being unable to clear one’s mind, that tendency we all have to play scenes and vignettes on a loop that achieves nothing but anguish and self-torture.

It’s all delivered with a measured vocal that weaves an accessible, enticing melody, making for a perfectly bittersweet experience.

4th December 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

Christmas singles are divisive, to say the least. Probably because the majority of them are cack. People get funny about Christmas: sane, rational individuals turn to slushy pulp, pontificating about family and the kids. Yeah, we always do it for the kids. Enduring long hours of pent-up tension spent in stuffy, overheated rooms, feeling uncomfortable with overindulgence and a burning sensation that may be indigestion or just the slow-burning desire to escape.

Often, you will hear people saying that we should remember the less fortunate at Christmas, to spare a thought for them and maybe even a few pence, and we’ll assuage our guilt by donating some mince pies to the food bank or a pair of last year’s unwanted Christmas socks to a charity collecting for third world children or whatever. We do it, and it eases our conscience, and allows us to forget about it all while we plunge back into our own microcosms of manufactured joy, real or falsified. And no, this isn’t a guilt-trip, because I’m certainly by no means exempt here. It’s human nature. How many of us sit and feel sad for those less fortunate, those who aren’t able to spend time with loved ones or feel the comfort of a safe home environment when picking up another pig in a blanket, another slice of meat, another roastie, another splash of gravy?

West London trio Queensmen – who don’t seem to be an intentional response to The Kingsmen, famous for their 1963 version of ‘Louise Louie’ – have released ‘Shine A Light’ in an attempt to raise attention to the plight of the homeless, and to raise money for Crisis.

Where ‘Shine a Light’ stands apart from so many other songs of its ilk is that it takes the viewpoint from someone who’s bereft, and there’s something powerful and moving in the first-person plea of ‘Don’t abandon me / I’m cold as stone / Come and rescue me / Now that I am all alone’.

There’s nothing elevated or preachy about this, and the human impact on an individual level is brought into relief here.

It would be a wrong step to criticise this for being a jangly emo/indie pop rush that musically doesn’t really reflect the gravity of the lyrics, because it’s better to deliver a message in a format that will appeal to a wider audience, and they’re not going to register any better with some dour, po-faced effort. ‘Shine a Light’ has energy and hooks, and while it really would represent an optimal achievement if everyone wo heard this would pause and reflect, spending a few pence on a download because you like the tune would be ok, y’know.

AA

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25th November 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

Following what, at least to the outside world, appeared to be a fallow spell between the release of beech and its attendant remixes version, during which time elk became elkyn, Joseph Donnelly returns remarkably swiftly with a new single, ‘if only it was alright now’.

It’s a sentiment that’s so, so relatable right now as we find ourselves eddying along in a relentless tumult of who knows that the fuck. And in the space of just over three minutes, Donnelly captures and articulates all of the uncertainty and wraps it around with a warm, thick blanket of home and opens the window to let the light in.

It begins in what’s swiftly become trademark style, his quiet, introspective vocals almost a mumble, trepidatious, accompanied only by sparse, picked acoustic guitar. And it’s truly beautiful, in that most intimate, soul-searching of ways. But from here, things evolve as layers of textured sound build on one another, and at pace, and in no time, galloping drums are bounding along, pushing the song onwards, and it’s a rush – a clean, uplifting rush, like a warm breeze on a perfect summer’s day, where the clouds are just wisps, high in the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

Comparisons and references that spring up here and there, but to evoke them feels futile, and moreover to diminish the emotional and sonic richness of the work, which exists in its own self-made space, and completely apart from all external forces of influence and time, creating a brief but magical moment you wish could be frozen to last for all eternity.

24th November 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

Black days and even blacker nights call for black metal, and the second track taken from German trio Imha Tarikat’s forthcoming second long player, Sternenberster (which translates literally as ‘burster of stars’) scheduled for release on December 11th. As you might expect from a band whose name is Turkish and translates as ‘extermination sect’, it’s black in the ‘scorched earth, charred remains’ sense.

It begins with a single bass note, a power grunt, and then all hell breaks loose, and it’s fast, furious, and the production is, of course, ultra-primitive. Usually, with black metal, I’m inundated with synonyms for swamps and sludge, here, it’s The Fall that come to mind. Not that Imha Tarikat sound like The Fall musically, but the clattering racket is distinctive by virtue of the instrumental separation. What’s more, that ragged bass sound, particularly the descending run before it all collapses into a frenzied wall of nose, sounds almost exactly like the start of ‘Elves’. It’s endearingly ramshackle, and while it is in time and in key – just about – I think – it’s perfectly unpolished, a one- or two-take demo-quality throwdown. Unusually, it’s possible to distinguish the bass, the guitars, the drums, and the vocals – but not the lyrics, of course – in what is a remarkably bright mix.

With the vocals heavily doused in delay, which repeats and reverberates around among the pulverizing and utterly relentless percussion, it does take on a different feel from so much of the genre. Of course, there’s nothing audible that conveys the song’s concept which ‘metaphorically signifies the violent collision with reality that follows a fall from intoxicating heights’ but it does convey excruciating agony and kinetic energy in abundance. And it’s fucking brutal.

20th November 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

So often, less is more. Lyrics that are personal and specific yet vague have the capacity to convey as much more than lines that are direct or explicit. And so it is with ‘Wander & Lost’ that Kin speak of loss and yearning, of distance and sadness and that sense of feeling cut off and alone.

As much as ‘Wander & Lost’ is ostensibly a pining, post-breakup song, it equally stands as a summary of the sense of loss that the distance so many are feeling from friends and family under life in lockdown. Maintaining closeness simply isn’t as easy, and everyone, everything has changed, is changing.

Wander & Lost begins with a wistful, minor-key guitar, picked and chorus-laden, and it provides a delicate backing for the dreamy, contemplative vocals. The drums are distant and everything is balanced, the instruments and vocals all infusing to form a cloudy aural drift. There are shades of melancholy lingering on the peripheries, and it’s never easy to determine if this is the music or projection – but then again, this is why music resonates beyond its immediate boundaries, and ‘Wander & Lost’ transcends its immediate aims on account of a certain musical intuition.

This is one of those songs that’s all about the slow build, and it doesn’t suddenly erupt or explode, but instead gradually swells into a soft, rippling wash of introspection. It’s a sad song that hits that perfect sad song sweet spot.

AA

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Human Worth – 6th November 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

Evan Gildersleeve’s debut solo single, ‘Mortal’ is an absolute masterclass in suspenseful, atmospheric instrumental music. While incorporating ambient elements, the mellifluous piano work is clearly structured, albeit subtly as it drifts, the notes reverberating in the rarefied air. It’s deeply evocative, resonating on a level that’s at the innermost point and therefore beyond specific articulation.

That ‘Mortal’ emerged from a very personal space, with Evan’s creative process in its formation being a journey through challenges with mental health and the impact of lockdown renders it all the more poignant. While turbulence and trauma are completely removed from this soundtrack, it’s perhaps telling in itself, serving as it does as a refuge from all of that.

It may be a mere six-and-a-half minutes long, but ‘Mortal’ captures something special and moreover, has the capacity to slow time, drawing the listener into a slow suspension, with the most soothing effect.

This is music that requires you to put down the phone, step away from the keyboard, disconnect social media, the TV, all streaming news, dim the lights and breathe slowly. The video features some remarkable visuals likely to assist in soothing a crowded mind – and with proceeds going to MIND, it’s pretty much one of the essentials of 2020.

AA

Fierce Panda – 13th November 2020

Christopher Nosnibor

Fierce panda will be forever intrinsically linked to the cutting edge of indie in the 90s, emerging as it did in 1994 and immediately making a name for itself with limited edition 7”singles by big-name contemporaries initially including Ash, Supergrass, The Bluetones, and Baby Bird, not to mention Placebo, Keane, Coldplay, Embrace, and that record by Oasis.

More than a quarter of a century on, they retain that certain sense of cool-by-association, but also continue to release damn good indie singles, breaking new talent with astounding frequency. National Service are a perfect example: the label picked up the London quartet National Service from seemingly out of nowhere, releasing their debut single, ‘A Little More Time’ in the year of their formation. Three years on, and here we have their third single, a song that unpicks he seams of the mundane, the everyday, and the introspective pains of self-expectation.

‘I haven’t had a decent sleep in days / I’m overthinking when I should be happy doing something mundane / But I’m too busy thinking about the long run / That I rarely find the time to enjoy today’ laments Fintan Campbell against a welter of shimmering guitars and rolling drums.

Comparisons to The Twilight Sad aren’t unjustified, and the band mine that seam of post-punk revival / indie crossover that dominated 2002-2006 as represented by Editors, Interpol, The Cinematics and myriad others, and the bassline that cuts in at the midpoint is pure Carlos D circa Turn on the Bright Lights. None of this is in any way to suggest that ‘Caving’ is derivative or locked in time: it’s a genuine rush of a tune, and condenses all the emotional resonance into four and a half minutes. It’s taut, hooky, and packs a punch.

AA

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