My Review: Sun's Spectrum - The Silence After The Fall

Sun's Spectrum - The Silence After All


Imagine the sky, full of pains, tensions, bitterness, spasms, discontent, enter inside a disco, visit the mad dance inclination of disheveled souls, perfectly gathered by ten songs, and witness a delightful delirium, in which everything is shown compact, oxygenated, inclined to suspend time. The creators of this musical spasm are two nocturnal creatures from Udine, Italy, supported magnificently by the indefatigable Cold Transmission Music, who elevate the cultural aspect of dance, not just the physical. These are well-structured thunderstorms, lapilli of light that educate thought even before the bodily boundary, teaching the senses dilation. One witnesses a spectacle of threads, governed by the electric gait, within musical genres that acclaim listening as they are aware that they can generate amazement and inexhaustible energy. 

An avalanche of multiple crossovers near effervescent slopes affixed to keyboards and computers unleash the desire to float on the smooth track of a night meant to embrace this lineup, a duo devoted to the study of the history of what is mistakenly called synthetic music: they disrupt the plane of conviction and, as a new liturgy, strike the blow to demonstrate how much humanity resides in these ten tracks. Brave, extreme, dark on the surface but clear in the head, they write an album that must find residence in the mental apartment of human beings eager for knowledge, ready to measure the limit of dance and thought, mixed with skill and extreme precision. Electroclash hyacinths are vehemently structured into ebm flows, which in turn take the hand of the most cultured virtue to deposit pseudo-violent dives into intelligent synth pop. A tide of interpenetrating looks immobilize the fears well represented in the grooves of this work to reach ecstasy. The industrial breath does not escape: it is seduced and inserted into the powerful and high dreamlike beats, neighbours of trained nightmares. It is easy to sense how the fun for Livio Caenazzo and Daniele Iannacone is to be able to experiment with daring formulas, while also employing the comfort of highly simple plots and thus approached by the difficulty of inserting fruitful forays that verge on the metaphysical. Alienating, neurotic, wheezing, this album is a specter in the mirror, under that sky mentioned earlier. It travels starting from a German base, with Belgian and Yugoslavian fantasy, to finally glide into northern Italy: a small globe capable, however, of being generous and astounding, to lead the vault of heaven to dream of permanence in the dance hall. The singing follows the directions of the various musical genres on which it navigates with elasticity, strength and conviction. The guitars have a darkwave outfit, they are almost perfectly hidden, but when they are most noticeable they seem to rave spectacularly, having on the other side a programming and synth base that makes the amalgam flow. 

In this full-bodied unleashed mantle the slow Epic gives a different and moving emotion, spectacular because its slowness is a stage on which to catch one's breath with the kiss of sympathetic tears. The celestially enchanting aspect concerns the fact that the band is perfectly integrated into the gloomy but full of life world of their new record label, giving Cold Transmission Music a chance to further shake up the whole dance movement, with sweat, frothing at the mouth and tension drawing a mephistophelean expression in the listener. The three singles that preceded the release (God Is a Machine, Paint is Just a Noise, and All I Want) have lavishly created curiosity and desire, which, with great skill, have been confirmed by the other seven, for a result that makes this album a favourite for Old Scribe to dance to this 2023!

Album out on 17th November 2023

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

15th November 2023 2023

the-silence-after-the-fall

My Review: Neraneve - Neraneve

Neraneve - Neraneve

There are high altitude breaths among the sound beams of which the songs are composed, capable of making gravity a molecule full of wind. It happens in this debut EP by a band coming from Ciociaria, from the city of Frosinone always eager to carve out a slice of consideration. Five delicate intentions aimed at probing melancholy and sadness, removing from them the lead that is usually generously offered by precise musical genres. Instead, the three musicians/artists lean toward brightening it up by opting for shoegaze, interspersed with dreampop beats, for a result that is truly surprising.
The range of smells coming out of the compositions seems to come from different places, from a temporal range that includes the last three decades: great is the vibration they know how to place in every single episode, for a scrupulous and powerful fabric, worthy of being put in front of more lofty names. Bold, meticulous, with a great care for sound, everything flows, like a pleasant seizure of the soul, with the eyes looking at the void to fill it with the wake of these songs, twins of the moon's rays and cousins of the sun's. One passes between light and shadow lightly, piloting the mood towards understanding a sensory state filled with sensitivity.It is music that makes clear the absence of a lazy attitude because of the fantasy and rhythmic attitude that leads to a dreamy dance, intent on pausing on a cloud that oscillates between gray and yellow spots.
It all begins with Vento, an emotional probe that, through hinted electronics, opens the lungs in an embrace reminiscent of Slowdive’s Souvlaki, to deliver memories a foothold in the mantra that governs the entire piece. It overpowers the pain and arrives at an awareness of the choices to be made. Dreamy and vibrant, it is an assured smash hit, in which sadness smiles between these sublime seconds...
With Quasi niente the pace picks up, the guitars prove extremely capable of taking the melody and bringing the soft part of existence to the sides of a sombre play, but generous at the same time in giving the impression that one hears it all on the back of the clouds. Magliocchetti's voice is a talkative, genuine caress, with tears adopting joy, almost hidden (as is customary in shoegaze), but extremely gifted in knowing how to intrigue the auditory apparatus.

Atmosfera is a slow plunge, a letting loose of sweet sparkling tears, into the field where the reverberation grows in tone, dresses up, and descends into the valley. As curled up, on a sleet-filled day, it succeeds in a sweetest miracle: bringing an American attitude to the centre of the ciociara city, with shoegaze triumphing without needing to generate walls of chaos and distortion.
From the hieratic Grandine we receive a solemn embrace: we ascend to the Garden of the Gods in less than four minutes, but there is no doubt that, starting with the brief, oceanic introduction, we arrive well poised in the zone where drumming, vocals and guitars establish contact with the grandeur of a truly remarkable composition. Reading and London, as well as Boston and Chicago, look on enviously...Concluding this sampler of beauty is Ologramma, which, after the very first few seconds that seem to bring Visage to mind, mixes certain heavy attitudes of The Cure’s Disintegration with the more subtle ones of Churchhill Garden, to knock on the doors of a dreamlike trend that makes our breathing thin. Interweaving wandering, sensual guitars over a syncopated rhythm stick the need for a quick listen again, and another...
The guitars of Giacomo Tiberia and Marcello Iannotta are a gift from heaven: enchanting textures and sounds to visit and keep in the heart. A truly well-structured work, with the beauty of the feeling that we have discovered outliers: let the intelligence be given to embrace this trio...

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

9th November 2023

https://neraneve.bandcamp.com/album/neraneve-ep?search_item_id=1146832973&search_item_type=a&search_match_part=%3F&search_page_id=2954368309&search_page_no=0&search_rank=1&logged_in_mobile_menubar=true

My Review: Gintsugi - The Elephant in the Room

 Gintsugi - The Elephant in the Room

"We are never so helpless towards suffering as in the moment when we love."

Sigmund Freud

This beat, pilgrim, tired, eager, white, descends from its throne and crashes on the craggy planes of the mind, the nuclear powerhouse of all pain. Stories, vicissitudes, various contortions, well-assorted and ill-assorted, squeeze into the existence that seeks footholds. Into this context comes a woman with a sharp tongue, an iron wrist, a discipline that positions itself in every gesture, thought, with gentle ferocity, to allow her a wide range of action. Her name is Gintsugi, the voice that melts the cracks of metal to cling to sweetness, with a lively plan aimed at bewitching the stars, creation, time to unite them in an exercise that dazzles: bringing the obscenity of pain to school, teaching it life and throwing it into virgin but already wounded notes... The imaginative lanes, the expressions that are never too didactic launch the young Italian-French artist with continuity into a border that is never squared, with long uncontrollable banks. One ends up trembling, weeping, reflecting, with implants of light visiting the unexpectedness of living, its often unpretentious limbs, to enter into a gastric lavage at heart height.

One finds oneself, mistakenly, with the presumption that the entire work has dreamlike propensities: it is reality, the truths and lies of living that Gintsugi shows us, in a pentagram tuned to authenticity. We encounter modes of expression that vary, but which undoubtedly make art rock the main reference point. One cannot deny other matrices, classical and pop imprints oiled, as a guarantee of a project very broad in its intentions, even to the point of creating a resounding concept album, even though it may not have been intended. 

Right from the title (a truly exhaustive and powerful English idiomatic phrase) to continue with the touching cover image, everything is positioned, from the start, on the level of a totalising, paralysing undertaking, concluding in the state of need for continuous listening. This is not a sonic ensemble out of step with the present time, nor should the absence of din be mistaken for a clinging to older expressions. The freshness of this incredible talent lies in maturity, to turn the hourglass into a dutiful exercise in understanding so as not to waste anything that is happening.

When, in addition to her main instrument (the piano), strings are heard, small vibrations arrive in the parks of her feeling, perfectly positioning the concept of usability, continuous and incessant. Her sweetness is a sinking probe, bringing foam to the mouth to be spat out, with class, on the keys of her emotional pilgrimage, in a dynamic visit to the souls, shifting accents, dissolving twists and fears. Four singles, two instrumental tracks, a crazy cover song, would be enough to make this record stainless: it is unlikely to be scratched.

Take Lilac Wine: the splendid cover of Elkie Brooks' 1978 song about the loss of a lover with the comfort of wine made from a lilac tree reveals a portentous attention to the colours of her uvula and is sung as if that pain belonged to her, orchestrating it in a mixture of tears and hope.  It is precisely this magnetic need to face what is uncomfortable and contrary that teaches us much on a human level. Music is her first vocabulary, her nascent nerve, her growing up confronted with unrestrained suggestions, with her infinite breath, her coming together with reflections that find their voice in the notes, so that the role of communicating thoughts is not only attributed to words.

The electronics, the timpani, the drums, what seems lateral to the structure is instead an almost invisible magnet that compacts these expressive, emotional, rational cascades, which often become poignant, uncontrollable tides. One can crash in front of this ensemble, one must be prepared and very strong.

These are compositions that reveal impulses, dizziness, planning held together by a balanced bow that knows how to shoot arrows into the sky of every unpredictable need. Gintsugi is an orchestral conductor of a whole that comes at us, employing moments that are more accessible to others in which one feels thrown violently to the ground. Her idiosyncrasies are, I would easily say, summed up by a voice and mode of singing that swings, like a mystical swing, through time, having great points of reference, artists who have made the history of interpretation. Natural talents, undeniable, but consider also that in this album deep, accurate and intense studies cannot escape: everything had to smell close to perfection.

When the sounds of the uvula are absent (after having caused intense trauma), the musical part does likewise: there is no competition, but an acclimatisation in the only desired direction, which is to be not only performing but above all effective. There are moments of great brittleness (the opening Mon Coeur and Hex), only to hear the rustle of clouds caressing our hair, penetrating the skull and reaching the brain. There, thanks to these sparkling sonic earthquakes, everything becomes clay, in a feverish state. There are moments in which the tension seems close to horror, where the clouds of human happenings seem to crash and fall until they reach the belly of planet earth. Others, however, in which the songs seem like invisible, impregnable breaths, conveying colours full of life. Suffering, in this undeniable masterpiece, is not an impediment: instead, I would say an opportunity to learn, to transform blackness into a winning act. Is there space for dreams, can they be seen, pampered, experienced in these tracks? Absolutely not, and it is precisely in this aspect that the greatness of a woman who walks head-on with the wind of contrariety facing her, coming out in pieces, must be exalted: Gintsugi has a series of sweet and powerful weapons to live the present as a will and an attitude.

The Old Scribe will soon write a review on the lyrics: other miracles that make this listening a dutiful and pleasant benefit, above all instructive. In one specific track, we see the feeling emerging that she has learned to draw from a precious source: the track is To Grace, a splendid child of Tori Amos' absurd visionary abilities. Many are the frequentations of her powerful background, but none so decisive: her greatest merit is that she possesses a style of her own, intriguing, overflowing, capable of an unquestionable personal identity. Produced by herself and Andrea Liuzza's label Beautiful Losers (also featured on the album), this feathered vessel is compact, in a momentum that seems to carry behind it trails of smiling tears on a day when everything seems to be subjected to the harsh judgement of a sky full of lightning. Nine explosions with the reins, where everything can go within a film to place its destiny: such a powerful debut will be one of the wonders that will remain in the temporal sphere for the duration of infinity.

I won't write the review song by song, because you can't get inside the wind and because to see a rose bloom you can't put your fingers inside it...

The conviction remains that this is the first true masterpiece in so many years, and to keep it that way, one must be discreet: love it, listen to it, bring it into the centre of our need, but always keep a distance that is called respect, because Gintsugi deserves it more than many others...

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

19 Ottobre 2023

Out on 20 October 2023

https://gintsugi.bandcamp.com/album/the-elephant-in-the-room-2

My Review: Drama Emperor - Eden’s Gardens

Drama Emperor - Eden’s Gardens

How tasty is the deception that lives segregated in history, that which slips into every mental recess, without release. There are, in art and beyond, examples that certify this malice, this unacceptable filthiness: it should be prevented that beauty has no throne visible from any latitude.

Le Marche, musically the land that has brought to light such limpid champions as Paul Chain and his Death SS, the Gang, Soviet Soviet and many others, in its fertile and golden womb has thrust into the furious musical panorama also this band, whose new release Old Scribe celebrates: a sound beam illuminated by assorted genius to generate emotions at high altitudes. Not simple, not usable with agility, to encourage, on the part of the listener, a profound work of assembly, as the duo composed of Michele Caserta and Cristiano Ballerini has been continually probing, ever since their 2009 debut, every resistance that is contrary to the programming of a precise commitment to be able to decipher the multi-magnetic waves of which they seem to be the generators blessed by the musical divinity.

They are electric vagabonds, in which the melody is a skeleton devoid of skin but functional to the motricity that makes the listening bodies magnets in mystical attraction towards a place that seems to become, episode after episode, a radioactive glade, managing to burn away the superfluous. We have had indications of this in recent years, despite the fact that the production has never been prolific: perfect, because the Marche's ambitions do not have to enter an assembly line. They sow songs like grains of sand in space: where, apparently, there seems to be a lack of meaning, everything is overturned by an effervescent, dynamic, engaging quality.

There are two new compositions that open the E.P., a pair of assaults with different modes, in style, in speed, but both imbued with wonderful metaphysical approaches. The core is a decidedly intense exploration of the provenance of their 'ancient' sonic reprisals. If one apparently denotes the abandonment of a Post-Punk matrix, in favour of insertions of electronic origin, one must however come to terms with the theatricality, a new element that seems to be a definitive stroke of genius.

In addition, one notes an orchestration that, starting from classical music, moves towards the German experimentation of the second half of the sixties: not just songs with a mantle, but notes that enter the bones. Generous sprinklings of the less orthodox eighties are especially evident in the final two pieces, with the dangerous but in this case successful system of two remixes.

The work on offer is an anvil that divides softness from chill: it is undeniable that the cables moving between the compositions are filled with a powerful capacity for investigation, to generate a fast natural selection. The powerful propensity, whether intentional or a splendid accident matters little, to absorb musical genres, to stun them, to make them objective and not dutifully recognisable, stands out. Everything lives for a few seconds with certain movements, only to be followed by others that seem to conceal the very recent past and vanish into the void. As in a stall tipped over in the mud, this is how the songs come to our listening: by putting a masterful uneasy ease, in the emotional register of an oxymoron that paralyses, conquering.

Time is now reserved for the proximity of these electrodes full of purple rust, to assign each moment our role...

Song by Song

1 - Eden's Gardens

A temporal carousel in search of a place to sow images and introspections, verifying the history of every deception: this is the temple of the greatest human lie, a garden that contemplates only pleasure, leaving the past behind. The guitar is fierce, heartbreaking, as it opposes, while the vocal part is a melancholic weeping, in which the perfect English singing places the accents on the vowels in an enchanting way. The drumming cooks the flanks and the six-string solo is a garden-variety sacrifice. The striking classical orchestration of the finale seems to paint a farewell to all illusions. Death in June, Echo & The Bunnymen, and the sound tails of Kitchens of Distinctions are placed in the first part and the enthralling refrain, in full admiration. But it is the change after the second verse that makes the whole thing elusive, sacred, definitively perfect...

2 - Pulse

No doubt: on the podium of the most interesting and atrocious songs of this dazzling 2023! Pulse is the expressive talent, the sonic investigation that starts with a killer loop, surrounded by an industrial shimmer, and then opens up as the song enters, which is a real exercise in study, resulting in a degree. The expressive theme is a cacophonic loop with a recitative that enervates, saps strength and enchants, due to its melodic leanness, inducing thought to travel in the confines of a pulsating mental labyrinth. This is the profound richness of the two artists: the smugness of complacency in writing music to pleasing effect, to project, instead, into the slow chaos of psychedelic textures and thrusts, seen through a tarnished glass, making them sound like a subtle explosion of a magma that ransacks resistance. Sublime!

3 - The Ghost In You

A Darkwave petal that frequents the hot spots of the sluttier and more sensual Coldwave, flies in this hiss that brings to mind great realities of the 1980s: Neon and Gaznevada, two excellences that loved to create to exorcise the fear of experimentation within those musical genres. Certainly dark, introverted, attractive, it makes their affinities and needs visible.

But, and I know that an extraordinary controversy will open up here, it fails to hold the gaze of the first two, because it is more mannered, less able to show the visual genius and quotas. Nothing, let's be clear, that would make the Old Scribe wish not to listen: he would have paid out of his own pocket in 1985 to hear such a composition!

4 - Awake (Soft Rior RMX)

Take Yello out to dinner, take them to the porn cinema of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and you will see how this remix is a celestial miracle: everything opens up, with continuous electronic inserts making this sonic exercise a hybrid in the direction of madness that becomes a perfect dance hall. Lively, the vocals draw dreams, while the vitaminic Synth discharges are miracles that make strobe lights blush.

5 - The Final Song (Guido Möbius RMX)

A slight ache frequents the mental space: an incipit that wanders in the dryness of a word that bangs on a shrill but extraordinary system, with a special counter-song that recalls Blixa Bargeld in a catatonic state. A sprinkling of dub and proto-house enters the song's circuit: one is constantly in neurotic anticipation...

A demonstration of how time can be put on the table in a laboratory, to design a fluid that makes eternity superfluous: the duo from the Marche has generated the astonishment that travels in the enchanted paradises of perdition, where passions and dreams are splendid corpses to be preserved.

 Italian E.P. of the year for Musicshockworld!

P.S.

Also of note is the splendid artwork by artist Francesco Pirro.

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld 

Salford

17th October 2023

https://dramaemperor.bandcamp.com/album/edens-gardens

My Review: eNiB - Cut

eNiB - Cut

"Nowadays, we see fog not because it exists, but because painters and poets have taught us what is the mysterious grace of its effect."

Oscar Wilde

There are mental palaces ascending, others descending, as they surround the quest and structure it, determining solid and liquid flows, until the freezing of truth, the only queen capable of giving authority to this true mission. Here is a soul who, starting from Rome, with its dense dangerous alleys, moved to Frascati, and defeated boredom, banality, and the absence of celebration of the useless to build an artistic path, begun by Echoes of Silence, to continue on very different emotional and expressive highways, drawing trajectories of studies that best delineated his sensibility and the great need to explore the void, to diminish the human fatness that prevents one from being lean and capable.

He wanted to cut everything short, and, you know, when that happens you separate the past from the future, compress dissatisfaction and what is indigestible and project yourself into what is unknown, using the available means offered by the present. Here then is the divine electronic choice, unfairly labelled as that which makes emotion and warmth absent, presenting us with its expressive avenue with nine projections, introspections, surveys and whatnot, which we will try to discover and pile up, together with the talent of those who have learned to enter the world of fog to build a different human track. Synth-ethical, Synth-omatic, in a sea of frenzies coming from the Yugoslavian torpor of the early 1980s, the method used is to vibrate the keyboard, to pilot the flights of its thinking into a musical structure that has an electric shadow zone. It is not the guitars that make us weep, it is the black and white keys, with its circuits full of wires and sweat, of controlled, polite nerves, made to explode without stupid distortions, to pilot an apparent form of detachment, but Filippo Biagioni Gazzoli has invented a gray rainbow, with shades and feathers that fly without falling.

Transistor wails, the messages, encoded as the old Coldwave used to do, are a heavy suit to wear. Every track on Cut shows us the pain of traversing the planet of behavior without, unfortunately, knowing how to renounce chaos. It is the impetuous Electro Dark that drives the Roman artist to visit the footprints of his thoughts and those of those around him: at those junctures his music is a cerebral operation, unsparing. The ebm, a violent love for Filippo if pleasant, in this work is an ideological rather than structural support: it is like always having a friend ready to listen to you. Because it is obvious that it is a set of pieces born to develop friendship with his silence, with the need not to share his path with anyone. You can tell by the compactness, the fluidity, the style that permeates each composition as if it were a long pilgrimage without necessarily having to change clothes.

The only exception is Come to Me, more robust, aggressive, the best black sheep in the family trying to stand out, also showing great qualities. And it is precisely with that track that the subtle ironic line is meant to present the bill to us all.

Cut demonstrates how, in order to know how to merit serious musical criticism by employing certain musical genres, rather than references that come from other nations, one must subtract the dangerous intention of copy and paste and study the perimeters within which technicalities might trivialize any approach. Philip succeeds: a work of love, of thanksgiving, of inspiration, a continuous birth where death, fear, tension are not hidden. Like lightning bolts, which have an awareness of the awe they give, the artist in question hurls broadsides of color, within his gray rainbow, to cross mood and loneliness.

It amazes, it marvels, it stuns at the production, the workshop work of sound that reigns supreme within the nine tracks. Majestic is the choice not to give the voice the task of piloting the listening: the music precedes, holds the sceptre, and the vocal chords are thoughtful in not disturbing, in seeking space to fit in and show a rationality that is never pedantic, obsessive or boring. Extraordinary is the delay in the release of this complex and bold sonic bundle: had it been released in 1983 it would have conquered the world. But it is clear, and it must be said, the fact that the instrumentation used to build the soundstage would not have been possible earlier. It is undeniable, however, that one traverses forests, great courses, climbs the cliff, rushes from the mountain of suffering with great courage. One dances to discover bone and muscle malfunction, slows down the rhythms and looks inward, like a dutiful magnet trying to glide effectively.

London, Berlin, Krakow, Bruges, Amsterdam, Moscow: ideal plazas waiting to celebrate those who know how to bandage borders and make all these places feel like a great hall to be inhabited, to unsettle, belong to, and tear each other apart while smiling at the fog...

Now let us visit these electronic vibrations, one by one, to machine-gun the mind with the visionary poetry of Filippo Biagioni Gazzoli...

Song by Song

1 - No Way Out

Front 242 where are you? Clock Dva what are you doing? Come here and listen to your Roman grandson: the work starts from a salt-filled, hazy, trembling splinter full of sonic tricks to drag the mind into a dutiful escape, not knowing if there is a way out that welcomes fear...

2 - Getting Nervous

A mantra, a killer loop, the atmospheres darkening, Darkwave-faced vocals move the muscles of the borders while the musical notes are weapons flying over nerves, scattering murderous microbes. The eighties show up in the melodic choice that imprints good Phillip and in the rhythmic shortcuts: syncopated rhythms to refresh the legs and to give the mind new oxygen. Dreary but balanced, measured toward the refuge that awaits a hypothetical psychiatric hospital...

3 - Limbo

One of the absolute summits, a sudden dazzle that shows us the artist's studies: the melody knows no immediate rhythmic complicity managing, when the drum machine begins to shake the air, to give us some extra energy, as this track is a whip on the heart, the voice knows a higher volume than others, and escapes into the hinted hisses, to make us fall asleep in the grayness of each limbo...

4 - Cut

Crashing, the shreds of confidence synthesized by swaggering, raw synthesizers: a single word sung, in different tones, the one that gives the album its title. We are in the territories of Cat Rapes Dog and Philadelphia, two of the most important bands that brought ebm to embrace Dark-Electro. Bone-filled melody, a single note that sequesters, some work in finding the right sonic texture, and then off we go: the spearhead is now firmly placed inside our disheveled skull....

5 - Lost

The Old Scribe rejoices to know that eNiB is no longer part of Echoes of Silence: if this fifth episode had originated with the Roman lineup, it would have stolen stylings, angles, and haircuts towards many of Coldwave's moral proclivities. Instead, Filippo travels alone, wonderfully, in a schematic track, at once clear and sombre, where the lightness of losing nothing has nothing to do with loneliness. To be convincing he limits phrasing and finds a loop that if you pay attention will remind you of Enola Gay. It is from these small details that you make an artist....

6 - Devourer 

Darkness where are you? Were you afraid you had been cast aside? Impossible: desolation demands and demands presence. Here they are, here, as in an OMD track, able to have Pop feathers, to make people dance, while tears sink in. The only track on the album that experiments with multiple musical genres, for a truly remarkable end result.

7 - Intruder (Feat. DonTToxique)

Elaborate, with a beginning that seems to recall the opening scene of the movie The Day After, the song is an ebm experiment lightened of the expressive sonic drama, but not of the suggestiveness that the female vocalist (what a surprise, let's admit it!) expresses in a charming way: on a system on which Depeche Mode would have built an entire album (poor things, eh yes...), the artist plays with flashes, advances in experimentation, deploys more loops and brings the music to be a balcony full of chrysanthemums. It was necessary to give the vibes continents without temporal boundaries, and the track seems to be a foggy ray that started from the 1980s to slap, softly, all the time that separated it from the present...

8 - Come to Me

Excuse me: for Berlin 1994? Am I okay if I continue on this musical track? The pearl, the black sheep of the Biagioni family is a poet with beautiful nerves, the child of a city without a wall and without dignity anymore. We are right in the German urban agglomeration-Alberto Camerini would love this track... Metric, robotic, with tight boundaries, it takes your breath away through an obsessive and disordered dance. Still doubts about this album? Come on, be reasonable...

9 Savour

The Old Scribe used small crowds in the 1990s to dance to slow songs with an intimate propensity for speed, to defenestrate whimsy and simplicity. eNiB does the same: dragging without having the need for powerful and majestic drumming, it concentrates energy to develop a mental prison within which to build a form of addiction. Evocative, compulsive, exhausting, the latest sonic appointment seems to celebrate horror without making it easy for it: let it go dance elsewhere! Which, in this context, is a resoundingly good thing!

Thus we bid farewell to a work that, good writers would say, has an international scent. Certain that success does not kiss the deserving, the wish is that there are souls who may stumble upon this record: even in suffering there is a smile and a beautiful gray rainbow...

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

12th October 2023

https://enib.bandcamp.com/album/cut