My Review: ⱯRINA - if u could die

 ⱯRINA - if u could die 

Ecstasy. Sinking. Astonishment. Eclipse of reason. Ousted. Thrown onto suspended ice.

This is the true story of the old scribe at the end of listening to this song, a cosmic ray off its course, out of place, out of time, indisputably a vehicle of bewilderment and desire to cry tons of liquid. Adolescence dies now, the windows of consciousness fall and leave the notes present here to do damage: it is useless to count them, they do not end, they continue even with the play in pause. One cannot cry out when the compositions make the mind swell, crushing the skull down, on the ground, and then they crash. The music is a circular halberd, with rhythm that advances, pauses, always beating, hallucinated and gloomy, often able to understand that the listener would like to escape from it: the mystery may be death with its trap in advance. It is a gothic necklace of trip hop brilliance filled with a parure of sadistically clinking diamonds. A Darkwave bastard guitar, falsely sweet, waiting for the battle to come, and then the greyness of electronic effects and inevitably the voice, the resurrected witch who from the burial recess embarks on its path paved with vengeance: it could not remain imprisoned. Then it happens that one ends up no longer being capable of any consciousness, one becomes kilograms of sulphurous acid within the walls of a suffocation. The sky looks at this inhuman voice and runs away. It is not a question of extension, of mode, but rather of what pulses within it, intent on becoming a strategic move for our destiny: it will live in our memory and forget us, it will abandon us to go and commit more massacres elsewhere. It is certain that it will move from our auditory apparatus to migrate, without interruption, into our veins that will be happy to let it know our cavities. We will surely die with it: once bewitched, the subject in question will be a continually descending mountain, the shock for which there is no remedy. The music, thundering in a robotic march, extends its church over which ARINA laughs with blood in her uvula.

As in a tribal hypnosis, the song illuminates musical genres, piles them up, rummages among them and conquers them, in an emotional whirlwind that seduces us. 

Something extraordinary happens in this track, due to a recital of sounds, a story remains pleasantly confused and manages to captivate and make one hail as a miracle: if even the latter could die, perhaps this pleasant malaise would collapse....

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld 

Salford 

11th January 2023

https://paynayloron.bandcamp.com/album/through-the-glass

Ghum - Bitter

 

https://ghum.bandcamp.com/album/bitter

My Review: The Boxer Rebellion - Ghost Alive

 My Review 

The Boxer Rebellion - Ghost Alive

Time travellers.

Visitors to places.

Residences that change like thoughts.

Once upon a time there was an American, an Australian and two Englishmen who became souls on the move, as if they were living the disease of nomadic beauty. 

After four years in which their amalgam became solid, these boys released their first album: after that beginning, their flight continued under the banner of constant sonic migrations, with no clichés or genres to declare themselves faithful to. Always travelling, mentally and physically.

In 2018, the sixth album arrives and everything becomes clear: grief can create an emotional and acoustic beauty, like a breath that breaks tragedies but does not forget them, giving the awareness that we must work on memory.

And so the death of the leader Nathan Nicholson's father has given rise to the need for a conspicuous intimacy that was poured out with fine feathers in songs that also contemplate the sweetness and subtle intelligence of a soul that has decided not to sink into grief.

An album which contains the need to take folk music and augment it with sonic fascinations to enhance its visionary aspect and at the same time its intimacy, because pain can also be whispered, delicately showing its ramifications.

So the eleven songs are not shots of that pain but the presentation of skills that have revolutionised it, breaking it up before and giving it light in the chest later.

If the voice, as always, is a flock flying in the company of rainbows, the instruments have tuned themselves to make intimacy sound and to do so they have given themselves the ability to breathe the wind between guitars, bass, drums and strings.

One finds oneself with shivers constantly on the skin: like a drunken orchestra that forgets its own habit and approach to the construction of music, the painters of sound decide to travel inside intimacy, dilating spaces of artistic expression, to give everything the dress of light that caresses the darkness, seducing it with compositions that often refer to classical music.

But it is not a concept album: that would be reductive. Starting from a difficulty, they took the opportunity to create an impulse with the light bulb of tenderness turned on, to take away the sense of suffocation that could have done damage.

The result shows that smiles take root over cracks, flying from song to song with that contagious force that gives the listener dreams and depth.

You fantasise with arpeggiated energy (River), indie rock shows its face with delicacy and rhythm (Don't Look Back) and you lose yourself in tenderness (Fear).

Like peaceful nomads you walk with your suitcase with a sure trajectory inside the guitar that reminds you of Nick Drake and Tom McRae (Rain), then continuing on the keys of a minimalist but thunderous piano (Under Control), until the almost psychedelic need to climb into the sky (Don't Ever Stop), finally returning to planet Earth with the tender power of a track that seems to remind us of the splendour of the new acoustic movement of the early 2000s (Lost Cause).

And you can be infinitely sweet even if you have failure in your mind (What The Fuck), and then move on to sit with wounded hands in folk stuffed with clouds (Here I am) and later to walk through the atmospheres of a sea ready to surrender but capable of redemption (Love Yourself), and eventually to go and throw your bones into the bed with a dialogue where bitterness emerges with doubts and questions (Goodnight) and to try to sleep, even if only for exhaustion.

The album has the ability to enhance the acoustic atmospheres: the sense of measure gives it the spectacular ability to be a light avalanche that overwhelms us but with elegance, taking the beats off the threshold. 

This brings us back to the sixties, when the lyrics seemed to get the better of the music, but, if you listen carefully, you will notice how much artisan work has been done to enhance every single note as well as every single word.

Simply monumental!

Alex Dematteis 

Musicshockworld 

Salford

March 17th, 2022

https://music.apple.com/gb/album/ghost-alive/1567013227

https://open.spotify.com/album/5qhDOlEZCyFaNluxgfJsV2?si=QHdP_ZNwS7-aPVI2Bygz0A

La mia recensione: Current93 - Halo

 La mia recensione

Current 93 - Halo

Live at Queen Elizabeth Hall, London

“Even Death is better than this useless life”

Una sera a teatro, dove il palco, poco illuminato, mano a mano che lo spettacolo avanza, sembra sprofondare nelle viscere di un pianeta troppo sofferente per poter sostenere sentimenti diversi che non abbiano una corda al collo.

Perché non vi è dubbio alcuno che con i Current93 si vada sempre e comunque a Teatro.

Per questo concerto ne hanno scelto uno vero e la scaletta ha confermato  che i 16 atti sono stati prodighi di intensità, dove la trama è stata espletata perfettamente finendo per ingombrare i pensieri, scuotere i nervi, agitare i muscoli seppur non stimolati da delle danze.

La nebbia della civiltà circonda le nostre paure nell’ascolto di queste canzoni, piume sporche di petrolio si appiccicano sempre di più durante questa fiumana esoterica  nella quale non appare una luce, se non la bellezza dell ‘autenticità che il Monsignor Tibet e i suoi discepoli musicanti distribuiscono in questa tragedia.

Un concerto che diventa il percorso artistico di una band che ha sempre avuto poca considerazione, però sempre capace di mantenere saldo l’equilibrio dei suoi forzieri.

Brani come preghiere, con aghi e spine in un involucro sanguigno dove i grumi sono una benedizione e non una maledizione.  

Note musicali come strida continue e con la coda fatta di tremori che impauriscono. Come se il Teatro insegnasse ai film horror come si fa a creare paure senza fine.

Ascoltando questo concerto potresti chiederti come stanno i confini del tempo, come si è arrivati a perdere le energie essenziali. Davvero si entra nel tempio del dolore, non quello accartocciato delle lamiere dei Christian Death, bensì uno più raffinato e sottile.

Tutta la fila nevrotica dei sentimenti più cupi si appiccica alle canzoni, con la sensazione dominante che l’inquietudine sia la vera regina del palco, che scricchiola seppure non manchino atomi di dolcezza e incanto.

Decadenza, battaglie medievali, sonorità gonfie di vibrazioni tenui, la luce tenuta nella gola di una candela sempre più stanca e opaca: questo e altro fermenta nella botte nella quale i brani ci fanno prendere spazio.

David Tibet organizza tutto come se fosse l’ultima replica: sentiamo la sua tensione e, per come certi brani vengono modificati rispetto alle versioni sugli album e per la sua interpretazione recitativa e carica di graffi, non si può che ringraziarlo per averci offerto uno spettacolo che esalta e va oltre le aspettative.

Con lui, certamente, non si perde tempo a sperare nella presenza di alcune canzoni rispetto ad altre: tutto è un rito, definito, e che si conclude con la nostra fragilità nel fondo della notte…

Tutto si fa sulfureo, quasi diabolico, con la sensazione che un temporale camuffato ci stia colpendo, un inganno che dalle viscere ci afferra le caviglie.

I canti Gregoriani, il cello strepitoso di John Contreras a ingrossare di stupore il ventre e la sensazione di una messa di suoni senza Dio ma più severa del giudizio universale a renderci smarriti diventa sempre più reale.

In tutto questo 4 Hypnagogue 4 è la summa, il tutto che si deposita come incenso negli occhi, la drammaticità di parole che fanno spazio all’introduzione di un pianoforte con il sorriso, poi la chitarra a sostenerla e poi David: il palco diventa un sagrato devastato tra pene, peccati e il buio che attende. E il petto che ricorda, in un incendio del tempo. 

Con, ad esempio, la toccante Sleep Has His House, dedicata a suo padre, David ed il piano sono il respiro di pensieri intensi che grattano l’ugola del Monsignore finendo per trasformarci in testimoni di un umore con le unghie nere.

Semplicemente devastante.

È questa atmosfera che attraversa la nostra anima e la conduce alla resa che ci fa non solo testimoni ma complici di quei territori mentali da cui spesso vogliamo fuggire.

La sontuosa The Death of the Corn, con la sua apertura sul filo del rasoio, il suo attenersi al protocollo primordiale della musica Industriale, per poi divenire una classica ballata neo-folk, è una esperienza da farsi, senza freni.

Non voglio però rendere l’idea che l’ascolto di questo album possa divenire traumatico (non sarebbe poi una tragedia vista la qualità delle considerazioni e delle emozioni che vengono fuori come funghi) perché esiste un piano positivo, una bellezza vestita di bianco che riesce a trovare il suo spazio e a diventare la principessa sorridente che cammina tra note con il cappotto nero ed il bavero alzato: dove esistono connessioni tra estremi esiste ad ogni modo una speranza che pianta la sua bandiera.

Fosse anche sui nostri polmoni.

Non ci resta che ascoltare questo spettacolo perché dal Teatro, quando trionfa la qualità, si torna a casa con il cuore che ha trovato il modo di allargare il suo potenziale emotivo.

E quella voce finale di una bambina in “God is love”, sulla nervosa Locust, dimostra che tutto può continuare con un minimo di speranza…

Ci sono  api che sono instancabili…

Alex Dematteis 

Salford

16 Febbraio 2022

My Review: Current93 - Halo

 Current 93 - Halo

Live at Queen Elizabeth Hall, London

"Even Death is better than this useless life".

An evening at the theatre, where the stage, dimly lit as the show progresses, seems to sink into the bowels of a planet too suffering to be able to support different feelings that have not a rope around the neck.

Because there is no doubt that with Current 93 you always go to the theatre.

For this concert they chose a real one and the setlist confirmed that the 16 acts were full of intensity, where the plot was perfectly carried out, ending up cluttering your thoughts, exciting your nerves, shaking your muscles even if not stimulated by dances.

The fog of civilisation surrounds our fears as we listen to these songs, petroleum-stained feathers are sticking more and more during this esoteric torrent in which no light appears except the beauty of the authenticity that Monsignor Tibet and his musician disciples distribute in this tragedy.

A concert that becomes the artistic journey of a band that has always had little consideration, but has always been able to maintain the balance of its coffers.

Songs like prayers, with needles and thorns in a bloody envelope where lumps are a blessing and not a curse.  

Musical notes like continuous shrieks with a tail made of tremors able to frighten. As if theatre taught horror films how to create endless fears.

Listening to this gig, you might wonder how the boundaries of time are, how we have come to lose essential energy. You really do enter the temple of pain, not the crumpled up sheet metal one of Christian Death, but a more refined and subtle one.

The whole neurotic row of the darkest feelings sticks to the songs, with the dominant feeling that restlessness is the real queen of the stage, creaking even though there are atoms of sweetness and enchantment.

Decadence, medieval battles, sounds swollen with soft vibrations, the light held in the throat of an increasingly tired and opaque candle: this and much ferments in the barrel in which the songs make room for us.

David Tibet organises everything as if it were the last performance: we feel his tension and, for the way some songs are modified compared to the versions on the albums and his recitative and scratchy interpretation, we can only thank him for having offered us a show that exalts and goes beyond expectations.

With him, of course, you don't waste time hoping for some songs over others: everything is a ritual, defined and ending with our fragility in the depths of the night...

Everything becomes sulphurous, almost diabolical, with the feeling that a camouflaged storm is hitting us, a deception that from the bowels grabs our ankles.

The Gregorian chants, John Contreras's amazing cello swell our bellies with astonishment and the sensation of a godless mass of sounds, more severe than the universal judgement which makes us lost, becomes more and more real.

In all this 4 Hypnagogue 4 is the summa, the whole thing that settles like incense in our eyes, the drama of words that make room for the introduction of a piano with a smile, then the guitar to support it comes and later David: the stage turns into a devastated parvis among pains, sins and the darkness that awaits us. And the chest that remembers, in a fire of time. 

With, for example, the moving Sleep Has His House, dedicated to his father, David and the piano are the breath of intense thoughts that scratch Monsignor's uvula ending up turning us into witnesses of a black-nailed mood.

Simply devastating.

And it is this atmosphere that crosses our soul and leads it to surrender which makes us not only witnesses but accomplices of those mental territories from which we often want to escape.

The sumptuous The Death of the Corn, with its razor-sharp opening, its adherence to the primordial protocol of Industrial music, only to become a classic neo-folk ballad, is an experience to be done, without brakes.

But I don't want to give the idea that listening to this album could become traumatic (it wouldn't be a tragedy given the quality of the considerations and emotions that spring out like mushrooms), because there is a positive plan, a beauty dressed in white that manages to find its space and become the smiling princess who walks between the notes with a black coat and the collar lifted up: where there are connections between extremes there is in any case a hope that plants its flag.

Even if it is in our lungs.

We only have to listen to this show because, when quality triumphs, from the theatre you go home with a heart that has found a way to expand its emotional potential.

And that final voice of a little girl in "God is love", in the nervous Locust, shows that everything can continue with a glimmer of hope...

There are bees that are indefatigable....

Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld 

Salford

16th February 2022