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giovedì 28 marzo 2024

My Review: L’appel Du Vide - Metro


L’appel Du Vide - Metro


Look! Saxony, one of the federated states of Germany, presents us with four of its emissaries of beauty from the astonishing Chemnitz, famous for its statue portraying Karl Marx, but for Old Scribe above all for the numerous bands that have made it a secret cradle of countless splendours.

Four years of activity have shown that the pelvic and mental treatise of this combo is a radioactive stain of surgical propensity, an epidermal shock that goes beyond the musical genres on offer, between an almost Deathrock, a confident Post-Punk and a sublime Noise Rock mixed with candelabra to illuminate the torpor and suffering of the city that has never managed to invade the world, but which next year will see as European Capital of Culture.

This work is a process of combustion, thoroughbred horses thrown into a gallop to leap over obstacles filled with banality and vulgarity: the Germans here employ rational and emotional strategies, a pick, a spade, a chisel and a lathe, to make listeners aware of what it is to be a reject of society.

A continuous uproar, in the celestial watershed of confusions made palpable, with dutiful precision, taking care of the sound, its outrageous and swaggering rules, to slaughter consciences more than eardrums, for a crazy world tour, encompassing the United States (the overflowing Portland above all), as well as the strong Manchester in England, to arrive at the intuition of the qualification of melodies as witches resurrected after a long hibernation, to bestow fatuous fires and handfuls of incense inside our nostrils.

Something primitive, the fruit of pre-medieval charcoal conquests seize the bloodstream of these compositions, to materialise in the modern proscenium of insult, in the wandering dance behind its scenes. 

It becomes clear that their ambassadorship has the will to progress, to leave its core and become an affront, a clash, through songs that wander the sky like murky clouds in a successful attempt to make the sun's rays weep: when iron flies in the sky, no heaven feels safe.

In the eyes of the four metalworkers, the history of man is a cemetery to be carried in the fragrance of their faces, a puzzle of Machiavellian ardour, the arrogance that reigns and conquers, deconstructs and amplifies the pain starting from punk and ending up stuck inside movements full of spasms and fireworks, in the chaos of an irrepressible adrenalin.

It drools in terrifying mode, tangles in a spasm that hurts the head, with continuous stings, relegating pleasure to the dead theatre of illusion. Songs like gratings full of blood, microscopic attacks that with the passing minutes become a nuclear roar against a peace that they just don't care about: once again the Old Scribe turns his cheek to this mysterious and rebellious group, offering himself as a sacrificial victim, conscious and happy.

The rhythm, often murderous in its corrosive speed, carries itself along with bass lines, blades of shattering guitars, the vulgar and extraordinary drumming, seductive altar of every physical pick.

When the piano and synthesizers dare to show their breaths, we give in to an unexpected heart attack: like druids without respect they play with our senses, spewing forth courses of extraordinary and at the same time alienating beauty, where commotion genuflects.

Suse, Friday, Flatty and Rene: these are the names of these furious little guns who composed a treatise on madness that the Frankfurt School, with its extraordinary philosophers, would have rewarded with a degree in applied alienation, with an academic kiss.

Enough is enough, it is undeniable that we have to reckon with the individual cracks and move into a getsemane waiting to be breathed, amidst more weeping olive trees than ever before...



Song by Song


1 - Nacht

The opening is a heart attack, Sheffield seems resurrected, and then it's a tangle that starts with The Killing Joke as it glides into Frisco, and loses its free will to be the gymnasium where everything has to be precise, with monumental and rapid changes of rhythm, and a vocal that is dry, symptomatic and abrasive.




2 - Verschwiegen

Primordial seeds of arthritis-filled vapours coming from Fields Of The Nephilim become apparent in the first few seconds. Then it's savagery, barbaric and atomic disembowelment, backed by magmatic guitars and Rene showing us the breath of Rozz Williams. 




3 - Offenbarungseid

Wounded Post-Punk, following Bauhaus as they put makeup on their faces, takes off to attack our already clearly wounded bodies. Everything becomes a locomotive full of mental refugees, enraged, embracing the unforgiving guitar: it rips, sews, paints vessels dripping with sweat and sticky jelly. The breath is short, but a stratospheric black joy is experienced....



4 - Woanders

Here is the alien Germany, blameless, majestic, elusive, that makes us wait, with the play of guitars and drums, to become stake and heartbreak. The time oscillates between 1977 and 1980, the places are the vertebrae of London and Detroit, in a Post-Punk party of incredible placebo effect



5 - Verbrennen

The Banshees open the dances, then it is the majestic corpse of the band, its uniqueness, that emerges: a song that is a procession, an armistice, a surrender that knows darkness when the singing begins and the drumming becomes sombre. Then just debris and fans falling to the ground...



6 - Fleisch

The head bows, the eyes search for treatises on ancient medicine, the notes fall from the sky like slow, dust-filled skeletons, in a slow industrial spectrum that turns into a hard-core murder of inhuman chorality, to arrive, following a treatise on imposed education, to play with Deathrock missiles and then, again and again, flow into hard-core. Devastating!



7 - Warteschleife

No truce, for pity's sake, you don't, you mustn't, and the four of them beat up, they don't give a damn about common sense, and continue to sow bullets, in the chaotic Dantesque circle, placing zombies in the sounds and malignant smiles in the harmonic textures...



8 - Ausgeliefert

Berlin calls, Hamburg cries, Bremen swings, Frankfurt waits: a song that, like a super condensed book, struggles to contain the sparkle of these black seeds like gloating worms. It yearns, it waits, it enriches, it warms the skin of sound in a dance that makes a mop of every thought...



9 - Fragezeichen

The delirium, with the first part of the song reiterating a neurotic and shadowy methodology, the surprise of a stratospheric finale, with that piano that kills every caress, makes the leave-taking a new epidermic shock, with the story of the first and blasphemous Post-Punk that emerged from the banks of the Mississippi, then able to penetrate into the heart of the German black forest. A delirium that sums up everything we have heard and makes this album a spectral mirror of clamorous urges and macabre, powerful beauties...


Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

28th March 2024


Album out on 29th March 2024


https://sabotagerecords.bandcamp.com/album/lappel-du-vide-metro-lp

martedì 19 marzo 2024

My Review: Swirlpool - Distant Echoes

 



Swirlpool - Distant Echoes


The time has come for conjugation, for memory to activate its channels full of intelligence and respect in order to probe the past and give it new possibilities for a more conscious future. 

This is done through a German band, its passion for shoegaze, magically delving into the river of reverberations, of feelings that shake the listener's soul, who finds himself immersed in candelabra, shadows, winds, suspended magic, between black and white and shaded, between sonic thickenings and poignant melodies, where melancholy stamps its passport to bring these songs onto the stage of the most complex and robust emotion one could wish for. 


In the meticulous sifting that sees this genre of music concentrated in its (at least here) thirty-four years of life, everything appears synthesised to perfection and then given a tailspin and loaded with new pulsations, new attitudes, new inclinations, in order to give this nursery of controlled incandescence a throne: it would be important for it to be recognised, as Distant Echoes is one of those works that make history. Within it, clichés are exalted, through the methodology of study, and then a necessary motion of new stars is developed. An attitude that explores, almost secretly, the hunting grounds of lesser-known post-rock, injecting seeds of subtle, almost mystical indie-rock. The whole produces a set of poems that give guitars like magnets, a soft but capable bass that supports the entire sound apparatus, and drumming that traces full-bodied melodies, a vigilant that launches sound and rhythm in the right directions. 




You run, you fly, you chase the centre of gravity of a desire that knows no calculation: the professionalism of Thomas A. Fischer, Markus Kraus and Christian Atzinger produces spells, daisy petals full of ardour and the ability to explore light. They favour the song form, but it is as if each part of their compositions had individual projects, for a puzzle of absolute beauty. Each moment is a bubble that plunges into the rainbow of electric waves that know how to skilfully combine reality and dream, making us touch the notes like an unexpected miracle. An album that seems to be written to be listened to in an attic, with a few glasses of wine, some sweets and a psychology book: there is life to be touched in these rivers, each track becomes a stick that slips into the water of a concept made of vibrations, tensions and caresses, to trigger reflections and emotions. It leads us to crisply perceive a protean layer, causing adoration and disbelief, against the backdrop of the subliminal chaos of shoegaze painted and not shouted, through modes predominantly set to the right rhythm, with a predilection for rhythm changes. Arpeggios with a burning heart, directions that are never random towards a melody that is never found in solitude, with a teamwork that compacts the voice full of reverberation with music swollen with inventiveness, for a global creation that engages the listener in deep attention. 


The production by Mark Gardener (Ride) comforts, amazes, giving the further certainty that this debut was born to be protected with wisdom and intelligence. It flows, and does so well, this magnetic flow of brushes and silks, to envelop the heart in unquestionable ecstasy. 

Right from the start, with the album's title song, we have majesty and shyness, for a combo that hands over the sceptre to the guitars and drumming, and in which post-rock embraces the easiest shoegaze to listen to, in a blaze of intensity and warmth. In Caught In A Dream the band shows how melody and power can be an invincible duo, with the vocals sounding like a rainy day without smiles, while the keyboard paints possible rainbows and the guitars alternate between Dream Pop and shoegaze patterns. When Paranoia arrives, we realise where the style brought to the sky stage by Slowdive is placed: is a sombre procession that does not forgo sweetness with guitars that watch The Cure's Wish album show wrinkles. Immense. The concluding Drowned Voices is an almost mystical farewell, immersed in its slowness that hypnotises, fascinates and shows the future of this musical genre: it is a grazing of the intensity of a sound that is shown with modesty, as if nothing should be ostentatious, and it is at this juncture that the band unleashes solutions with patience and research.             

The whole soundstage deserves a precise study: it will not be the best-loved album of 2024, but certainly among those that will prove that it is the students who teach the world that there is still so much to know...

Prodigiously, while the vibrant artistic forms exhibit their structure, everything seems to become evanescent: one cannot control the beauty of this pelvic carousel of balances, one can only 'suffer' its fascination, in an ever-rising merry-go-round of sounds. And the dirt of guitars trained to contortions produces an unsuspected sense of cleanliness: when sound slides wash the soul and you feel lighter...


Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

20 March 2024


Album out on 22 March 2024


https://swirlpoolmusic.bandcamp.com/album/distant-echoes

domenica 10 marzo 2024

My Review: Jo Beth Young - Broken Spells


 Jo Beth Young - Broken Spells


"Not knowing when dawn will come, I leave every door open."

Emily Dickinson


A silent gathering drives the music: from that practised by all escapes this higher order that is organised by a celestial troop, to make it much more than an emotional event.

In this restricted organisation, the one written, composed and sung by JBY is certainly the spearhead, the clear representation that there is an effluvium that makes smells the guardians of a pleasant and essential stunner. Because the English singer with her new sonic painting builds bridges, waterfalls, embraces for an encounter that has several concepts to express, which makes her a citizen with a passport that allows her to arrive in every land willing to sow the seeds of this extraordinary tribute to conscious work in her listeners.

This happens when Broken Spells penetrates the soul: one becomes a travelling resident like her, a soul in non-stop transit.

There are several novelties compared to the previous Strangers: in these five years, the study of singing and the construction of the waves that make her songs a short circuit of an elegant, graceful and full of inspiration cosmos, finds important specifications, giving, in addition to her folk style contemplating atoms of World Music, a greater presence of fine, vital electronics, never pompous or inappropriate. Rather: an ensemble that creates a unique idyll, magnificent and full of colourful bubbles, as if a rainbow inhabited it.  One thus finds oneself swimming in its celestial space with greater intimacy and an incredible unforeseen reality. Listening stuns, enlightens, makes the skin of the heart moist, with the sensation of experiencing a continuous suspension in the face of everyday distortions: she grants us hope, emotion, the duty to seek a positivity that in her new compositions build an unassailable motion. A skilled multi-instrumentalist with clear ideas, she gathers musicians around her fingers with patience, quick to collaborate, to make these tracks a crowd of compact stars, building a sky of their own, slow, virtuous and infinite.

Peter Yates on guitar (Fields Of The Nephilim), Jay Newton on piano (Abrasive Trees), Jules Bangs on bass (Herija), John Reed on Steel Guitar, Ben Roberts on cello (Silver Moth/Prosthetic Head) are a combo aligned with Jo's project, a talented condenser, who moves inside the clouds, with the task of keeping the initial ideas rarefied, but bringing them fearlessly in front of eternity.

She seduces and conquers the certainty that this artist is able to bind the past and the present in that mystery, fear, conscience and turmoil are perfectly aligned, in a form of discipline that does not contemplate mistakes, superficiality and dastardly choices. Perfection: there it is, achieved, defined and shown to stun like an earthquake of slow kisses, oblique but never venomous glances, because sweetness for Jo Beth is an overt act of respect. As one listens to these new ten blinks, one can definitely feel her maturity in creating a concept album, sonorous, emotional, the range of her secrets shown almost completely, with the conviction that some are left in her hands, perhaps to be presented in the future.

The attitude is to give this modern bouquet with the imprints of electro folk, ambient, artpop, progressive, a chance to connect with a mood that brings out the instinct of baroque music that is surely within its sensibility, perhaps unconsciously, but that does not matter. What is important is the bright beam of synapses in contact, in the miracle of different epochs, of an acclimatisation with history and the future, here placed not as a hypothesis but as a territory in which these notes already construct it.

Her voice is a velvety driver, without neurosis, without annoying jerks and also a polite walk between colourful changes of register, a gentle tide that uncovers the nerves, a tale read slowly with attention and care. There is no need to bother other singers, to make comparisons: serious listening shows her unique identity, capable of making us experience the pleasant condition of a marriage between her uvula and our ears. But do not think that music is a pillow, a blanket, a stick on which everything is touched to create condensation. Absolutely not: it is a continuous breath, a parallel journey, an ensemble of natural identities with the wise authority determined to coexist with these vocal vibrations for a collective that also has a way of showing individual validity.

Let us not make the mistake of making this album merely a list of compliments: we need to experience it, to make a solid participation, to become music ourselves in order to understand the dynamics that have allowed Jo's to create not an event, but what this artistic expression should normally be, the biomechanics of an educational and exploratory work for our souls.

Penelope is blonde: she builds and unbuilds to give the dream a soundtrack that keeps fantasy a constant, because reality is no longer able to give her space. Beth succeeds, in abundance, with quality, melting the badness, harnessing this harmful human nature with her elegant propensity to show another dimension, possible and indispensable.

She brings the area where she lives (Northern Ireland) into the centimetres of our imagination, stretching the idea we have of those places, creating aquatic movements where there are clods of earth instead, in a wonderful opportunity for transformation, making possible the contact between the real and the dreamlike. Her mental laboratory illuminates the wind and, when the songs find the light, listening to them means writing an incredible new story.

Broken Spells represents an opportunity to feel the heavenly face stretching out its hand, as if its intention was to generate our peace: it takes less than an hour to have a master guide, to find oneself in enchantment, to feel lighter...


Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

10th March 2024


https://jobethyoung.bandcamp.com/album/broken-spells



mercoledì 6 marzo 2024

My Review: Loom - Eternal Aphelium E.P.


Loom - Eternal Aphelium E.P.


The din of silence makes souls eager for warmth self-propelled, altering the direction and permanence of their needs, not allowing themselves to tergiversate, not making the best use of time.

Sweden's Loom take the sledge and head north, into the space that makes their minds a dream-embracing glow, carrying the suitcase of reality tightly in their arms and uvulas.

In all this, the new E.P. shows some changes, surprises that stun and make listening a celestial crossing swollen with visions and perceptions that warm the heart, fighting the cold and anger of living today.

Monika Axelsson returns as the band's lead vocalist, while Evelina Nicklasson has decided to take a break. In addition, in one track, we also get to hear Roland Klein singing along with guitarist Fredrik Axelsson.

We witness a mutation, an elaborate thoughtfulness aimed at giving the compositions and the sound the possibility of becoming celestial matter, a close relative of dreams, in an embrace that allows the Nordic line-up to express a seductive, bewitching talent, generous above all in making slower rhythms a stylistic mooring close to Post-Rock meteors.  But it remains essential, for the sake of the record, to recognise that shoegaze is approached here with great exploratory exigency, almost as if the four had studied possible settlements and graceful, but effective, improvements.

Succeeding.

Four new paintings and that Aphelium III released in January of this year. The territory on which the writing and expressive skills that coined an embrace out of a wicker rocking chair, with a small flask of whiskey, rests is a dune full of snow that acts as a springboard to the sky. The guitars, in this winter jewel, find a way to space out in powerful and rarefied crossovers with the other instruments, concretely engaging the possibility of compacting the various expressive individualities. As for the vocalists, there emerges a solidarity, a support, a winking, a sweet intimacy that dresses the listening with vibrant emotions, showing, compared to the rest of the group's discography, a greater and more pronounced propensity to grant them the stage, on which the light of approval establishes a generous, benevolent contact of care and sustenance.  Capable of reproducing the evident structure of the musical genre that has found in Slowdive and Low (because, really, we are witnessing the mixture of a work that includes Shoegaze, Post-Rock and Slowcore) the major point of reference in these five songs, these artists, through Henrik Viberg's careful production and also their own, paint the light effects with a frame that makes everything ethereal, as if the sensation of entering directly into their compositional process became real. One reaches across mental spaces, feelings, in a feast where sounds hold both joy and pain, making one's breath mute but filled with great vibrations.

Eternal Aphelium becomes, thus, an E.P. of concessions, a spectacular vessel between solid qualities of the past that do not disappear, but are eager to accommodate a mixture that makes the quartet pregnant, to make Loom's art the possibility of acquiring thrills and reflections.

Clouds as landing guitars, drumming as thunder in a hormonal and exploratory state and the bass as a distributor of wisdom and support, and finally a keyboard that closes the path of expression to consolidate the evocative power. 


 Song by Song


1 - Slowmotion


The emotion, quickest to manifest itself, comes from the opener track, a boulder of rock rising into the air, with shoegaze guitars towering, to then allow Monika's suave voice to caress our eyes and reach the refrain, which condenses the whole, transporting bodies to the house of dreams. Like a circular merry-go-round, the perimeter of sound grasps more than thirty years of this musical genre, polishing the medals of valour won...


2 - My Melancholy Girl 


A guitar arpeggio and a subtle keyboard force the rhythm to slow down, but the beat becomes tachycardic: first Fredrik's voice and then Monika's are the ground where sweet tears are born. A reasoned chaos, kept at bay with class, in a sunny lullaby that expresses the talent of a song as a probe, to walk in the sky, with the nakedness of sound to warm the footsteps of a poetic music as never before


3 - Trapdor


Powerful, as in numerous episodes of Adorable and Ferment's Catherine Wheel, the third track sees Fredrik and Roland singing together, amidst psychedelic shrapnel and drumming that defies the patience of the sleeping sky. Monika's countermelody also arrives in the refrain, in a compact, lunar, sweetly neurotic combo, making us dance, with the bass pushing its pulse to make it all a complex amplexus of colours and vibrations.  


4 - Aphelium III


The single that anticipated E.P. is a drug that fills the mind with visions, with the scratchy guitar but also capable of building an almost ferocious melody, while the two voices stroll in unison to create a poignant melodic line. Sparks that generate recalls, fascinations, resulting in an addiction that makes for repeated and enjoyable listening...


5 - Proximity


The farewell is spectacular: Monika leaves her angelic voice on the lanes of a simple but generous arpeggio of approaches, with the bass gliding towards the chest, then leading us into the wind, a spiritual ascent towards an eternity that could really have this jewel as its soundtrack. The keyboard here is more incisive as far as it maintains its minimalism, but those few notes immerse us in the great light that the whole produces, giving the whole beauty and cuddling, to make the whole become a perfect fade-out, a slow procession with the garment of generosity to wrap a majestic work...


Out on 8th Mrach 2024


Fredrik Axelsson - Guitars, keyboards, vocals

Roland Klein - Basses, programming and backing vocals 

Eddie Wilmin - Keyboard

Monika Axelsson - Vocals


Recorded by Loom

Produced by Henrik Viberg and Loom

Mixed and Mastered by Henrik Viberg



Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

7th March 2024

La mia Recensione: L’appel Du Vide - Metro

  L’appel Du Vide - Metro Toh, la Sassonia, uno degli stati federati della Germania, ci presenta quattro suoi emissari di bellezza dalla s...