list.co.uk/music DUBSTEP ZOMBY With Love (4AD) ●●●●●
Given that Zomby routinely treats his fans with disdain, doesn’t bother turning up to play gigs when booked or petulantly strops off after 20 minutes, it would be fitting if I accidently didn’t bother to review his album. Fitting, but would get me into trouble. And besides, it would be remiss of me not to tell you about his brilliant, haunting, and daring new opus. Zomby gets away with his agent provocateur/contrarian/generally being a berk shtick because he is simply too compelling a producer to be ignored. His vibrant paean to rave culture ‘Where Were U In ‘92?’ was executed with rare clarity; brash, smart and prescient. His 2011 debut LP for 4AD Dedication showed him in a different vein – thoughtful, emotive, and capable of wonderful subtlety, using a dystopian palette of abandoned synths, subterranean beats and lonely, fractured tempos. And here on the 33-track double album With Love he again finds majesty in the gloom, conjuring a huge variety of compositions pregnant with a heavy-lidded intensity.
It’s a long record but it doesn’t feel it. Zomby has carved out an inviting niche for himself with short, bite-size morsels of urban dystopia. Where has his anon counterpart Burial currently preoccupies himself with epic and earnest indulgences of, well, Burial, Zomby prefers to have a lot of ideas that rarely extend longer than three minutes. He is an auteur, creating a variety of brief bass vignettes that use grime, DnB, dubstep, and house as his guidewires. It’s
a prodigious talent, to be able to conjure up this rich selection of rhythms with an almost contemptuous élan. Some reach a point of fruition, others end abruptly, but none are throwaway. In that context, With Love is
reminiscent of Aphex Twin’s 2001 album drukQs, an ambitious, sprawling, double LP by an artist of seemingly, at the time at least, indefatigable talents. Zomby walks a similar line of brazen effrontery – he does what he wants and he knows it’s good. (Mark Keane)
Records | MUSIC
AMBIENT POST-ROCK SIGUR ROS Kveikur (XL Recordings) ●●●●●
It’s hardly Dylan going electric, but when early word got out about Sigur Rós’ new tougher direction, some fans of the moody Icelandic band whipped themselves into an ethereal lather. The truth behind the myths of their seventh studio album, Kveikur, is that while there are some genuine wig-out moments, luxuriating in their bountiful sonic palettes still remains an option. If anything, their eye is now more on concocting finely-crafted tunes with choruses and everything, while still keeping an essential Sigur Rósness intact. When announcing that their 2012 album, Valtari, would be ‘floaty and
minimal’, one broadsheet wag sarcastically noted that this statement would have been a ‘surprise for anyone expecting industrial metal’. Perhaps the band (now a trio following the departure of keyboardist Kjartan Sveinsson) felt this was a challenge that simply had to be taken up, as Kveikur’s opening track, ‘Brennisteinn’ (Brimstone) fairly crackles, clangs and crunches into life. It does eventually cleans up its act halfway through to offer the nine-strong collection’s first glimpse of the Jónsi falsetto, but the pause is temporary as it makes way for the crashing cutlery which bookends ‘Hrafntinna’. And then the first of three majestic tunes rumbles along with ‘Isjaki’ acting like a literal iceberg looming into view. The plaintive ‘Stormur’ should be showing up on Match of the Day montages early next season while ‘Bláþráður’ (Thin Thread) magically merges this new thunder with the pastoral glories of before. Along the path, the title track soars cloudwards with a menacing adrenaline that is dampened for just a moment by the vague Coldplayisms of ‘Rafstraumur’ (Electric Current).
Anyone doubting that Sigur Rós won’t be taking over the world shortly only needs to learn that in May they appeared in The Simpsons. They may have turned yellow for a scene or two, but their competitors should be green with envy at the ease with which they’ve made such a thrilling transition. (Brian Donaldson)
POST-PUNK/GOTH VOM Altered States (At War with False Noise) ●●●●● ACOUSTIC/POST-PUNK HOWIE REEVE Friendly Demons (Sausage Shaped Lobster Records) ●●●●●
There’s something threatening and otherworldly about this doomy, nigh- instrumental Glasgow trio. A combination of the relative scarcity of their live appearances, an obtuse and abstract artwork, some evocative and foreboding choices of album and song titles, and the ritualistic intensity of their music gives them a mysterious, sinister, almost cultish air. Altered States, their second full-length album, appeases the acolytes by taking
the hard-edged, minimal, goth-derived sound of their debut, Primitive Arts, and pushing it a little further, but also seeks to recruit new blood by adding a few new twists. Opener ‘Moon of Hecate’ foregrounds Vom’s principal weapon: a massive, chorus-soaked bass tone, jagged like a barbed-wire choker. The relatively simple, repetitive lines gouge away to a merciless beat, while a wounded guitar howls and a barely audible voice issues threats into a tin can at the bottom of a lake. It’s absolutely superb, lethal stuff, and this motif recurs three or four more times (most ferociously on ‘The Master’). It’s effectively Vom’s signature sound and they can do this whilst unconscious or undead if need be.
More challenging are their ventures into new territory. ‘Cortina’ is a
comparatively lightweight and melodic but still extremely gothy instrumental. With its guitar tweaked to resemble a harpsichord, it could make for a fair theme tune to a 1970s TV detective series. ‘The Stand’ also reveals a poppier, prettier side to the band, exploring
Anyone who saw Glasgow’s Tattie Toes play live will surely be familiar with genial shorts-wearing bassist and bell-ringer Howie Reeve. To an already extremely inventive band comprising wildly disparate stylistic elements, he brought a (post) punky sensibility, a lean, wiry bass tone and plenty of genial humour. Alas, Tattie Toes are no more. The other members can be found playing with
The One Ensemble, Alasdair Roberts, Hanna Tuulikki and others, but Reeve has decided to go it alone. Switching his gnarly electric four-string for the subtleties of acoustic bass, he delivers 12 intricate and expressive solo compositions. Reeve describes this as the most personal music he’s ever made, and you can certainly hear why: a sense of warm intimacy pervades the whole thing. Recorded live and (mostly) unaccompanied in his living room, Friendly Demons is very much a home- made concoction, and that’s very much its strength. The tracks are alive with ambience, dotted with string-squeak and fretbuzz, and even feature the sound of Reeve breathing as he focuses during the more difficult, tricksy passages, recalling the iconic jazz mumbles of Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Thelonious Monk. An extremely proficient player, but never gratuitously showy, Reeve’s focus is on songwriting, even though only a handful of tunes feature his soft, understated vocals. His approach to bass is beautifully expressive, melodic and thoughtful, but also takes in flamenco-style flourishes, charging post-punk grooves, choppy, percussive passages and one surprisingly violent bout of chaos.
their more melodic Banshees tendencies. The short, delicate, guitar instrumental ‘The Jester’ is an anomaly that recalls similar flower-in-the-ashes curios such as Black Sabbath’s ‘Embryo’ or Faith No More’s ‘Jim’, while doom-laden final track ‘Sorcery’ is notable for its quasi-militaristic march and heavy synths. Very aptly named, Altered States finds Vom in a fascinating state of transition between the ruthlessly effective murder machine of old and a newer, more exploratory incarnation. (Matt Evans)
Named in tribute to his local greengrocer, ‘Stalks and Stems’ features a fantastically wobbly and boisterous attack of string-bent low end, while ‘The Playroom’ blossoms into an avant-folk refrain with honeyed harmonies from Foxface alumnus and the album’s recording engineer, Michael Angus. As inventive and playful as it is richly emotional, this will appeal to admirers of RM Hubbert’s delicate acoustic portraits, but also to fans of the complex rambunctiousness of Minutemen and The Meat Puppets. (Matt Evans)
13 Jun–11 Jul 2013 THE LIST 77