The Destruction of Subtlety

This begins, as most things do, with a fairly innocuous event that eventually led my mind down the path of current affairs.  To be honest, when I say 'current' please take it as 'happened in the past decade' as I appear to be trapped in a horrific time-warp.

Going back to a recent Saturday evening, where I decided to go for a bit of a walk, headphones in place and seeking a possible soundtrack to drown out the London ambience.  After much mindless scrolling on my phone and not looking where I was going, I eventually settled on a long-neglected and somewhat overlooked album, The Destruction of Small Ideas by Sheffield lads 65DaysOfStatic.

Bewildering album art as standard.

Compared to their previous releases, their third offering is far less 'noisy' as far as dynamic compression is concerned, opting to lower the volume so that the listener can actually hear everything that is going on in each track, rather than being attacked by the cacophony.  For once I actually did some research to discover that this was a deliberate move after being inspired by a magazine review in which the author bemoans the ongoing 'loudness wars' fiasco.

For those unfamiliar with what that means, it is where an album or song, usually in the mastering stage, gets its dynamic range processed which effectively compresses it to produce a seemingly louder mix overall.  That is the bare bones of it, I am not so much of an audiophile as to know much more, I confess.  This method has been a gradual yet increasing problem since the advent of CDs and it causes distortion and sometimes leads to a generally unpleasant listening experience .

Yes, this album.

This is effectively the band or artist showing off in effect, as the dynamically louder tracks stand out more, thus calling the listener to pay more attention, if only to remark on how utterly terrible it sounds.  It is strange that, with the competitive element near-eliminated thanks to no one actually buying CDs any more, this trend is not only  continuing but becoming even more prevalent, especially with regards to the nightclub scene where it is not only rife but appears to be encouraged.  In that genres slight defence, they have mastered the art of side-chaining and other forms of dancing around the unlistenable; as such it doesn't sound quite as horrid or blaring as, say, compressing the drums on a rock album.

Which explains Lars' expression here.

Going back to 65DOS, the fact that they had to consciously make their dynamic range wider, or leave it largely uncompressed, says as much for the modern music scene.  When a band does this it shouldn't be out of defiance but because it just plain sounds better.  To be frank, going by their other albums, dynamic compression sounds like it'd benefit, but as 'Destruction...' proves, a wider listening range brings forth many aural pleasantries.  Their glitch-drenched buzzes and squeaks sink behind the lush pianos and ambient sounds, with their organic percussion and guitars marrying it all together; a real treat.

With so many bedroom producers that are floating about these days, surely there should be no need for such dynamic butchery, but yet it continues, ad nausea I fear.  No wonder there is an issue with hearing damage, especially when the poor things are being assaulted with every note pushing beyond the loudest it could, and indeed should, possibly go.

If you do happen to own an album, or even a track, that you find is quieter than most of your collection, simply turn the volume up and enjoy the lack of discomfort it brings; your ears will thank you.

 - S M

Finally, listen to the prettiness that is this not-compressed-to-fuckery song:

Savant - πρῶτος (Protos)

The day has finally come where I am actually writing about a new album that has been released (well, it came out a month ago, but I've only just heard it so it counts!), and what a fantastic album to start this trend!

Alexsander Vinter, better known to many whilst operating under the insanely prolific 'complextro' genius moniker Savant, has recently unveiled his 10th opus, entitled πρῶτος (commonly named 'Protos' for those of us that aren't adept at deciphering the Ancient Greek alphabet). Seeing as he has only been active in the music scene since 2011, the fact he has made so much music in this time suggests he is either an alien or a cyborg with synthesisers for arms. Not since Canadian prodigy Venetian Snares has someone been so prolific and consistent, albeit more accessible than Snares', whose sounds are intricate, spastic and near-nightmarish at times. Anyway, I digress; back to the album in question. First off, let's just take a step back to admire just how ridiculously bizarre and OTT the artwork is:

I could end this review right here, to be fair.

The bold Saturday Morning Anime feel of the album sleeve is a deliberate nod to the listener pertaining to what they are about to experience; a bold departure from his trademark sound, often wandering into early nineties electro-pop and beyond. In a scene that is starting to become incredibly saturated by similar sounding artists churning out familiar beats and drops, it was only a matter of time before someone pulled a musical 180. It was also a potentially dangerous move, seeing as some people (read: "hordes of internet trolls") seem to take exception to change.

The album's bio suggests that the inspiration was indeed the cartoons Savant watched whilst growing up; the influence is crystal clear from the get-go, with opener Man of the Law laying down a solid foundation of what's to come. Moving through the album, the ludicrously-yet-aptly titled Laser Sharks could easily be a theme to a Biker Mice from Mars style toon, in which Vinter sings about teenage sharks from outer space, "fighting the American dream", no doubt with tongue firmly lodged in cheek. Rider in Red and Super Sheriff follow a similar narrative vein, although it has to be said that the latter is skimming the fringes of overt cheesiness in place of nostalgic homage.

Of course, this being a Savant album, the entire tracklist is hardly samey, as the listener progresses they are treated to tracks such as Prototype, a track that wouldn't sound out of place scoring the film Drive, save for the oddly placed Hardstyle break at the end. The track Quest appears to be a six-minute-plus homage to early videogames, leaving the more nostalgically inclined of listeners wiping a tear or two from their glistening wide eyes. The only track on the entire album to hint at Savant's 'old' sound is Rise Up, which has a slight dubstep feel to it, but manages to stay within the theme of the album as a whole.

In summary, Protos is undoubtedly a fun, diverse and insanely catchy ride, but may be too drastic a departure from his earlier sound for some fans to digest. Also, and this is a minor gripe, it does seem to feel like it runs on a little long, even though it is actually shorter than his epic masterpieces such as Alchemist and the preceding album Orakel. This could be because it lacks the broad diversity of the aforementioned, seeing as this is more of a concept album than his previous efforts and is therefore more focused on telling a musical tale.

This leaves much speculation as to what Savant's next album will sound like, for now he has broken through the barrier of familiar EDM tropes there is no bounds to where his musical journey could end up. I once observed that, pertaining to an earlier album of his, it reminded me of a Gameboy that had been thrown into a rave entirely populated by various Pokémon. Well, it looks like something has happened; congratulations, Savant has evolved!


- S M


Buy πρῶτος here:

http://shop.savantofficial.com/album/protos

Life Sans Headphones

The following article is a rather pedestrian spiel about headphones; sorry about that.

I'll admit, I can be a bit of a snob when it comes to the devices I listen to my music with, but not in the obvious sense (no 'Sennheiser or GTFO' mentality here) I just know what I like.  What I happen to like are those silicon-shrouded earphones that nestle comfortably inside one's lug-holes, mainly because they produce a good amount of bass/tonal range.  They also have an added bonus of the people around me not being able to hear the tinny remnants of whatever I've chosen to endanger my hearing with on that particular commute, which I consider a kindness.

Speaking of commuting, music is the only thing that keeps me from going insane as a result of being crammed into various metal tubes for up to an hour at a time, nestling all-too-closely to the bustling masses' protruding extremities.  I can press my headphones into my ears, hit 'Play', close my eyes and fool myself into thinking that I am not actually trading armpit-sweat with the 19-stone Russian that I have been pressed against by the heaving commuter populous; at least until he moves and I get an updraft of the stench, dragging me back to the harsh reality that is the Northern Line at 8:30am.  

These distraction devices, which I had managed to hold on to for a considerable period up until last week, cost around £4 and I was content to keep them for as long as they functioned.  Sadly, due to the inevitability that comes with me being a fucking moron, I lost them in the very shop I spend 9 hours per day running around. I turned that place inside out in an evidently fruitless attempt to locate the damned things, finding nothing but disappointment, dust-coated pennies and long-lost relics that had been kicked underneath the photo lab as part of some bygone era.  

Defeated, I shuffled on home, having to bear the many loud, grating, screeching, wailing and downright off-putting sounds that London has to offer.  The next day, my journey to work seemed alien, as my ears were forced to soak in the repetitive train announcements, beeping doorways and the coup-de-grace, sniffling passengers.  One in particular would periodically inhale snot so sharply and violently through her sinuses that it was akin to someone tearing coarse sandpaper asunder, over and over again.  After the 10th time I was noticeably agitated; by the 30th time I found myself wishing some maniac would come in and flay her, or give her a damn tissue so she can liberate the mucus as well as our suffering.  In-between her nasal rasping I was being assaulted with the high-end of about three different genres of music coming from various people's headphones; I was in my own personal Hell.

By the end of the day I was unable to bear the prospect of being subjected to more unpleasant noise and purchased some cheap headphones from work; sadly these were not up to the task.  Actually, they were so poor that at first I didn't even recognise the track I was listening to.  It sounded like the music was being played whilst submerged inside a toilet cistern and I was standing on the other side of the bathroom door; In a word, terrible. 

I immediately went online with the intent of purchasing a like-for-like replacement but it seems they don't make that exact model any more; looks like I'll have to get with the times and grab myself a pair of Beats™.  Just kidding, I'd never stoop to such ridiculous levels, not even if my brain were on fire and those overpriced atrocities contained the facilities to extinguish such agony.

 - S.M

There was no point to this post other than to moan about how dependent on music I am to keep me from flensing the people around me.

Praeter Live @ Create - 27th July 2014

As a welcome change from my standard praise of already-established acts, I'd like to take time to address an as-yet little known hardcore/metal band by the name of Praeter.  These Kent-dwelling lads, half of which are good friends of mine, cropped up in early Autumn of last year with big dreams and ethanol-engorged livers.  They staved off the murky English winter with numerous jam sessions, bouts of song-writing and of course mountains of booze; an intrinsic lubricant to the creative process.

The photo that broke their 'awkward-band-shot' virginity. 

The fruits of the winter bore themselves bountifully in spring of this year, since then they've released two singles, one music video and have played a slew of live shows across the country, mostly in grungy pubs full of angry metalheads (not discrediting the enraged alternative community I hasten to add).  However, due to me being a terrible person under the guise of someone who never has any money to go places, I hadn't seen any of their live shows until last month where they played at a festival; naturally I elected myself as the photographer and local idiot.

I arrived on the day before they were set to play their afternoon slot only to promptly invite most of the band to a field party in the next town over, which ran long into the night.  Personally, a large section of that evening was a dizzying cyclone of narcotics and debauchery. I may also have had accidentally encouraged their bassist to imbibe a cocktail of fun chemicals, but that's another story in itself.

A deeply disturbing and sordid story.

Moving swiftly on, I awoke to find almost everyone gone and my head feeling like a melon that had been chucked out of a lorry which had been travelling at speed; I also had the prospect of an 11 mile bike ride ahead of me.  I promised I'd make it to their show, so I headed off, hoping the ride would sober me up and straighten me out a little.  It turned out to be of some help, despite a few close calls where I'd straight-up forgotten how to ride or lapsed into daydream-mode.  I eventually arrived at my destination in just over an hour as well as a couple of pints of sweat lighter.

The others were still asleep or getting ready upon my arrival, one of which stared out of their window in disbelief and uttered "did you just fucking ride here from where we were last night you crazy bastard?!" to which I issued an exhausted nod.  I was granted passage and slumped on the sofa whilst they prepared themselves for the afternoon ahead.  Focusing on the television required a huge amount of effort, but this activity was cut short by the bassist appearing and encouraging me to feel his unusually high pulse; it was evident that he was coming down rather heavily.

Didn't stop him playing like a pro, however.

After the singer had finished waxing his massive beard (for maximum effect) we loaded the car up with equipment and made our way on foot, as there was no room for passengers once all the noise-gear took residence.  On the way, the band's lead vocalist was addressing his ambivalence toward the impending show, reassuring himself that it will be okay because "it's only a local one".  He then took his phone out in order to blast some pre-gig pep-up music, during which time I could sense his focus narrowing as he prepared himself for the stage.

Everyone regrouped once at the festival itself and, after a hasty frisking by the security staff, we were granted passage.  Praeter's slot were still three acts away, as such the members began to mingle, talk about merch and undertake whatever rituals they felt helped prepare them for the concert.

Apparently this included mandatory man-hugging.

After some time it was finally their turn to embrace the stage of the  Right Track Music tent as Praeter, by far the most aggressive and energetic act to play at the festival that weekend, so much so that the emcee issued a disclaimer proclaiming as such.  The sound-check was predictably riddled with problems, as the lads on the mixing desk had been levelling for punk bands and acoustic acts up until that point.  It all evened out (to a fashion) and it wasn't long before they were finally ready to play.  I took a quick look around the tent to find that 90% of the crowd seemed to have turned up specifically to hear Praeter tear the festival a new one, which must have been a tremendous confidence boost for the lads.

They played an explosive and energetic set, roaring through several of their original songs which included their singles 'This Is Hell!' and the zomb-core(?) hit 'Patient Zero'.  They dedicated 'Brutality', a law enforcement-shaming automatic-shotgun barrage of a track, to a sadly-absent friend of the band.  Every member contributed vocals at some point during the set, be it gang-shouting or individual segments, all with the aggressive aplomb one would expect.

Dem screamz.

Incidentally, each individual member gave it their all; the guitarist was very animated, running about the stage and tossing his fringe-swept locks until they became a sweaty mess. The bassist, despite him probably feeling like the aftermath of a forest fire kept it tight and adopted a strong stance, even with the sound guys doing a dreadful job of keeping the low-end in the mix.  The drummer was precise, energetic, aggressive with his vocals and generally looked as if he was having a whale of a time.  The vocalist completely submitted himself to the performance, pacing around the stage to maintain his focus and belting out the metronome-accurate barks and inhuman screams he is known for.  His bearded face the picture of rage with each vocal outpouring, which showed just how much effort and focus he poured into the act.

Pictured: how to do a metal correctly.

They closed their set with a superb rendition of 'Troublemaker' by Olly Murs. During this final track, the vocalist launched himself into the crowd whilst still gripping the microphone and roaring into it; a sight to behold if I do say so myself.  During all this chaos it had began to rain quite heavily outside, drawing even more people into the tent; I feel that the larger crowd gave Praeter the energy boost to finish strong.

Someone ripped his shirt, HULK MODE ACTIVATED.

In summary, it was an amazing festival debut for the band, but it was a shame the sound team couldn't get their arses into gear when it was needed.  Luckily for Praeter, audio issues did very little to detract from the pure energy and precise musicianship these lads are clearly capable of.   I scorned myself for letting this be the first time seeing them, as I instantly wished I had gone to their previous shows to watch them grow as performers and musicians.  Suffice to say myself and others wish to hear more from these blokes, maybe in the form of an album soon...

These lads are a tough act to follow.

... right guys?

 - Sam

Praeter's single 'Patient Zero' is out right now, click on the pic to experience it!

Lamb of God - Wrath

It may come as very little surprise that deep in the recesses of my heart nestles a metalhead, though I am loath to use the term due to the somewhat misappropriated and negative connotations associated with it.  Nevertheless, in my wild youth I sported long hair and could be found throwing myself around at small-town Friday evening concerts, usually dancing and almost definitely inebriated.

I was also apparently deeply pretentious (Circa 2006)

Around the time I began to ebb away from that phase I was introduced to a band by the name of Lamb of God, namely through their album Ashes of the Wake.  I thought the groove-laden riffs, precise percussion and guttural yowls to be quite thrilling at first but slowly, through a desire to explore other genres over anything else, I let my interest in the band fall by the wayside.

It wasn't until perhaps two months ago that I decided to tune back in to heavy metal properly once more, a decision I am glad to have made, as no other music seems to make me feel that ineffable mix of excitement and energy it is known for.  Don't get me wrong, other genres have bent my mind in all manner of amazing directions but for me, metal hits that sweet spot, at least for now.

I regained interest in Lamb of God after watching a superb documentary about the band's legal struggle following the singer's accusation of injuring a fan at a show, leading to said fan's eventual demise.  It painted the band as very likeable, down-to-earth and emotionally diverse; the polar opposite of what their musical side portrays.  The soundtrack to the documentary was composed of the band's back-catalogue of songs, most of which I failed to recognise.  You can see now that my curiosity was piqued and I simply had to sate my need to familiarise myself with everything that they had recorded since 2005.

Of the three albums that I had lagged behind on (Sacrament, Wrath and Resolution), their sixth offering, Wrath, was the one that jumped out at me and aurally pummelled me into submission; not to say the others lacked in quality, but this one gripped me by the ears and totally arrested my attention for its duration.

The cover alone warrants high praise, or fear, depending on your mindset (Source)

The album opens with a near-saccharine southern-tinged acoustic number, which progresses into a lead-guitar intro before launching your head-first into the album proper to the sound of 'In Your Words'.  Within this one track, LoG not only reminded me why I liked them in the first place but showed me why I'd continue to like them even more than I had previously.  The vocal styling and range of Randy had improved vastly, which is saying a lot seeing as he already sounded brutal two albums previous.  The guitars sounded cleaner and more precise; the drumming was as punchy and tight as ever, whilst retaining a somewhat raw edge that was refreshing to hear.

I found myself tapping along and mouthing the words to several tracks, even upon first listen, which to me was indicative of a solid album which I'd no doubt enjoy many times over.  Since that first listen it has been the soundtrack to my commute for 2 solid weeks and I am yet to tire of it.  In fact, subsequent plays have only sought to strengthen my adoration for the album.  Personal stand-out tracks are the blistering Contractor, a track which seems to effortlessly set up the perfect circle pit were it played live; Broken Hands, which contains sharp, melodic riffs, plus it is a true showcase of Randy's sheer vocal talent, and finally the album closer Reclamation, a seven-minute journey which sees the tempo shift a few times, bookended by haunting acoustic guitars and the sound of waves crashing on some desolate shore, true to the track's subject matter pertaining to our self-destruction and that of the planet.

They're a happy bunch of lads, really. (Source)

I can honestly say that this album will nestle quite comfortably in my classics collection, rubbing shoulders with the bands I fell in love with back when I was a greasy drunken teenage mess, when going to live shows and expressing myself in the most energetic and ridiculous manner I knew possible was an average weekend.  Typically, I'd choose this point in time to decide that I'd like to see Lamb of God live, only to find out they have gone on hiatus, probably until I ebb back out of my heavy metal phase.  I remain the optimist, as I am sure it won't be long until both I and the band return to the fray once more to create a beautiful mess out of a heaving mass.

Finally, here's a fan-made video for Reclamation, it is pretty awesome.

 - Sam

Devin Townsend @ Rock City, Jul 3rd 2014

Back in May, some time before I was to embark on my summer visit to the Midlands to see one of my oldest friends, said pal informed me of a significant event that may be of interest; this of course being that Devin Townsend was playing live the day I was to visit.  Without a second thought the tickets were purchased and all we had to do was wait...for eight long, excruciating weeks.  Still, this gave me enough time to prepare for the event, in the sense that I got down to designing and printing some custom t-shirts so that we could don them when the time was right.

THESE.

Suffice to say we were aiming to get noticed that evening, which was exactly what happened.  Even on the way to the venue we were getting strange and sustained glances from passers-by and vehicular occupants alike.  We soon began making tallies of how many people did a double-take at our fluorescent tops with absurd designs emblazoned onto them.  Once we joined the queue at Rock City, the stares became more obvious and elongated. We even made a few people laugh, but overall I feel that most were likely thinking "what a pair of absolute twats".  I consider this a win.

Whilst in the queue, Ross and I discussed the strange concept of sticking out like a pair of tits on a badger, which in some awkward meta-manner served to quell our anxiety toward the situation somewhat.  Mercifully, the line began to shift after around 20 minutes; so our journey into the mouth of madness would begin.  

It was less the mouth of madness and more an extended wait through two bands no one had even heard of before the man we'd turned up to see was to emerge.  The bands in question, !Empire! and Thine (a band we didn't even know the name of when they wandered on unannounced), both local-ish talent of varying experience, were by no means inferior acts, but sadly their relative anonymity painted them in a noticeably less vibrant shade than the headliner. 

During these acts, a towering lass approached us and issued a positive comment regarding our flamboyantly absurd attire.  This sparked off an extended conversation with both her and her male companion; it appeared we had made some gig buddies completely by accident.  This social act served to distract us from the clearly talented but sadly forgettable support bands, drawing Devin's imminent appearance ever closer.

Similar to when I saw the band in 2013, the audience was treated to a bizarre opening reel entitled 'ZTV' which comprised of various YouTube meme videos and zany Photoshop entries involving Devin's face, not dissimilar to the t-shirts they inspired.  A few pockets of laughter emerged from the crowd but overall I believe everyone was just anxious to witness the awesomeness of the music unfold. 

After around 10 minutes of ZTV, The Man Himself finally sauntered onto the stage, to the sound of uproarious ovation.  He seemed overwhelmed and floundered into an opening speech about it being his first gig after 2 months of hiding in the studio, which was as endearing as it was awkward.  He went on to explain his process of transition, which apparently involved staring at the mirror trying to get past the version of himself that was terrified of performing.  He was well-humoured about it though, plus the pleasant cadence of his Canadian accent meant that no one seemed to mind.  I also feel it added more of a personal touch to the concert, as he revealed himself to be human after all, in spite of his exceptional talent. 

Around three minutes later, following a slight technical glitch regarding his guitar, the gig started proper.  To my pleasant surprise they opened with a very old track 'Seventh Wave' from Devin's Ocean Machine era (circa 1997), indicated by the Tennyson poem excerpt that served as an intro to the song. 

"O earth, what changes hast thou seen!

There where the long street roars, hath been

The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow

From form to form, and nothing stands;

They melt like mist, the solid lands,

Like clouds they shape themselves and go."

Source

Needless to say my excitement levels went from above-average to astronomical, where they'd stay for the entirety of his career-spanning, if a little short, set. Each song was incredibly tightly played, a testament to Townsend's perfectionism, made more remarkable by the fact that this was the band's first live show in a while. One of the highlights included an amazing performance of 'Deadhead' which just so happens to be a personal favourite of mine, cue me singing along like a pale imitation of someone that possessed actual talent, all with a huge grin plastered on my stupid face. 

The band also blazed through some more recent DTP material, which was uplifting, unsettling and unbelievably epic all at once. For a short amount of time, Devin jumped down into the photo pit, high fiving the front row and getting in their faces as he churned out his riffs. Ross and I were trying to make our way to the very front, but there were a number of even taller crowd members standing fast. I am 6ft tall and Ross is 6'2", so where these relative behemoths originated from was anyone's guess.

Toward the end of the concert, just before the encore, we did actually manage to bully our way to the front, filling the gap of a really enthusiastic fan who had prematurely exerted too much energy before the end of the set. It was at this point that the T-shirts of ours proved to be a good idea, as Devin turned to face us and said "Those are some awesome shirts by the way, is that my name on there?" to which I replied "ALSO YOUR FACE TOO YEAHH" in a manner that suggested I had forgotten how to conduct myself when addressing another human being and opting for rabid fangirl-esque squealing instead. In my somewhat feeble defence, Devin addressed us mere mortals and complimented our bizarre choice of gig fashion, so we were both a tad overwhelmed to say the least. 

Two words can sum up the encore succinctly: Bad Devil. To put it a less vague way, it is a swing-metal classic and a staple on his live sets, usually as the encore due to how much excitement it generates. I was singing at the top of my lungs whilst jumping up and down to the music; the picture of pure joy. Around halfway through the song, just before the 2nd chorus, Devin paused for just a split second, looked at us again and uttered a quick "Love the shirt!" before carrying on. This second acknowledgement gave us enough excited energy to push through the final part of the concert with every atom of our beings. 

When it was all over, I felt drained but in a positive manner, then decided to go out for some fresh air. We did decide to leave shortly after that, but later found out that Devin came out about an hour later to mingle and sign people's merchandise. I kicked myself for my hasty departure, as we could have turned what was already an amazing night into one for the personal history books. Still, we already got acknowledged by a rockstar, which is not to be sniffed at; all in all a great show. 

I don't rate things numerically, I rate them sentimentally; this one ranks high on the charts, but it was a shame the support acts were so obscure. 

As a reward for your reading/tl;dr scrolling efforts, here's the awkward intro in full:

 - Sam

Aphex Twin - Selected Ambient Works, Vol II

Today, I awkwardly touch down at the first actual music 'review' and, as foreseen, it is of an album that is probably older than most of the people that tend to read music blogs.  With this in mind, consider it a history lesson, or more likely the sentimental ramblings of a has-been that never really was anything to begin with.

So, this gem came out in 1994, back when I was a wee nipper and wasn't even aware who Richard D James was, mainly because I was too busy screaming and playing with toy dinosaurs.  It would take a further 10 years for me to be introduced to the wonders that resided on my friend's copy of the album.  I have to be honest I wasn't initially impressed with its incredibly sedate and dreamlike vibe, mainly because I was very much into heavy metal at the time and considered most other music a 'useless waste'; oh Sam, you fucking moron.

Fast-forward to 2008, where I had outgrown both the long hair and narrow-minded attitude of my teen years and was willing to give S.A.W II another try.  Suffice to say I was more enthusiastic about it that time around, possibly because I was quite hungover at the time and the repetitive soundscapes served to soothe me somewhat, whilst at the same time fringing on unsettling at points.  I used to listen to it regularly, usually in the evenings, when I wasn't going out and punishing my liver, that is. After a while it sunk into the background of my musical listening habits, possibly to make way for the increasing influx of new artists that I was subjecting myself to.

It wasn't until the other week, when I decided to put the album on purely because I had forgotten about it for so long; almost like a 'guilt-play' of sorts, that I finally came to appreciate it.  The album is quite long, as it spans 2 discs and contains barely any percussive elements, save for a couple of tracks, but even then said elements are muted significantly, leaving more an echo or suggestion of a drumbeat.  It was a long train journey so I had time to listen to every single second of audio that it had to offer.  It had me drifting off into my own imagination for most of the journey; I also recall feeling rather Zen and at-ease despite all the madness that had occurred the weekend just gone (no, I really cannot be arsed to visit that avenue of explanation).

Near the end of my journey, around halfway through the penultimate song 'White Blur 2', the only track I initially didn't like that much (mainly because of the deeply unsettling laughter sample that keeps coming back to haunt the listener during its 11 minute runtime), I realised that the album never once feels boring or drawn-out.  This is a strange thought to have, because all of the songs are quite long and revolve around a repetitive loop with some fleeting samples eased in every now and then; in a normal scenario that is the very definition of 'drawn-out'.  It is hard to explain what makes it so engaging, but Richard had somehow managed to give it the right amount of atmosphere without it sounding too self-indulgent, avoiding the usual tropes of waves crashing, distant traffic noises and nature.  Suffice to say I didn't once switch-off whilst listening to it, in fact it could be said that I did quite the opposite.

The artist has claimed in numerous interviews that the album was inspired by his ability to lucid dream, and that the songs were as close as he could get to replicating his dreams in an audio format.  Who knows how much truth there is to this, as he is also infamous for 'trolling' the press, but regardless of its authenticity, each track does feel very much like it was scooped right out from someone's subconscious and plopped right onto the disc.  It is something of a mind-bender that he managed to make such otherworldly and indefinable sounds from early-nineties hardware, but then again this is the same man who allegedly made a computer, that lacked the ability to emit audio, do just that when he was 11 years old.

The face of bizarre genius. (source)

 Credit where its due and all that; he made an ambient record from his dreams that didn't send the listeners to sleep.  To end on a sentimental note, the opening track of disc 1 entitled 'Cliffs' is easily my favourite piece of ambient music; entire worlds have been created by my imagination with the aid of seven-and-a-half minutes of aural brain-stimulation.

 - Sam

Oh For Fuck's Sake...

...I appear to have started yet another blog after all but abandoning the last, akin to a child that gets bored of  the toy you got them for Christmas which you had to sell your dignity for; it is likely this will not be the last.  On reflection, it does seem a little futile to keep writing blogs when the internet has long since descended into image macros and six-second long videos where users flock to slake their boredom, oh well.

Anyway, with that cheery intro behind me, this one will focus on music, because that dead horse hasn't been flogged until nothing remains but offal and chunks.  What's going to be so different about this one, is the real question isn't it?  I honestly cannot answer that, because the only real exposure I've had to online music publications is Pitchfork.com, but we all know the staff and reviewers are largely comprised of elitist hipster berks so I guess that statement is a little redundant*.

Over the coming weeks/months/however long this lasts you can expect to see me sporadically churn out reviews of albums that came out ages ago that no one cares about, recount concert experiences that will no doubt be exhaustively detailed and maybe even the odd name-drop of some more local bands; expect away, my internet chums.

As for now, it is too damn hot for my brain to function correctly, which is a wholly justified and very British excuse for laziness.

Don't bother watching this space; words will not magically appear; after all this isn't Buzzfeed**.  Here's an unrelated image to tide you over:

It is also my name, who knew?

- S.

*No apologies, I really do dislike Pitchfork.
**I do enjoy Buzzfeed though, sorry.