Collision Stories Those Missing Will Complete Us, Fire-Toolz Drip Mental
Collision Stories
Those Missing Will Complete Us
(Public Eyesore)
Space vampires. Those are the two words that immediately come to mind for this reviewer when listening to the instrumental album Those Missing Will Complete Us by the improvisational San Francisco quartet Collision Stories, but don’t let that impression hinder anyone’s imagination, which has ample opportunities to be provoked by this fascinating release.
The “vampire” impression comes from the subtly sinister and mostly ominous vibes emanating from the album, and its careful building of suspense makes it perhaps appropriate for a horror soundtrack; just a handful of certain tiny synth slivers bring fleeting hints of John Carpenter scores, and a momentary use of music box sounds injects uneasy and unexpected innocence into the enigmatic proceedings.
Throughout the album, electronic notes and noises, some of which sound like they were created from tinkering on open control panels for emergency repairs, provide the sci-fi aspect, with synthetic squeaks and a disquieting ambiance providing an inorganic detachment.
Also, the use of space is key on Those Missing Will Complete Us, with the performers often showing restraint to build up each clearly audible layer—it’s complicated without sounding recklessly messy; with an abundance of space, there’s a deep loneliness evoked, as a trapped space traveler peers at the void of outer space both longingly and fearfully.
Those Missing Will Complete Us was edited together using both live and studio recordings made in the spring of 2016, and its four members—Jorge Bachmann, Bryan Day, Michael Gendreau and Mason Jones—are seasoned non-traditional aural creators. They each have huge bags of tricks drawing from their varied backgrounds in composition, instrument invention, acoustics, psych-noise and other fields.
It’s paradoxically a little startling when, at times, actual guitar notes can be heard, amid the hard-to-place synthetics that dominate the album. It’s a spooky album that never lets the listener get too comfortable to allow the sound slip away into the background of consciousness.
Fire-Toolz
Drip Mental
(Hausu Mountain)
Fire-Toolz’s Drip Mental has to be one of the most perplexingly messed-up albums this writer has encountered recently, sounding like the result of smashing up VHS tapes of ‘80s music videos, eating the bits and then projectile vomiting them while screeching. It’s anarchic in its whimsy, playing hot potato with a truckload of potatoes that come in the form of turbulent sampling and ‘80s aesthetics appropriation with a more renegade attitude than that which is typically heard.
Angel Marcloid, the Plunderphonic sorceress behind Fire-Toolz, guarantees that nothing is left unmolested, from the synth-pop glitter to the pulsing dance-beat insanity to the purloined and warped hip-hop fragments.
There’s a weird dichotomy at play here, with comforting elements mostly in the form of a bizarre extension of vaporwave (‘80s retro elevator music) being hurled about with a violent editing style; on top of that, you have perhaps the most incongruous disconnect of them all: screaming black-metal vocals.
All of this put together has a humorous effect that inspires disbelief and the question, “What the hell am I listening to?” It’s self-consciously crazy with a breathtaking abandon; by the time the listener has processed one bizarre moment, it’s already moved on with two others.
The track “To See My Hatred Clearly [CODENAME_TOUCH ACCOMODATIONS]” has the spirit of a synthesized video game soundtrack but with an over-clocked drum machine; within its madness is a spirit that seemingly tries to motivate the listener to not give up on the mission at hand, which perhaps is making it through the album.
Strangely, the final selection, “? [CODENAME_AUTO-BRIGHTNESS],” could serve as the coda for some heartwarming ‘80s comedy, sporting an inspirational tone through its thick layers of irony, with the obligatory dated Yamaha DX7 synth sounds, concluding a headache-inducing yet oddly charming album that must be heard to be believed.