Various Artists Triptych Vol. 1, 2 & 3, Mokooma Luyando
Various Artists
Triptych Vol. 1, 2 & 3
(Love Thy Neighbour)
The Triptych three-volume series may be of interest to those wanting a snapshot of the current indie scene in Brighton, England and also perhaps to numerologists—in addition to its digital release, the series is comprised of three extremely limited edition lathe-cut 8-inch vinyl records (11 units for each volume, for a total of 33 records made), each featuring three different bands.
One can easily imagine a movie scene with a paranoid, unstable person trying to find significance in this obsession with the number three, with newspaper clippings pasted on a wall with yarn strung between them; what does it mean or bode for the future? “What is it trying to tell us?!” screams the crazy-haired, bloodshot-eyed man looking upwards.
Well, Triptych is a hit-or-miss variety pack, depending on the listeners’ aethestic preferences, as most compilations are. It begins with Porridge Radio’s “Losercore,” undoubtedly referencing the Sentridoh (Sebadoh side-project) track of the same name, with a bratty, ‘90s indie-rock charm with a mid-song rumbling twist and energized, fill-heavy drumming.
LC Pumpkin’s “Spacedust” is somewhat akin to Beck’s early low-fidelity bastardized hip-hop, using a “Ashley’s Roachclip”-inspired drum machine beat and scrappy cosmic tones.
“Hunger Tower” from Dog in the Snow, a project from Fear of Men bassist Helen Ganya Brown, isn’t quite as gripping as it could have been, although taking inspiration from a cannibalism story from Dante’s The Divine Comedy.
The most notable features of “Try” from GAPS are its vocals, with Vocoder-treatments and a note-cluster harmony (think: mid-century jingle), but the track doesn’t really go anywhere. Hovering in the middle-ground are the inoffensive electro-baby-pop of KUB’s “Taboo” and the syrupy synthetics of Eva Bowan’s “Dusty” that create their own little world.
One of the highlights of Triptych is the slow-burn track “Dahab” from Immersion and Ronald Lippok that uses woozy synth lines and a one-chord approach to create a warm vibe, with a droney, ambient feel but perforated with beats. Is Triptych merely a Brighton indie zeitgeist document or is it also a secretly coded message tying the fate of the universe with the number three? You decide.
Mokoomba
Luyando
(Outhere)
The new album Luyando from the sextet Mokoomba (translation: “deep respect for the river”) from Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe is one of those albums that pretty much demands that the listener respond with some kind of movement—anything from a simple head-nod to full-on dancing. Its rhythms tap into something deep and compelling that demands attention.
At the front is lead vocalist Mathias Muzaza singing in the Tonga language; he fills every note with a passionate vigor, and any sustained note uses tight, quick modulations that seem to generate energy—it’s a voice that is impossible to tune-out or ignore.
Luyando is Mokoomba’s third album, and its acoustic instrumentation departs from the style of the previous Rising Tide, which used electric instruments and brass accents; this writer prefers this current approach, which offers a more timeless sound.
The group calls its style “Afro-fusion,” using Tonga rhythms with a strong soukous vibe, particularly with its gorgeously fluid and nimble guitar melody lines, and other elements are also present, including influence from Carribean soca music and spirited call-and-response vocal exchanges.
The opener, “Mokole,” wastes no time in getting its blood pumping with compelling counterpoint, dexterous and precise guitar flourishes, some aggressive over-blown flutey goodness and mounting percussion that add up to an effective warm-up. “Kulindiswe” follows with an upbeat tempo and a heavy soukous influence, exuding pure joy with urgency.
“Kambowa” takes a stripped-down approach, primarily using hand-held percussion, hand-struck drums and handclaps behind the vocals, with exuberant interjections that erupt as if the song can’t contain all of its excitement.
Even more minimal is the acappella number “Nyaradzo” at the end of Luyando, with small-chorus harmonizing and a sort of reverent spirit that is no less lively than the previous tracks, closing a superb album that will likely inspire its own deep respect.