Music Reviews
May 07, 2008
Nadja
Bliss Torn From Emptiness
(Profound Lore)
Nadja
Desire In Uneasiness
(Crucial Blast)
Commandeering their name from the title of the 1928 novel by Andrè Breton, founding father of surrealism, Nadja continue their mind-broadening seaquest into the deepest oceans of shimmering, hypnotic noise on these two full lengths. Since their 2005 debut, the Toronto-based duo, made up of multi-instrumentalist Aidan Baker and bassist/vocalist Leah Buchareff, have unleashed a slew of releases that explore the varied nuances of their doom-based psychedelic meta-metal.
Bliss Torn from Emptiness, which originally appeared as an extremely limited CDR before its official re-release, offers an ambitious 43-minute track (indexed in three parts) that displays their long-standing preference for the cold and clinical punctuations of a drum machine. A subdued prelude ushers in the unexpected jolt of a relentless, militaristic backbeat that firmly anchors sonic pillars of fuzz bass to blade-like waves of undulating electronics. Following a lull comprised only of high-hat and eerie synth static, the drums again explode, joined by guitar and bass in an all-out pounding of anthemic dirge-rock. Backwards piano and a garbled female voice sample meet the rising cacophony before turning ugly and screeching to a sudden halt, recalling the more experimental moments of feedback worshippers My Bloody Valentine and trance/rock zealots Loop.
Borrowing heavily from a diverse who’s-who of both heavy and ambient music, Nadja have been conveniently pigeonholed as “shoegaze metal” by the independent press alongside Jesu, yet they remain successful in presenting something distinctive. Their own version of ethereal (rather than funereal) doom renders an elongated approach into more song-like forms on Desire in Uneasiness, where the first appearance of an actual drummer adds an extra layer of interplay.
After opening with two tracks that highlight the reeling, whirling hum of stupor-triggering drones and gargantuan riffs, the record settles at midpoint into a minimalist haze, recalling the krautrock of Cluster 71 as well as the space ritualism of Flying Saucer Attack and Skullflower. These non-assaultive atmospherics eventually segue into “Uneasy Desire”, the pseudo-titletrack that demonstrates a life-affirming, melancholic beauty by means of a soaring bass melody which swims dramatically within a murky whirlpool of unknown sound sources. This song perfectly captures the band’s ability to create dark, intuitive music that is both minimal in its execution and abstract in its simplicity.
— Eric Ledford
Envelopes
Here Comes the Wind
(Brille)
The playful Euro-indie band Envelopes, with four Swedish fellows and one French gal, starts off their second album with strummy, fairly safe pop-rock with some chugging riffs and a few stray odd details, like a song twist, a cheesy orchestra hit, or altered vocals. There’s a sort of balance, where the band seems to be careful (maybe too careful) to not let a song derail while exploring their off-kilter side. “Smoke in the Desert, Eating the Sand, Hide in the Grass” actually is somewhat musically reminiscent of “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads, and “Life on the Beach” features goofy B-52’s/Fred Schneider-esque singing backed with some Egyptian reggae.
However, the album doesn’t really fully take off until the midpoint, when they seem less restrained, and thankfully, everything doesn’t crumble into a mess. This attitude begins with the irrepressible robot techno-pop track “Put on Hold,” with the vocals processed with a computerized sheen, followed by the album’s sunniest, catchiest track, the new wave bubblegum song “I’d Like to C U.” On “What’s the Deal,” singer Audrey Pic makes the song when she belts out her vocals, partially with some auto-tune effects, fighting with frantic guitar strums and electronic gurgles. Here Comes the Wind is an agreeable, occasionally offbeat album that could benefit from a greater confidence to revel in uninhibited moments.
—Ernie Paik
Crystal Castles
Crystal Castles
(Last Gang)
Below any stylistic elements, dance music has a simple purpose: Keep people dancing. Similarly, video game music has a basic function, which is to stimulate the players and compel them to keep playing, even past the point when their fingers blister up and they suffer the effects of vitamin deficiencies due to subsisting on soda and corn chips. Crystal Castles, the Toronto-based duo of Ethan Kath and vocalist Alice Glass, combines these two broad genres, using damaged electronics, circa 1986 sound technology, and beatboxes to convey a sort of outdated futurism while making an invigorating commotion.
The duo’s most famous song is “Alice Practice,” which, as the story goes, was not initially intended to be a finished song; it was a recording of Glass forcing out words over beats and electronics in order to test microphone sound levels in the studio. It’s an unsettling track, showcasing one of Glass’s singing styles, with irritated, gritty, half-shouted vocals. Another approach, heard on the sinister disco song “Crimewave,” is to take the vocal track and cut it into pieces, pitch-shifting or altering each word or phrase to give it a non-human sound. When listening to Crystal Castles, various acts come to mind, including Kraftwerk, Atari Teenage Riot, the new wave of Nintendo-worshipping musicians, and even old school rappers (“Magic Spells” has a synth part seemingly straight out of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five’s “The Message.”) About halfway through the album, the band seems to run out of ideas and continues on with its formula of messed-up 8-bit chaotic wankery until the uncharacteristic closing song; the final number, “Tell Me What to Swallow,” is a dreamy, mellow duet with a calmed Glass and an acoustic guitar, bathed in reverb, possibly suggesting to the listener that it’s time to turn off the game console and go to bed.
— Ernie Paik
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