|
These
days one never knows what to expect from some albums. I
had no clue as to what Locrian was about. I knew more
about the label (At War With False Noise) than I knew
about the artist, so whatever preconceptions I had were
based on noise. Actually, a lot of noise. Last year I
reviewed a few of this label’s releases and if they had
something in common it was that they were the furthest
thing from easy listening you could imagine. Bizarre is
the word, messy is another word, shapeless is another
word. String those together and you have a clue.
So I am
surprised by Locrian. Ahem, this isn’t easy listening either.
Far from it. But Locrian’s structures are clearly laid down and
the songs do sound like clear and well-executed ideas instead of
just huge obnoxious blocks of volume.
“Obsolete
Elegy in Effluvia and Dross” is the first cut and threw me for a
loop. Not only the perplexing title but for a few seconds I
thought the gentle strumming was going to turn into a doom
tune. There is of course, the prerequisite layer of drone,
waving up and down. In the back, placed only for those who dare
pay close attention, I can hear something that resembles a chant
and air. Yes, air. Sweet stuff, if only you are into the morbidity of
existing.
“Ghost
Repeater” lasts ten minutes, which means that it builds and
builds. Subsonics and low bass drone sounds roam around like a
quiet animal in the dark jungle, ready to snap its victims at
the precise moment. The precise moment, hilarity, destructive
nature made slaughter and obliteration, never comes. It’s about
moods, it’s about having your ass cheeks served at the edge of
your seat. It’s never about the scream. Locrian isn’t going for
cheap moments.
There is
something eerie and disturbing at work here. In fact that’s what
is all about. If you know the quiet type, you know they are
always the worse. So Locrian sorta snaps on “Barren Temple
Obscured by Contaminated Fogs”, black metal screams hurt and
more aggressive auras are now present. Sustained electric
guitars invade latter tracks and church bells open “Obsolete
Elegy in Cast Concrete”. If there is something that movies and
music have taught us is that every time we hear church bells we
are at death’s door so this track brings us the kind of black
metal that hasn’t gotten tiresome yet. A riff that is anything
but a riff backdrops ghostly and ghastly shrieks. The whole thing is
beat-less which make me feel quite queasy actually.
If you are
reading Deaf Sparrow chances are you’ll feel like this upon
experiencing the last ten minutes of thirty minute closer
“Greyfield Shrines”. You are standing at a Poison show. You
fucking hate Bret Michaels and loath their music. CC Deville has
slammed his guitar against the stage after a mucous lugie the
size of a baby fist landed in his tongue. Feedback deafens the
audience and stupefies the remainder of the band. You, nod in
acceptance at the cacophony.
MySpace |
