The best new albums this week
Our writers’ must have albums
ALBUM OF THE WEEK
Stefan Betke is an artist unafraid to aim for the far reaches of sonic artistry. From the evolving tones of the ‘Sinote’ opener, it’s almost immediately apparent that his latest album recorded under the Pole moniker represents yet more provocative deep diving into and beyond the subconscious. As its grainy drones undulate and a solitary cowbell steadies the rhythm, the music builds tangible tension before leviathan snares rise in to shake the foundations of the extraterrestrial landscape he so skilfully evokes.
Pole’s last album, ‘Fading’, was composed as a meditation of his mother’s descent into the horrendous chasm of Alzheimer’s, and its powerfully introspective grip extends into his latest work. The immersive musical universe he manifests here is nothing short of mesmerising. Gliding into the warm but unknown environs of ‘Grauer Sand’, abstract melodies appear and disappear without resolution, tentative piano chords echoing through space as jagged rhythms keep an uneasy tempo. Edging into darkening skies, dissonant layers intertwine over jazz-infused bass notes via the disconcerting magnetism of ‘Alp’, the bewildering rhythm again kept by dramatic snare hits as each part appears to meander on a trajectory of its own.
Pole appears to be exercising something profound and pressing, dire and challenging to behold. The alluring syncopation of ‘Stechmuck’ turns seduction into menace, its dub rhythm giving way to jarring synth waves as the throbbing pulse grinds on like a slow-moving behemoth edging through unending desert sands. Easy listening this is not, with Betke unapologetically carving unnerving textures from opaque, off-world matter. Harking back to his vast body of ever-evolving work while maintaining a futurist forward thrust, his ability to sculpt affecting, all-consuming sonic panoramas is genuinely striking.
The scale here is immense, the heaviness as profound as a latent tropical storm poised to break. The taut but wide-open aesthetic continues into ‘Firmament’, where sparse and perplexing rhythms drive curious piano refrains over thick bass and alien synth lines, again steadily building as the pressure refuses to dissipate. The album’s title track is perhaps its most penetrable moment, with grinding chords and rolling toms steadfastly pushing forward as delicate piano melodies dance over their undulating vibrations. Pole tends to manifest his work with a concept at its core, and while the intention isn’t always straightforward to decipher, time is most certainly the theme here, its abstract nature vividly demonstrated by the sometimes deceptive rhythmic drive. The recurring appearance of the piano and live bass — pitched, as they are, against futurist synth layers and unfamiliar motifs — feel as though they hark to a near-forgotten moment. A distant memory threatening to reveal itself.
Closing track ‘Allermannsharnisch’ fuses these disparate fibres to typically dramatic effect, the delicate piano lines gently skipping over stark drums before imposing drones eventually consume the subtle melodics, eventually relinquishing their hold as the naive melodies slowly dissipate into the endless silence. This is powerful work from Pole, challenging, at times harrowing, at times strangely beautiful. As with much, if not all, of his work, it’s as though Betke is compelled to compose each track, driven by an irresistibly overriding theme. As the title suggests, ’Tempus’ is a forceful meditation on time, and perhaps more precisely, it’s endless passing. The weightiest of subjects, and one that isn’t always comfortable to confront.
PC
Turnover – Myself In The Way (Run For Cover)
Long Island dream-pop outfit, Turnover, have come leaps and bounds from their early days as standard emo by way of pop-punk upstarts. The trajectory set by 2015’s seminal sophomore effort, ‘Peripheral Vision’, saw an eschewing of all distortion and angst in favour of reverb drenched shoegaze indebted post-punk, owing credence to the likes of Slowdive, Echo & The Bunnymen, and even Joy Division.
While 2017’s overlooked, ‘Good Nature’, leaned into the sunnier, tropical aspects of their more nuanced approach, it was 2019’s, ‘Altogether’, that exuded a brazen devotion to all things retro and disco, with a notable increase in the use of vintage synthesisers conjuring almost an emo-lounge audible aesthetic.
Examining their progression thus far, ‘Myself In The Way’, not only feels like a logical next step, but the project the band were always destined to make. Take the hazy lead single, ‘Mountains Made Of Clouds’, which meanders its way around psychedelic haze with Austin Getz’s vocals engulfed in watery vocoder, it’s a trippy affair recalling the more proggy elements of Real Estate or Tame Impala.
Elsewhere, the slow delicacy of standout, ‘Wait Too Long’, trades jangling melody and singular synth lines beneath Getz’s reserved vocal performance, which yet again juxtaposes the most hypnotic and warming of sonics with anxious, overanalytical lyrics dissecting self-worth, self-percieved reliability and the genuine search for contentment.
This ethos is no further exemplified than on the phenomenal title-track, with the mantra of seeing oneself in the way of their own personal progress with regards to relationships and quality of life. The disco-house pulse that propels the piece evokes the boogie of ‘Random Access Memories’ era Daft Punk, while Turnstile frontman Brendan Yates lends his tender croon to the closing segment.
From the increased use of saxophone on the sultry yet despondent, ‘People That We Know’, to the lilting keys of, ‘Pleasures Galore’, the album utilises an ethereal, almost easy listening approach to provide buoyancy to Getz’s weary and woes, opting for growth and self-betterment. While it may float by listeners still pining for the angst-riddled energy of old, Turnover continue to progress and reinvent their surroundings whilst staying true to their core mantra of interpolating emo mannerisms into the most unlikely of sonics.
ZB
Andrew Wasylyk – Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls (Clay Pipe)
A second album on Frances Castle’s excellent Clay Pipe label for Andrew Wasylyk and it’s something of game changer for the Dundee-based musician. While last year’s ‘Balgay Hill: Morning In Magnolia’ was very good ‘Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls’ is on a whole other level.
Andrew Wasylyk? Let me catch you up. As Andrew Mitchell he’s the bass player in Idlewild and frontman of his own indie outfit The Hazey Janes. In 2015, he borrowed his grandfather’s surname, released a debut solo outing, ‘Soroky’ (named after the village Iwan Wasylyk came from in Western Ukraine) and it’s been full steam ahead ever since.
‘Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls’ is his sixth solo long-player and began life when the National Galleries of Scotland invited Wasylyk to create music to accompany ‘The World’s Edge’ exhibition by renowned US landscape photographer Thomas Joshua Cooper. He even travelled with Cooper to Inchcolm Island in the Firth of Forth to learn more about his practice.
Wasylyk then took those ideas and used them as jumping off points for his own widescreen audio adventuring. Cooper even gets in on the act providing the words and narration in among the delicate piano refrain of ‘The Life Of Time’. The 16-minute opening track, ‘Dreamt In The Current Of Leafless Water’, is a powerhouse of Talk Talk proportions, the haunting saxophone of Angus Fairbairn, aka Alabaster DePlume, is very much channelling late-period Mark Hollis. Yup, it’s that good.
What strikes you is that ‘Hearing The Water’ is the sound of real instruments played in a real room by real people. Hats off to the trumpet-y skills of Rachel Simpson on the title track, where the brass marks its arrival among the piano rolls and string swells by leaping out of the speakers. Wasylyk also enlists string arranger Pete Harvey (they have previous with Harvey working on 2019’s ‘The Paralian’ and 2020’s ‘Fugitive Light And Themes Of Consolation’) who brings a six-piece string section to the party.
‘Hearing The Water Before Seeing The Falls’ is a proper stunner. If you’re yet to discover Andrew Wasylyk now would be a good time.
NM
Katatonic Silentio – Les Chemins de L’Inconnu (Ilian Tape)
The new album from Mariachiara Troianiello doesn’t come dressed up in any lofty conceptual speak, but it feels loaded with intent. As an accomplished sound artist and researcher in Milan, Troianiello is no stranger to taking an investigative approach to her work, but up to now Katatonic Silentio has entertained more playful ideas of experimental club music. Elements of breakcore and dubstep wrought havoc through her Prisoner Of The Self LP on Bristol Normcore, and her Emotional Gun record for CyberspeakMusic. Last year’s Tabula Rasa 12” for Ilian Tape edged towards a deeper, more atmospheric approach which favoured minimalism and spatial sound design, setting the scene for this formidable new release.
Les Chemins de L’Inconnu, translated as ‘the paths of the unknown’ for non-French speakers, is heavily tipped towards slow-creeping spaces marked out by exacting sonic progressions. There are definite rhythmic passages to lock onto, such as the heavy duty march of ‘Déplacement De La Surface’, but even here the beat takes time to reveal itself behind the lithe array of arrhythmic interference which opens up the track. Troianiello is far more interested in sculpting the world around a track before populating it with percussion, using texture with a prodigious stroke which brings each space to life in visceral, tangible ways.
From the cyclical pneumatics of ‘Le Reveil Du Combattant’ to the broken techno depth charge of ‘Hypothése D’Hypnose’, the motifs of club music are used as expressive tools taken out of context. The latter track has a long enough run time that perhaps a DJ diving into pools of meditation could find themselves happily running the beat-driven part in the mix, and it would certainly make a powerful impression over a soundsystem, but such outcomes hardly feel like an intention here. There are vivid depictions to be made instead, whether they rely on drums or not, and with her masterful approach to production, Katatonic Silentio proves she knows exactly what she wants to create within her music.
OW
Adwaith – Bato Mato (Libertino Records)
After Adwaith won the 2019 Welsh Music Prize for the hazy Goat Girl-esque atmospherics of their debut album ‘Melyn’, it seemed pretty clear what their next step would be – a second album that continued to explore this swampy, hypnotic post punk underground. But a trip to Ulan-Ude in Siberia at the start of 2020 and plenty of time to process the experience in the subsequent lockdown changed everything. Songs were junked, unusual new instruments sourced from specialist suppliers – take a bow Cash Generator in Carmarthen – and the trio worked on bolder, more expansive songs to reflect “the barren landscape and brutalist architecture” of their Russian adventure.
The resulting album, named after a guide they met during their trip, makes good on this ambition. Originally issued on CD in the summer and finally receiving a vinyl release in November, ‘Bato Mato’ is awash with hypnotic driving melodies, warming psychedelic backdrops, beatific harmonies, and a bright pop sensibility that looks far beyond the usual indie territory of the pub back room. Not that they’ve turned their back on their DIY upbringing – opener ‘Cuddio’ brilliantly transplants Gwenno’s widescreen psych pop to what feels like a cramped basement full of excited superfans – but there’s an unshakable sense throughout this record that greater things inevitably await.
Take the gorgeous perfect 80s pop of ‘ETO’, which boasts a confident, mesmeric verse and a chorus that soars and soars, rendering the fact that vocalist Hollie is singing entirely in Welsh utterly irrelevant. There’s no language barrier here – the emotion shines through joyously. They pull off a similar trick with ‘Sudd’, layering a wall of dreamy harmonies on washes of bright guitar fuzz, while ‘Lan Y Mor’ cheekily introduces a ‘Cool Jerk’-style bass melody to an ecstatic Fontaines rush. Who needs to understand the lyrics when you’re busy going crazy on the dancefloor? ‘Nid Aur’, directly afterwards, builds on the finger-clicking confidence to deliver another headlong, unstoppable high – and it’s not long before you’re swept along with the song and the album as a whole.
Better still, there are moments here where a darker, more artful influence manifests itself – hints of Kate Bush and Shelleyan Orphan – and Adwaith uncover a love for tension and claustrophobia. ‘Yn Y Swm’ could be ‘()’-era Sigur Ros dissolving into fuzzed-out 80s pop, and ‘Cwympo’ and ‘Anialwych’ are humid and taut, lost in the forest after dark. If their most obvious kindred spirit Gwenno is an expert in ritual and exaltation, then Adwaith offer a spikey, earthy, more down to earth counterpart. And you get the sense that they’ve only really just begun. In all, a bold and accomplished album, and a worthy tribute to the joys of a life-changing trip and a new found sense of fearlessness.
IW
Paperclip Minimiser – Paperclip Minimiser (Peak Oil)
Looking at the run of releases on Brian Foote’s Peak Oil label in the past few years, it’s possible to hear the echoes of digital minimalism first hiccupped from the likes of Mille Plateaux, ~scape and Background in the early 00s. Whether in Foote’s own Leech project, Hoavi’s pockmarked ambience or the shadowy Topdown Dialectic, there’s an affinity for the cool hum of in-the-box mainframe tones and the satisfying click of microscopic beats. It’s a quality shared by a few other believers, particularly those orbiting the Cong Burn label, of which John Howes is the centrifugal force. Howes, who also concerns himself with incredibly well-conceived virtual device designs such as Euclidean groovebox Strokes, has adopted a new moniker for this release on Peak Oil, which meets sonic expectations by indulging in a set of designer electronics for mellow cyberpunks.
The musicality in Paperclip Minimiser shares an affinity for the emotional ambiguity of machine soul – a quality which reaches back past the clicks n’ cuts era to earliest techno and electro before it. While in thrall to the language of synthesis, there’s space for warmth and approachability in this music in the elegantly spaced out melodic parts nipping around these constructions, subdued and smudged though they might be. The beats meanwhile come in fine slithers cut to sharp angles – something which is especially noticeable on the clanking ‘B3’. You’ll never hear a rote 909 pattern dutifully pumping out here, but rather catch gossamer configurations of precisely defined percussive impressions chiselled out of hard but brittle materials. It’s headphone-ready escapology distilled in its finest form, a glittering demonstration of electronica at its most engaging.
OW
Mumbai native Nate08 arrives on Needwant with an impressive debut album, delivering an immaculately finished set of crossover jams on ‘Furaha’. Musician, producer and DJ Nathan Thomas is quickly becoming a dynamic force in India’s blossoming underground scene. While much of the electronic music emanating from the Subcontinent is rooted in the darker shades of dance, there appears to be a growing appreciation for organic, house-led textures in the country’s evolving subterranean nucleus. Recording as Nate08, and informed by an eclectic blend of funk, r&b and house, Thomas has released a string of digital singles on London’s Needwant, and the LP completes the first phase of his musical arc in seductive style.
Rooted in dance music heritage and framed with a future-facing sheen, the album feels especially accessible, helped in no small part by sublime vocal appearances from the likes of Jitwam, Azamaan Hoyvoy, and Megan Murray. Highlights include the sunshine flex of ‘Trigger Fool’, the deep house strut of ‘Want You’, the two-step rhythms of ‘Cold Muse’, and the captivating chord progressions of ‘Sunrise Sunfall’. This is seriously accomplished work from the talented newcomer and a fascinating glimpse into the ever-evolving Indian dance scene.
PC
Tallah – The Generation Of Danger (Earache)
Experimental nu-metal (there is such a thing) provocateurs, Tallah, combine trudging grooves with a somewhat cartoonish malevolence. Their 2020 debut full-length, ‘Matriphagy’, was a concept album centred around the cannibalising of the primary character’s mother. At first glance, the artwork indicated standard death metal fare, but upon deep diving, the atmospheric attitude and playful demeanour hidden beneath the chaos would ultimately perplex and charm in equal measure.
The much anticipated sophomore effort, ‘The Generation Of Danger’, builds upon the ludicrous heft and self-aware nature of its predecessor with even more chaotic, self-aware sonic abandon. With the heady description of a concept album detailing “a genius scientist who gets fed up with being swept under the rug. After the multi-billion-dollar corporation that employs him takes credit for his latest, award-winning invention, he snaps and retaliates against them by forcing them to take part in the greatest experiment the world of science has ever seen.”
If it sounds like a ridiculous indie-horror plot, that’s the point. Enigmatic and endlessly macabre frontman Justin Bonitz utilises his warped narratives to craft other-worldly events bolstered by his bandmates’ trudging grooves, immensely hideous tonality and newfound devotion to electronic textures and soundscapes elevated by the addition of turntablist and programmer, Alizé “Mewzen” Rodriguez. It should also come as no surprise that Dream Theater mastermind Mike Portnoy’s son Max is the founding member and drumming behemoth that keeps the chaos interlocked at all times.
Taking the tried and tested formulas of a maligned sub-genre well past perceived relevance, and twisting the dynamics with avant-garde motifs and unsettling atmosphere, Tallah are able to shapeshift at will from the obliterating aggression of, ‘Stomping Grounds’, to the more complex unfolding of, ‘The Impressionist’, while latest single, ‘Shaken (Not Stirred)’, might be the perfect encapsulation of the group’s unhinged approach to familiar metallic territory, complete with glitching soundscapes and even subdued moments of melody.
Ugly, dystopian, intriguing, hypnotic, and most of all entertaining, like a bizarre fever dream of David Cronenbergian/Lynchian variety; Tallah prove that even nu-metal can be redefined and repurposed to fit the most horrifying of sonic scenarios.
ZB
Pack up your belongings and load them onto the boat – we’re setting sail with the Cru Servers once again. As the Glasgow-based duo of Rickie and Jamie McNeill ably demonstrated on 2017’s Blubber Tottum, their on-board navigation systems are reliably haywire and you could end up frankly anywhere. As the engine burbles to life on ‘Temperate Clay Banister’, it’s clear no attempt has been made to upgrade the equipment and we’re immediately adrift amidst ambient oil spills. There’s a similar thread of humour running through the Servers’ weirdo constructions you might have enjoyed from Wah Wah Wino’s band of miscreants, where a heady brew of outsider sonics and a keen instinct for accidental grooves collides with an over-arching sense of not giving a toss.
That’s not to say this is flippant material – far from it. For all its mischievous messing around, there’s an abundance of brilliance loaded into Eel’s hold. The dubby death bleep thump of ‘Shrubbery Grub Ratepayer’, the sprightly bedroom electro beauty of ‘Sacramental Lettuce’ and the drunken style broken boogie of ‘Take Two Estate Agents’ are all deadly in very different ways, bound together by the rough-hewn metabolism of an overfed mixing desk, and that’s just the more discernible grooves. Even as the edges of the ship dissolve like gone-off antacid and the duo’s capacity for outright freakdom takes hold, there’s movement and intrigue to keep you from reaching for the life raft. Weirdly masterful and masterfully weird, no one keeps it slippery like Cru Servers do on Eel. Just listen to the unexpected tape digs of their dad’s 80s post-punk band CCV, tacked on as a bonus 7” in a casual but ultimately heartfelt manner, for further proof.
OW
This week’s reviewers: Zach Buggy, Ian Watson, Patrizio Cavaliere, Neil Mason, Oli Warwick.