SECTLINEFOR – Anorexic Insect

sctlfr_RingMasterReview

With a back story as cinematic as the sounds and suggestiveness conjured, reading between its lines it seems that SECTLINEFOR has been a seed and adventure long time in the making for its creator Pavel Stepanov aka Piton, the guitarist of progressive synthetic death metallers Ygodeh. It is a project as far away from that impressive proposition as you can imagine and one which with debut album Anorexic Insect seriously ignites the imagination.

London based, SECTLINEFOR’s sound is tagged as cinematic neo-metal though no precise description can be made for the unique and striking avant-garde lined adventure it takes the listener on. With fellow Ygodeh member in bassist Aal and vocalist/lyricist Jared alongside, Piton creates the darkest tales with Anorexic Insect, its series of haunting nightmares as seductively engaging as they are boldly deranged. Musically the album persistently infests body and psyche whilst the vocals of Jared are pure magnetism with their winy prowess.

It all begins with the album’s title track, its low key start of synths and atmospheric theatre instinctive coaxing for the listener swiftly accentuated by the vocal gurning of Jared. Beats soberly pulsate whilst Aal’s bass probes the senses, drama fuelling every second and note especially as the track subsequently erupts with muscular psychosis. As across the whole release, there is a touch of Trepalium, 6:33, and Cardiacs to its off kilter exploits; of Stump too with Jared’s vocal presence something closely akin to Mick Lynch of that band, but as suggested earlier, each is a flavour suggested merely hinting at what is on offer from band and album.

anorexic__RingMasterReviewThe outstanding start continues with The Aftertaste of Soap. Its initial industrial lure is soon a more forceful proposition preying on the senses, at times stalking ears and in other moments making bolder statements of intent as the song ebbs and flows in intensity. Symphonic essences bring greater evocatively suggestive spicing to the challenge while rhythms offer an infectiously energetic agitation as vocals and melodies entwine the harsher attributes of the compelling encounter.

As invasively dark as everything is, My Neighbour was on TV explores an even more sinister landscape next. Throughout the album, there is a suffocating intimacy in atmosphere and emotion just like the grisliness which lies at the heart of folk and fairy tales and in the third track it devours ears and thoughts, exciting each simultaneously before Birthmark Photograph uncages its own psychotic bedlam and electronic flirtation in a bed of metallic causticity. It is glorious stuff, like the album a proposition which will either work for you or not but if it does, SECTLINEFOR provide manna for the senses and indeed imagination.

Anorexic Insect is a fusion of creative beauty and unhinged dynamics which borders on alchemy and no more potent than in the bewitching addled embrace of Orange Soda and in turn the inventively provocative haywire that is Checkmate. Both songs twist and turn with certifiable imagination and relish and each presents in their individual ways a tapestry of skilfully woven adventure and incitement upon which Jared roars with vocal meshuga, a creative abnormality perfectly matched by the composing and craft of Piton and the throbbing stimulus of Aal.

Through the grand drama of Congratulations and the poetic grace of Gag Reflex of Stray Dogs, there is no let-up in unpredictable theatre and pleasure; each a web of inventive deceit and captivation gleefully twisting the listener this way and that. I’m Not Having That Much Fun Anymore equally exposes ears to raw insanity and imagination at its nerviest while the outstanding Little Handjobs strokes an already inflamed appetite for the album with hectic tenacity and hyperactive energy.

Finished off by the raw Lovecraftian instrumental trespasses of The Door and The Secret Behind, this certainly no warm Witch and The Wardrobe like fantasy, Anorexic Insect is a rare and exhilarating proposition. As mentioned some will run from its inner terrors and emotional turmoil but those with instinctive adventure in their tastes will be rewarded with one of the early true treats of 2017.

Anorexic Insect is out now @ https://sectlinefor.bandcamp.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pg/sectlinefor/

Pete RingMaster 01/03/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Shatner’s Bassoon – The Self-Titled Album Shansa Barsnaan

SB_RingMaster Review

We have all had a dream which is ripe with randomness so abstract that it somehow makes sense, and that is exactly what it is like listening to The Self-Titled Album Shansa Barsnaan, the new album from Shatner’s Bassoon. Not that our brain cells have yet managed to come to terms with any of its themes, if there are any, or the intent behind its psyche twisting bedlam of creativity, but without doubt we are having the richest fun and enjoyment trying.

Shatner’s Bassoon is a sextet from Leeds taking influences from the likes of Tim Berne, Mr. Bungle, John Zorn, Frank Zappa, and an expansive range of styles and flavours into their warped composing and sound. Equally individual experiences of its members carry a diverse range stemming from European folk, Hindustani music, Brazilian music, straight ahead and free jazz, reggae, metal, contemporary classical, musique concrete and most likely plenty more inspiring spices. 2013 saw the release of their debut album Aquatic Ape Privilege and last year the live EP, The Crowd Grows Mild. Now representing “the summation of the last three years of working since the addition of Joost Hendrickx on drums and electronics”, Shatner’s Bassoon release their second album of unhinged imagination, an encounter from Johhny Richards (Keyboards/Piano), Michael Bardon (Bass/Bongos/Botanical String Quartet), Andrew Lisle (Drums), Oliver Dover (Saxophones/Bass Clarinet), Craig Scott (Guitar), and Hendrickx which puzzles, bemuses, seriously confuses but most of just thrills.

cover_RingMaster Review     Bruce Lawn starts the album off and according to the press release sees “Seemingly disparate musical fragments converge into a unified theme as catchy and uncomfortable as gonorrhoea. It dissolves as quickly as it manifests into a visceral aural soup, crashing into an overtly sexual Transylvanian organ punch.” It opens with a handful of lusty seconds of anthemic sax bursts and handclaps before flinging a host of discord kissed sounds made up of melodic and sonic tweaks. Already thoughts are conjuring a picnic in a thirties freak show, an abundance of off-kilter beauty providing an embrace of joy with sorrowful undertones. As with every track, and no matter the hints given by the band musically and in word, each listen sends the imagination down a new avenue of lively and shadowed adventure, though ones maybe not quite as disturbed or avant-garde as the ideas in the minds bringing the piece to ears. Band and song continue to ‘meander’ and spin new detours, a few of them Essential Logic like, as it drifts into an increasingly sinister haunting; coming out the other side with aural face paint smudged and mental coherence askew.

Bruce Lawn II: Arms like a Mirage comes next; the song’s initial elegantly chilled breath a surreal reflection of its predecessor’s final dark throes whilst spinning slowly deeper into its own turbulent intrigue of sound and barely masked insanity. It all leads to a bordering on bestial climax which is almost 6:33 like in its concussive collision of jazz, rock, and whatever else lies within its tapestry of aggression.

Like that initial spattering of water as rain clouds open is how Fringe in my eyes, Thighs in disguise sheds its mosaic of incompatible yet united sound next, each note from the song sheet a jazz bred splatter marking its territory; yes warped sounds seem to breed warped ideas, in us anyway.

Percussion and rhythms provide a skittish but fluent dance to set Mushroom/Fancy a Waltz away; bulging blobs of sax and clarinet flirting with the spicy strings of the guitar soon after before things get a little psychotically hairy in something best described by the band itself as “a machine gun spluttered duet finally melting into a refreshingly resolute meditation.” To be honest whatever we write or they say is a scratch upon the strange and spellbinding tapestry at work throughout the album and its individual exploits of tangling sound and ingenuity.

Ten seconds of innocence coated sax gaiety is all Mitch Fargone’s walk to school offers before Advocates of Anti-Funk pulsates and shimmers in a kaleidoscope of melodic and brassy sunspots, all wanting to share their swinging hips before eventually colluding in a dark carnival-esque seducing. Rip Rig & Panic meets Mr Bungle might be a good way to describe it…actually not really as again Shatner’s Bassoon cast only their own uniqueness over ears.

The dark enchantment of Boat Comforts moves in like sea fog, creaking boards and melancholic siren sent calls mesmerising and tantalising the senses. Every passing second brings darker and stranger nautical essences, the piece toying with the imagination like a Jules Verne on LSD written adventure complete with a bare boned and crazed shanty. Cardiacs come to mind the more the song spills its insanity and rum brewed frenzy before Boat Comforts Part II: Goat Conference / The Real Shim Lady unveils its own sonic choral of loco spawned textures and cracked rhythmic incitement. Like the unbridled discordance of eighties band Stump infesting the psyche and the creative prowess of a composer to a silent movie, the track goes from low key musical disorder to sinew swung hysteria and back again into deep melancholy.

Next comes DMT AABA which is like a nursery room found in American Horror Story, it in turn followed by the even more thickly haunting of The Ballad of Long Egg, a track which for whatever reason sparked thoughts of films like Roman Polanski’s Repulsion and The Tenant. Closing eyes whilst listening to the track ensures it is an atmospheric noir scare, its textual narrative high suggestion even if the results brewed mentally do or do not match the band’s intent.

Inspector Fargone is another passing swoosh of temptation, its twenty odd seconds like a spaced-out Jacques Tati moment whilst the brilliant Boghead (WaspSpeed) is a fevered uproar of energy through a palette of eccentric funky sounds and demented brass grimaces and eruptions, all coming together like a Dali sculpted painting by numbers, though of course there is no recognisable order or structure to the blaze of premeditated and free form ingenuity.

The album is brought to a close by an enveloping lure of sound which again can only be described as haunting. Will you be my Friend? draws in vocals for the first time, their harmonies as left field and fascinating as the sounds hugging their presence, and wonderfully as musically heretical as the gentle cacophony creating one enthralling and exhaustingly bewitching album.

When you listen to The Self-Titled Album Shansa Barsnaan you will have a totally different view and response to its songs, that is a given such its diversity and unfathomable genius but most will agree that for appetites of humour loaded music with an insanity as broad as the imagination and wealth of flavours in its creation, Shatner’s Bassoon have provided one feverish treat.

The Self-Titled Album Shansa Barsnaan is available via Wasp Millionaire Records from September 24th.

Pete Ringmaster 23/09/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Kabul Golf Club – Le Bal Du Rat Mort

Disorientating and mesmeric, scarring and insatiably infectious, the Le Bal Du Rat Mort EP from Belgium sonic conjurors Kabul Golf Club is pure manic genius. It is a release to boil the senses and scatter synapses to the four winds, though it has probably turned them to steam anyway through its sheer incendiary imagination and sizzling expulsions. A snarling and abrasive explosion of corrosive invention it is hard to categorise the sounds within its pulsating walls. Post punk, noise rock, post hardcore, psyche punk…it is all in there and more. Imagine a mix of Dope Body, Retox, The Blood Brothers, The Mae Shi, and Stump and you have a slight grasp of the beautiful discordant monstrosity that is Le Bal Du Rat Mort.

The opening flaring chords on first track Bits Of Freedom eagerly scrape the ear without giving full notice of what is to come, though it is not long before the full force of the song is waging acidic romance upon the senses. Vocals scorch the atmosphere with passionate squalls of lyrics and sound whilst the drum beats provoke primal responses, it all within a ferocious burning maelstrom of blistering guitar mischief and abrasive energy. The bass is a growling salt within the midst its presence highlighted in the less forceful flurries but ever rubbing away at the defences throughout. The song is masterful and the first of the five epic and most welcome intrusions.

Minus 45 to offer a sonic joke raises the temperature even further, the band wringing the wildest squeals from notes and melodies whilst the bass finds an even stronger belligerence to its gait. With discord fuelling every second of the song for the fullest rapture, it is an acerbic assault, its hunger carnal and rewards aurally orgasmic. There is a live feel to the song and release as a whole which suggests its recording was in that manner, everything organically barbed and inciteful.

The waspish starting swing of Fast Moving Consumer Goods is a mellower scour upon the senses yet still riles the edges of emotions and flesh perfectly. A less punishing breath is soon ignited in sonic spasms by malevolent satanic melodies, again all brought with the utmost of insistent discordance and visceral energy. For many its brief stature will be a mercy, for us it is a disappointment, the exquisite corruption far too swift to take its leave.

5 Minutes 2 Midnight brings a similar presence to the previous track but soon notches up the levels and heat through warped  melodies and venomously twisted hooks. As with all the songs they are near perfect pop songs…ok for the insane but if they make that unbreakable connection they all emerge as a flurry of imaginative melodies, irresistible hooks, and anthemic rhythms, just from a darker and less savoury dimension is all. With a vein of eighties post punk band Fire Engines about it the song is a wanton demon borne bruising of the psyche, and absolutely brilliant.

The closing track Demon Days is an exhausting finale which encapsulates all that came before in one furious sonic sawmill of aggression. Its sounds scythe through the ear leaving resonating energy long after departure and the mind a broken recipient greedy and begging for it all over again.

Le Bal Du Rat Mort is an unhinged giant of a release, a beautiful frenetic and psychotic masterpiece which is maybe the most exciting thing to appear this year. Kabul Golf Club is a band we will all hear a lot more of, let us hope our minds can stand up to their triumphantly dangerous imagination and sound.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kabul-Golf-Club/157594060945110

RingMaster 28/09/2012

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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