'Supergroups' always bother me. At worst, they suggest a bunch of egos battling it out to produce a work that's almost invariably short of the sum of the parts - unless, of course, it's a 'supergroup' consisting of talentless people who make lousy music to begin with, when crap squared is all one could ever expect. Then there's the fact there are supergroups who perhaps aren't nearly as super as they purport, namely those where I haven't heard of a single one of the members. I mean, how's that super?
Should I feel embarrassed by the fact I'm entirely unaware of the works of poetry duo Jan and Romke Kleefstra? Should I hide my head in shame over my ignorance of Mariska Baars and Rutger Zuydervelt of Soccer Committee and Machinefabriek respectively? Or should I simply accept the fact that I can't be familiar with all artists of all persuasions, and draw the conclusion that the avant-garde music of The Netherlands tends not to get much exposure outside, well, The Netherlands?
On the strength of this release, it's rather a shame such music reaches our shores so rarely. To describe 'Wurdskrieme' without using the words 'sparse' and 'minimal' would be almost an impossibility. 'Wurdskrieme' is quiet and disquieting, the sonic equivalent of a polar tundra in winter. The six tracks bleed together, connected by slow, low drones, clicks and crackles to forge a panoramic soundscape that's cold and glacial.
From the very outset, the listener feels very alone, lost in a bleak wilderness with only their own thoughts and paranoia for company. At first it's refreshing, exhilarating even, to experience, but eventually, the light fades and you know you're completely alone... or are you? The mind plays tricks and you start o get jumpy. This is precisely the sensation 'Wurdskrieme' ('Cry of Words') instils in the listener.
|
'Utsakke bui' introduces conventional 'rock' instrumentation into the mix, in the form of electric guitars, but they're hardly played in a conventional rock way, with scrapes and strums - at times resembling tuning up - occasionally cutting across a long, undulating loop of sustain and feedback, like Sunn O))) in a mellow mood. Harmonic chimes provide some warmth on 'Sangerjende wyn' (which translates as 'Lilting Wind'), and here, as elsewhere, snippets of narrative fade in and out, low in the mix.
Rather than lending the sound pieces (they're certainly not songs in any obvious sense of the word), the vocal elements only further accentuate the feelings of isolation and separation that this album radiates. Even when spoken softly, the delivery is clipped and offers little by way of human warmth or comfort. The titles - either in their original language or in translation – are similarly bereft of cheer: Unkrud (Ill Weeds); Tsjustere leaten (Sombre Shoots); Wurch ljocht (Tired Light); Ferware (Worn down). Allusions to nature, but as an unforgiving force and in a state of decay. The transition from Autumn to Winter as the days grow shorter and colder echoes around the desolate soundscapes. Wrap up well and explore the panoramic wasteland of 'Wurdskrieme.'
Piiptsjilling Online
|
