It’s the return of our semi-regular feature where we recommend a record based on your theoretical appreciation of another, usually older and more revered record. Succinctly, if you like one of these, you might well enjoy the other as well…
Walking a thin, misty line between pure dark ambient and ritual industrial, the arguable centerpiece of Peter Nyström’s work as Megaptera never collapses out of its superposition. Touching upon many of the darkened corners of the Cold Meat Industry label which birthed it, The Curse Of The Scarecrow maintains tension and mood throughout its run time by giving much of its space to pure boiler room echoes and drones, but never drifts into drone for its own sake, always maintaining some recurring percussive elements, be they rhythmic or purely chaotic. Conversely, the swarming cacophony and aggression which marks so much of the CMI catalog is repeatedly hinted at, as on the martial leanings of “Cog-wheel Machinery”, yet never fully indulged in, with Nyström’s ear for editing and restraint keeping wanton aggression at bay for the sake of looming menace. In the pervasive fog that The Curse Of The Scarecrow immediately builds and maintains, its percussion, sampling, and slow harmonic shifts always arrive at the listener from a distance, blurred and blended into one another by the time they’re heard. For all of its sonic unity the full picture of The Curse Of The Scarecrow is never fully seen, and it’s an all the more engrossing listen for that.
While slightly “busier” than The Curse Of The Scarecrow, the second LP from Eugenio Mazza’s Pavor Nocturnus project holds to that same balancing act, drawing together funereal ambience and harmonic but never overbearing programming and rhythms (albeit with a more specifically “ritual” style of sound design than traditionally “industrial”). If the hazy blur of The Curse Of The Scarecrow‘s sonic palette seems the result of its sources sitting at a distance, Ecatombe‘s sounds sit far closer, but are obscured by the smoke and analog warmth its production recreates. Each element, from its sparse wooden percussion to the muted horns or organs which carry the compositions forward, has its edges smudged or rounded, reverberating its way through the claustrophobic density Mazza builds around the listener, with slightly camp occult sampling to match that in the Megaptera release. Creating a distinct mood that isn’t purely rooted in isolation or the infinitude of the cosmic void -without- resorting to incredibly arcane theosophical marginalia going well over the heads of the average punter isn’t at all common in ritual industrial, but in that regard Ecatombe is of a kind with The Curse Of The Scarecrow.
The Sound were and are always more popular with critics and record nerds than they are with the broader spectrum of post-punk fans. While they’ve frequently been cited as a favourite by many popular acts in their own rite, London quartet has never received a fraction of the flowers that have been piled at the feet of many of their UK contemporaries, such as Joy Division or Echo & the Bunnymen. It’s hard to understand why when listening to their 1981 sophomore LP From the Lion’s Mouth, an extremely tight collection of songs that emphasizes rhythm, texture, and the voice of singer Adrian Borland, whose expressive delivery conveys both vulnerability and stridency as required. Sparse cuts like “Contact the Fact” make a meal of their spindly arrangement, suggesting danger on the bass and keyboard driven verses, before blossoming into acrimony on the angular chorus, a counterpoint to the manic energy of “The Fire” and “Skeletons”. Bookended by the lively dirge of “Winning” and the cinematic cabaret of “New Dark Age”, it’s a record that has aged beautifully and suggests a different post-punk canon, one situated squarely between the style’s most accessible and most melancholic poles.
The flag Los Angeles’ Cold Showers planted on their 2019 LP Motionless has yet to be fully followed-up on, the band having been relatively quiet since the release of their 2022 pandemic EP Strength in Numbers. And that’s a damn shame, because like The Sound, they’re deserving of the same plaudits many other post-punk revivalists have garnered in recent years. The record in question finds them at their lushest and most rhythmically tight, as anxious and somber as you can be while still making music this lovely. “Measured Man” slowly piles layers of guitar over vocalist Jonathan Weinberg, who sounds like he’s struggling to maintain his composure as strings of keys and atonal piano weave their way around him. When the band break into a sprint on “Dimiss”, or dip into mid-tempo melancholia on “Shine”, their range and capacity become clear; the former escalates relentlessly while never missing a beat or sounding unsure, while the latter has some of the most emotional use of horns this side of “Bring on the Dancing Horses”. The title track is an absolute all-timer, its layers of synth and simple guitar setting up a sorrowful chorus that cuts even as it comforts. Whether Cold Showers would count themselves as disciples of The Sound, there’s no denying both bands’ capacity for beautifully crafted songs that make feeling bad sound so good.
