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Camera – Radiate

Bureau B

This release oozes an interstellar optimism. Rhythmic entanglements and driven drums playing Tom and Jerry with the  spacey medications, whilst battling guitars spar, silhouetted on a blazing urban skyline.

“Ego” is quite an opener, filling the canvas in a metrical rainbow of dramatic sweeps and boredom quashing sub-currents, like a fuel-injected NEU! as shards of projectile are kicked back by the rat-a-tat-tat of snare bullets dispersing to a hushed arterial beat and key rotors. “Villon” turns the tempo down a notch with beautiful Comanche-style drumming, bouncy echoes to a seesaw of keyboard colour, run through with devilish shapes, your head instinctively nodding as delicious curves are met in a guitar cavalcade of cosmic candies.

“Ausland” ups the ante again in a sprint of percussion, zapping injections of Oneida-like keystrokes, really pumping it out as trembling guitar tongues lap at the chord milk, becoming a blistering sunshine of chemical reactions beaming out pure joy and plenty of effect wreckage, skew-whiff vapours and far reaching potentials that could have easily expanded far beyond its meagre 5 mins 52. “Lynch” is definitely more brooding mystery than all out fun. Clocks in at a massive 10mins too. A parched desert wind followed by a heat haze of keys shadowing waspy guitars / bass buzz saws, the mood rotating, imbued with that late radiophonic wonkiness I just love as those tattered voodoo beats raise an anthem of Zulu shield slap and thorny guitar oscillations, dramatic washes opening up into an oasis of devotion, a glittering carpet of burning sunset and scenic lucidities.

“Utopia Is” has a country tinge to it with gossamer cymbal shimmer, kicked and pebbled dashed in percussion,simple melodies with guitar savannah spans, everybody locking on a rhythm, glowing out in ever-buoyant hues and sliding choruses. The atmospherics of “RFID” slow the pace down in beautiful patterns of light. A hint of Godspeed with the walkie-talkie chatter as the gentle palpitations grow in constant conversations of sweeping effects and hollow biscuit tins becoming a powerful kosmische pearl, flanked in Frippotronics and gushing metallics. Contrasting nicely is “Soldat,” a swamp of guitar 4 x 4s and cymbal shiver. Scenic notes chiming out the panoramics, clawing the horizon, ending on the reflective comedown of “Morgen” … Embers that nurse the impression that this is going to be a perfect antidote to the countless grey days of winter that lay ahead.

-Michael Rodham-Heaps-

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