Och – II

Rocket

When receiving this new album by enigmatic motorik outfit Och, I had hoped that the band had taken their name from the well-known Scottish linguistic trope. More specifically, I entertained vague hopes that they were perhaps (as I am) huge fans of the late Fulton MacKayⁱ and, tuning in, had become so captivated by his expostulations of “Och, Fletcher” in much-beloved Seventies prison sit-com Porridge, that they had actually named their band after it.

Sadly, I was to be proved wrong: the name is actually a word from their native Swedish tongue, and translates as, well, “and”. Think the conjunction in the name of their esteemed countrymen, Träd Gräs Och Stenar.

That was, though, to prove the only disappointing thing about this release. Coming hot on the heels of a self-released EP in 2014 (!), this debut album for Rocket Recordings provides us with eight slabs of colossal instrumental. Available photos show the band with woolly hats pulled down over their faces – making them look strangely redolent of a row of mangelwurzels – but their playing itself is razor sharp.

Beginning with a train-based field recording, opener “Jag Är Här, Jag Är Här” soon assails us with a wall of feedback and an ominous, rumbling riff that might suggest we are sitting down to the credits of a new John Carpenter movie (if only). “Baum Baur” grooves wickedly, bringing to mind soundtrack classic “The Pink Room” by Angelo Badalamenti (I think it’s the echoey drum sound that does it), whilst “ÅKKSÅ” slaps on some kosmische warpaint, gives us a strong tab of acid and blows our minds in the Acklam Hall.

The heaviosity sets in for “Den Såmm Bor I Tarim”, with its low-end fuzz and reverberant bass. Thinking about it, it would surely make a fitting musical accompaniment to a gritty Scandi noir, especially the inevitable scene in which a madman in a Krampus mask rampages around in the snow with a large carving knife, doing unspeakable things to the unwary locals and generally giving the profession of butchery a bad name.

Then, elegantly demonstrating their firm grasp of modulation and dynamics, “Färgen Ur Rymden” gets considerably more ambient on us, its snowy uplands drifting away and merging seamlessly into “Pelennor’s Fält”, whose quasi-folky opening and drum-propelled kineticism should suit all your pagan celebratory needs (next time you have them). Pelennor’s Fält? Is that the new Ari Aster movie? Wrong-footing us again, “Nu64” gets a movin’ and a groovin’, like the Friday night disco on Moon Base Alpha. Hey mate, hands off Maya, she’s mine. The band take their leave of us with the near-seven-minute “Pandemi På Händelö”, which manages the impressive feat of being simultaneously both lively and melancholy.

At a compact forty minutes, II is in and out with admirable efficiency, like an SAS Squadron eager to finish operations and get down the pub. So go with them. Och that is, not the SASⁱⁱ. One final piece of advice – don’t leave it till 2026 for the next album, lads.

-David Solomons-

i Mackay was actually once a serious contender to take over the role of Dr Who from Jon Pertwee. In fact, we got the legend that was Tom Baker, so we cannot complain. However, the prospect of Mackay in the role nevertheless remains one of life’s delightful what might have beens.

ii Unless you fancy slogging up the Brecon Beacons the next day with a rucksack full of bricks, that is.