Starts very Steven Stapleton-like with a manic woman in full-on polka-dot phobia jabbering like some Echo Poeme cut-up, well versed in disturbing vocal spikes. The next track leaping towards some brume-like contact play, electroacoustic grit in the psychic ointment. A disconcerting churn caught on a glass-rim hum diving the industrial before dipped into a dichotomy of digitised distress.
This LP chronicles Felix Kubin‘s second set of film and theatre works, and it foxtrots your headspace with a baffling dexterity. Exploiting the imaginary in scattered suspense, those sinister neoclassical gaits and clockwork crocodiles. The splintered danceabilities that excite, perplex. Beats callipered in textural-geists and Pyrolator chintz, that cross-cut and dazzle. Never a dull moment.
The industrialised wonder of “Sztylet”, its mechanised rhythmics — back-stabbed in egg wire and ceramic percussives — chiming a solid noir-like splash of zero set elastics. Thumping abbreviations with Slavic sultriness leaking through the tensile.
An enjoyable jaunt of sonic athletics this, twisting the atmospheric with the smarting lemon of wide-eyed wonder.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
