I was really looking forward to seeing Fly Pan Am come to Bristol last year. On the strength of last year’s C’est Ca, it was bound to be a storming show — and then lockdown hit, so although we didn’t manage to see them, instead we have ended up with another album and what a beauty it is.
Conceived as a musical narrative accompanying the acclaimed contemporary dance piece of the same name, Fly Pan Am have managed to compose something that moves with the flow of the dancers, but still contains the visceral thrill and sound experimentation for which they are known and loved.Thankfully, although you can sense the power and grace that the visual piece would have contained, Frontera is still really satisfying as a standalone album, touching on most elements of their playful and intense oeuvre, but also pushing themselves into lesser-visited places. The seismic blasts that open the album are a kind of red herring that is not unexpected, but the build up of kinetic energy that follows is something with which most fans would be familiar.
That feeling of being caught up in something which they do so well is here and you could visualise yourself onstage with the dancers, as a light, repetitive mantra, almost a trademark, scoops you up. The injection of some harsh electronic textures and a rolling wave of drums fills the air, and you can feel yourself swept up. The tempos are quick, and the flashing guitars and high bass are utterly irresistible, with a percussive rattle that keeps things interesting. There are familiar motifs, but more momentum; and at one point human screams that are so disembodied they resemble crows or gulls. At points the sound is less elemental, more rigid and robotic. The discovery of new plains keeps things fresh, slowly unfolding in new directions. There is an astral sensation that is at odds with the noise wall that is generated later. Depth charges, a cityscape shrouded, awkward but forceful, random sounds extruded through filters, twisted and torched. The surprising stink of industrial decay.
You find yourself trying to picture what bodily movements best complement each piece as we move through drifting drones, industrial rhythms and the fast beating heart of vibrant motion. Musique concrète is never far away, and the oozing sound of subterranean life joins the sounds of saws and drills as if prospecting, moving through these different textures to see what sticks. Noisy guitars merge with stark electronics, a battery of drumming and an overload of noise pollution; but then their relentless groove kicks in again and we are through 180 degrees and steaming out the other side.
There is no-one like Fly Pan Am and once again, this album finds them out on their own, striving for something, always able to rely on making us move, drawing us in and showering us with the unexpected. Two albums in two years. Could we ask for more?-Mr Olivetti-
