Fyear – Fyear

Constellation

Canadian composer Jason Sharp and poet Kaie Kellough have gathered together an impressive array of fellow travellers to put an existential fear of god into the listener.

Fyear are a double drummer nine-piece with two spoken word performers which has chosen a suite of seven apocalyptic post-classical soundscapes to force across their message of human mistake, economic disarray and environmental disaster. The sound generated by the group and the thoughts expressed make them a perfect fit on Constellation, sharing recording venue Hotel 2 Tango with many of the label’s other artists and a desire to raise consciousness in a new and unique way.

The wild violin scrabbles throw themselves outward immediately, setting a scene that rarely lets up. The hyped-up voices at times remind me of a wrestling referee, but there is no escaping the message even if the delivery is wrestled by the musical hell breaking loose around them. The message is flung hard at you and there is little respite. The poetry is delivered in a staccato manner while the strings spiral and the percussion scuffles.

The movements into which the piece is broken are diverse, bass sax lending huge weight on “Mercury Looms”. There is a surge of ground momentum while the vices take on an astral perspective, as if viewing these self-made problems from a distant vantage point. The voices intersect at different levels inhabiting a wide dynamic range, filling in gaps in the ever-spreading musical cocktail. These fresh ways of expressing catastrophe are hemmed in by the ever increasing squall of squealing drama.

Diverse movements shock you into action. “Counter Clock” is a tumultuous, Godspeed-like awakening that highlights the death of the utopian dream, asking awkward questions as it moves from a musical rock face to stargazing ambience. A slow turn through starry space helps to reset the balance and also imbues the voices with a strangely distant quality, as if being beamed from another dimension. They sound oddly computer-generated, perhaps suggesting that AI could help ask the questions and possibly deliver the answers.

The intensity of the dual vocals and spiralling strings allied to ever-persistent percussion is almost hysterical on “Misconception”, and I can think of no precedent for this multi-pronged attack. I was reminded a little of New York’s Bodega, but far more intent on their mission; and the gradual cut-up of the messages, hacking and splicing to produce new, more random expressions somehow makes the original messages harder to avoid.

“Precipice” takes a deep breath, relaxes and tries to think of another way. The soothing voices and keening strings offer a very different experience until a sudden eruption sends us careening off a cliff, voices still raging, a strange, stumbling percussive juggernaut of sound landing upon us and sending the voices haywire, stuttering and backfiring, guttural growls spiralling into a maddening whirl. When it finally loses momentum and grinds to a halt, the listener feels assaulted but awhirl with new possibilities.

Fyear strives to awaken us from our slumber and look around at the planet and with this kaleidoscope of word and sound; they effect this perfectly.

-Mr Olivetti-